The council chamber crackled with anticipation. Aryabhata’s words still lingered in the air, the verses of the ancient warning reverberating in the minds of those present. Bergelmir stood at the center of it all, his steady voice emphasizing the urgency of their predicament. He had spent every ounce of his energy guiding the council through Aryabhata’s findings, answering questions, and methodically reinforcing the significance of the prophecy. The shift in the room was tangible—murmurs of agreement and thoughtful nods from some of the elders suggested that perhaps they were beginning to take heed.
This is it. We’re so close, Bergelmir thought, a glimmer of hope piercing through the weariness that clung to him after days of relentless preparation.
But across the chamber, Odin watched with a cool, practiced expression. His mind raced, calculating, analyzing each word, each subtle shift in the room. The tide was turning, and he could not allow it. Bergelmir’s success would only strengthen his position, overshadowing Odin’s influence and diminishing the power of the House of Mardan.
No, I cannot let this happen. I’ve waited too long for an opportunity, Odin’s inner voice growled. His eyes flitted around the room, seeking an opening, a weakness to exploit. He needed someone—anyone—to offer the perfect moment to shift the balance.
As if summoned by his silent plea, council member Lyras spoke up. Lyras, a shrewd man with eyes that held perpetual skepticism and a deep voice that could silence a room, leaned forward. He had been tirelessly overseeing the preparations for the 25-millennium celebration of Atlantis, a grand event that was the culmination of decades of effort and prestige. “Bergelmir, you speak of prophecies and the warnings of old. But prophecies are vague by nature, often interpreted as one wishes to see them. What solid proof do we have beyond celestial alignments and poetic warnings?”
Bergelmir’s heart sank as he heard the challenge. He knew Lyras’s reputation as an opponent of ambiguity, a man who would demand evidence carved in stone before taking a step forward. He gathered his composure, reminding himself that he could not falter now. “Lyras, I understand your concern. But dismissing these alignments as mere coincidence would be a mistake. The Elders’ writings—”
Odin seized his chance, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of defiance. “Lyras raises an important point, cousin,” he said, turning to face Bergelmir with an expression of feigned regret. “You’ve presented compelling interpretations, but interpretations are not facts. The council must protect Atlantis, not act on hunches and dreams.”
The murmur among the council grew louder. Some members exchanged looks, their previous inclinations now shadowed by doubt.
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Damn it, Odin, you’ve turned them against us, Bergelmir thought, a pulse of frustration threading through his determination. He glanced at Aryabhata, who sat composed but with eyes that revealed the depths of his worry.
“I am not suggesting we act on dreams,” Bergelmir continued, his voice steady but strained. “I am suggesting we take precautions. The cost of preparation is nothing compared to the risk of ignoring these warnings.”
Haldor, the head of the council and Bergelmir’s son, leaned forward, his brows knitted in contemplation. His presence commanded respect, and when he spoke, the room listened. “Father, and esteemed council members, we are at a crossroads. We must weigh the evidence presented by Aryabhata with the practical realities of our city’s well-being.” His voice was measured, but there was an unmistakable tension in his tone. “Diverting our resources to such precautions would indeed delay the grand 25-millennium celebration, a mark of our legacy. Lyras, I understand your concern. This celebration is not just a festival; it is a symbol of our enduring greatness.”
Odin’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, hidden well beneath his practiced neutrality. He knew exactly how to push this further. “And if we act on these warnings and find ourselves wrong?” he countered. “Imagine the resources wasted, the fear sown among our people. Would you bear the burden of their unrest, Bergelmir?”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Lyras nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Bergelmir, waiting for an answer that could not come without consequence. “And let us not forget,” Lyras added, his voice carrying the weight of his vested interests, “the grand 25-millennium celebration of Atlantis. If we divert resources to heed Aryabhata’s warnings, we risk not being ready in time for the festival that marks our city’s legacy.”
This is the trap, Bergelmir realized. If I retreat, they dismiss Aryabhata’s findings. If I push forward, they see me as reckless. His chest tightened, the weight of leadership pressing down on him with merciless force.
“If we do nothing and the prophecy is true,” Bergelmir said, a quiet desperation leaking into his tone, “we risk everything. I am willing to stand accountable for my belief in Aryabhata’s findings.”
Odin’s eyes flashed with victory. “So you would gamble with the fate of Atlantis on what amounts to hope?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the council like a blade.
“Enough,” Aryabhata’s voice interrupted, steady and firm. He rose, his gaze sweeping over the chamber. “Hope is not what drives me—it is knowledge, studied and recorded. You are free to disbelieve, but know that hesitation has cost civilizations their lives.”
The chamber shifted, unease rippling through its occupants. But Odin knew he had succeeded. The seeds of doubt had taken root, and Bergelmir’s plea would falter under their weight. The council’s collective gaze grew wary, their minds retreating from action to the safety of skepticism.
Only Ilyra, seated in the corner with eyes like molten gold and a poise that spoke of hidden resolve, watched Bergelmir and Aryabhata with silent determination. Known for her sharp intellect and fierce independence, she was not one to be easily swayed. Yet, she kept her thoughts about supporting Bergelmir a secret for now.
As the meeting adjourned, Bergelmir felt the tide turn against him. The survival of Atlantis seemed more precarious than ever, and the trap Odin had laid closed around them with a final, resounding echo.