Odin rose deliberately from his seat, the shimmering fabric of his robes catching the soft glow of the overhead crystals. The council chamber buzzed with muted conversation as its members dispersed in clusters, their discussions echoing faintly against the marble walls. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, avoiding even the periphery of Bergelmir’s piercing eyes. The betrayal was now laid bare, and Odin knew there was no pretense left to uphold. Bergelmir would recognize the shift in allegiance, and any confrontation now could lead to unpredictability—possibly unraveling everything Odin had so carefully orchestrated.

He knows. He knows everything. The thought struck like a whip, spurring his steps forward. I’ve burned the bridge, and he’ll see me for what I am now. But it can’t be undone. If I remain composed, no one will listen to him. Let him call me a traitor in his heart; the others don’t need to hear it yet. Odin’s lips pressed into a firm line as he kept his strides calm, his movements measured. He exited the chamber with the grace of a man who had nothing to prove, though his shoulders tightened with the effort it took to contain the storm of emotion roiling within him.

The tremors in his hands, which had plagued him earlier, had eased. Small mercies, he thought, flexing his fingers briefly at his side as he walked. Earlier in the day, his body had betrayed the chaos beneath his façade. The mixture of rage, envy, and even the faint sting of fear that Bergelmir’s influence still held sway had threatened to unmoor him. But now, with the council session concluded and his immediate goals achieved, clarity returned. Control is mine again. It always must be.

Still, Bergelmir’s gaze lingered like a physical weight on his back. Odin could feel its intensity even as he left the chamber. He’s watching me leave, debating whether to confront me here, in front of them all. The thought tightened his chest. If he does… what then? A confrontation now would be disastrous, unpredictable. He could already imagine Bergelmir’s voice ringing out, cutting through the council’s quiet with accusations Odin wasn’t ready to counter.

Odin gritted his teeth momentarily, forcing himself to release the tension. No, he won’t risk such a scene—not yet. But it doesn’t matter. I’m already ahead. Outwardly composed, he strode with purpose, each step measured. Inwardly, his thoughts churned, the cold knot of anxiety gnawing at his resolve. He needed distance—now.

Outside the chamber, the hum of conversations thinned as council members moved into smaller groups. Odin’s sharp eyes scanned the room, quickly locating Haldor standing near a tall window, deep in discussion with Lyras. Haldor’s posture was as neutral as his position demanded, but Odin caught the faint tension in his nephew’s shoulders. Even he feels the weight of today’s meeting, Odin noted, a sliver of satisfaction threading through his thoughts. Lyras, meanwhile, gestured animatedly as he spoke, his opportunistic nature evident in every movement. Good. They’ll be easier to sway together.

Odin adjusted his stride, his movements deliberately unassuming as he approached. He nodded briefly at a departing council member, offering a faint smile, before stepping closer to the pair.

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“Haldor, Lyras,” he greeted them warmly, his tone smooth and unassuming. “May I interrupt for a moment?”

Haldor turned, his expression calm but guarded. “Uncle,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Of course.”

Lyras mirrored the gesture, though his smile carried a sharper edge. “Always, Odin. How can we assist?”

Odin clasped his hands before him, projecting an air of contemplation. “It’s not assistance I seek, but perspective. Today’s session—while fruitful—was also... troubling. I wanted to hear your thoughts, Haldor, as council head. You managed the discussion with admirable impartiality.”

Haldor’s expression tightened slightly, but he offered a measured response. “It is my duty to ensure all voices are heard, Uncle. The council must deliberate without bias, and as head, I must remain neutral.”

Good. He’s trying to convince himself as much as me.

Lyras chimed in with a nod. “Haldor’s neutrality is vital, especially in moments like these. Atlantis needs a leader who prioritizes stability over personal attachments.”

Perfect. Lyras is already doing the work for me. Odin allowed their words to settle before continuing, his voice softening just enough to suggest concern. “Precisely. Neutrality is the anchor of our society. Bergelmir’s passion, while admirable, can sometimes cloud his judgment. His connection to Aryabhata, though rooted in loyalty, may hinder his ability to see the larger picture.”

Haldor’s jaw tightened subtly, his gaze flickering away briefly. There it is. The hint of doubt. Push it further.

“You, however, are not burdened by such ties. Your duty is to Atlantis as a whole. Your impartiality is what holds us together.”

“My father has always acted in the city’s best interest,” Haldor replied, his voice steady but defensive. “His dedication is unwavering.”

“And no one doubts that,” Odin said quickly, his tone gentle, almost conciliatory. “But even the most dedicated leaders can lose perspective. Aryabhata’s warnings… they are unsettling. Acting on such uncertainties risks dividing the council and frightening the people.”

Lyras leaned in, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. “Haldor, Odin raises a critical point. Diverting resources to such speculative endeavors would send the wrong message. The upcoming 25-millennium celebration is a symbol of our unity and resilience. Do we risk jeopardizing that for something so... intangible?”

Haldor exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to the window. He’s weighing it. Good. Odin seized the moment, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “You must think beyond family, Haldor. Neutrality is not a betrayal—it is the highest form of duty. Atlantis depends on you.”

Haldor’s reflection stared back at him in the glass, a vision of calm that concealed the storm within. After a long pause, he nodded. “I understand, Uncle. My role is to preserve the council’s unity, above all else.”

There. He’s mine—for now.

Odin placed a reassuring hand on Haldor’s shoulder, his grip firm. “That is all I could ask for, nephew. Atlantis is fortunate to have you at its helm.”

As Haldor turned back to his conversation with Lyras, Odin stepped away. His faint smile faded, replaced by cold resolve. Haldor is positioned. Lyras will keep pushing him further. Now, Aryabhata…

But before he could leave, a soft voice cut through the fading hum of conversation.

“Leaving so soon, Odin?”

He turned sharply to see Ilyra, half-shadowed by the dim light of the crystal sconces. Her expression was calm but sharp, her dark eyes holding an edge that made Odin’s mind race. What is her angle now?