Bergelmir walked briskly through the bustling streets of Atlantis, his footsteps echoing faintly against the smooth, polished marble roads. The city was alive with its usual rhythm of quiet prosperity—couples laughing, artisans busy at their craft, and musicians filling the air with soft melodies. The intricate network of wide avenues and lush gardens, interspersed with gleaming white buildings, epitomized the harmony that Atlantis had achieved over millennia. The sunlight reflected off the waterways, painting shimmering patterns onto the nearby walls, creating a living mosaic of light.

Yet, Bergelmir’s heart was not in sync with the peace around him. His thoughts circled back to Odin, his cousin and childhood friend, whose growing envy had become a dangerous undercurrent threatening the city. Odin had openly opposed Aryabhata’s warnings in the council, cutting deeply into Bergelmir’s resolve. The memory of the council chamber still lingered, its echoes heavy with dismissal and derision.

How could one betray the city they claim to love? The question gnawed at him as he continued his walk, each step burdened with frustration.

The streets of Atlantis, so vibrant and alive, seemed to mock his inner turmoil. Bergelmir paused briefly, allowing his gaze to sweep across the city he cherished. The gentle hum of Atlantean life unfolded before him—people strolling leisurely, others napping beneath the shade of towering trees, their faces serene and carefree. It struck him how oblivious they all seemed to Aryabhata’s warnings, how firmly they clung to the illusion of eternity.

No wonder no one listens. Even I, looking at this perfection, struggle to see it as fragile. His jaw tightened.

Yet Aryabhata sees what we cannot. I have no choice but to trust him.

Reaching into his tunic, Bergelmir retrieved Aryabhata’s letter, its parchment worn from repeated handling. He unfolded it, the familiar words anchoring his restless thoughts:

Dear Bergelmir,

We need to prepare for what is coming. I expect you will take no time and follow me to the Great Observatory. I do not feel safe here and will return to my work. It is imperative that you meet me there. We have important matters to discuss.

Aryabhata

The urgency of the letter mirrored the unease that had settled in Bergelmir’s chest. "I do not feel safe here." Those words resonated with him, underscoring how dire the situation had become. Folding the letter carefully, he tucked it away as a sense of resolve washed over him. He would follow Aryabhata to the Observatory. If the council wouldn’t act, then he would find another way to protect the city he had loved and nurtured for millennia.

The streets transitioned to one of Atlantis’s iconic bridges—a masterpiece of artistry and engineering. The pure white structure gleamed in the sunlight, its intricate carvings resembling flowing water frozen in stone. Beneath it, the canals sparkled, their gentle currents carrying boats filled with Atlanteans who waved and smiled at one another. Everything about Atlantis radiated calm and permanence.

This is why no one takes Aryabhata seriously. This city feels eternal, untouchable. Even I’m guilty of it at times.

He shook his head, banishing the thought as he crossed the bridge. Trusting Aryabhata’s instincts had never failed him before. The Great Observatory awaited, and with it, perhaps answers.

As he left the bustling heart of the city behind, the streets gave way to open fields. Here, the power of the crystals still lingered, and the farmlands flourished. Atlanteans tended crops and livestock with the care of artisans, their work devoid of urgency. In this timeless society, even farming had become an art form perfected over millennia. Bergelmir watched as farmers moved deliberately, their actions almost meditative. There were no deadlines, no crises. Every task was planned to such precision that surprises had ceased to exist.

This is why we live so long. Not just the crystals, but this—this harmony, this purpose. Without it, life would become a prison. He frowned, a shadow passing over his face.

But can it last? If Aryabhata is right, this perfection could vanish in an instant.

Bergelmir’s path began to incline as he approached the western plateau. Rising like a sentinel, it loomed over Atlantis, stark against the horizon. The Great Observatory lay at its peak, two days’ travel away. The road wound upward in lazy curves, lined with resting houses built for travelers. Though these were rarely used now, their elegance reflected the Atlanteans’ unyielding dedication to beauty.

The Observatory stood as a testament to Aryabhata’s vision and Bergelmir’s resolve. Convincing the council to approve its construction had been one of the greatest challenges of his life. He had spent years navigating opposition, countering those who dismissed Aryabhata’s warnings as fearmongering.

How many nights did we debate its necessity? The thought stung, but the sight of the Observatory filled him with quiet pride.

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If Aryabhata is right, then all those sacrifices were worth it.

He spent the night in one such shelter, its design simple yet serene. Alone, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts churning.

What am I walking into? Aryabhata, why do you insist on staying at the Observatory? What do you fear—and what do you hope to find?

Sleep came fitfully, the weight of his unanswered questions pressing heavily against him. He rose at dawn, the morning air cool and crisp. As he ascended further, he turned to look back at Atlantis. The city shimmered in the distance, its waterways forming concentric rings of light, reflecting the rising sun like a crown of fire.

Sometimes, it takes distance to truly see what you have. And to understand what you stand to lose. The thought settled uneasily within him.

Turning away, Bergelmir resumed his climb. By late afternoon, the Great Observatory finally came into view. Unlike the gleaming elegance of Atlantis, the Observatory was dark and foreboding.

By late afternoon, the Great Observatory finally came into view, standing stark and solitary against the barren plateau. Unlike the gleaming perfection of Atlantis, the Observatory was unassuming yet deeply unsettling. Its circular structure rose steadily from the ground, its pale stone walls weathered by the wind. Atop it, a massive domed roof shimmered faintly in the waning sunlight, housing the instruments Aryabhata had so carefully designed. Surrounding the building, the dry, cracked earth stretched endlessly, its lifeless expanse amplifying the Observatory’s isolation.

It felt misplaced, a creation of reason and forewarning amidst a world of harmony and denial. Bergelmir stopped and stared, the sight pulling at something deep within him.

This place… it was my triumph. Yet, it’s also the source of Aryabhata’s fear. Did we build a safeguard—or a herald of doom?

His hand gripped the satchel at his side as he took a step closer. The Observatory seemed to absorb the light around it, casting faint, elongated shadows over the dry ground. Even the air here felt different—still, heavy, as if laden with the weight of the questions it sought to answer.

It’s eerie, Bergelmir thought, his chest tightening. And yet, it’s exactly what we needed—a monument to vigilance. If only they had listened when we built it.

The closer he came, the more details emerged: intricate carvings along the entrance, geometric patterns etched into the stone, meant to reflect Aryabhata’s meticulous mind. Above the doorway, a simple inscription stood out, faintly visible in the dimming light:

“To See Beyond.”

Bergelmir’s fingers brushed against the inscription as he reached the doors. The smooth surface of the stone was cold beneath his touch.

Was it worth it? The question surfaced unbidden, raw and demanding.

To fight so hard for something they didn’t want?

He pushed against the heavy double doors, their mechanism groaning in protest as they swung open. A wave of cool air brushed against him, carrying with it the faint scent of metal and stone. Shadows danced along the high walls, flickering from the pale blue glow of the crystals embedded in the ceilings and along the corridors. Their dim light illuminated the hallway ahead, casting a surreal, dreamlike quality to the space.

Bergelmir’s boots echoed against the stone floor as he stepped inside. The sound was swallowed quickly by the stillness of the Observatory. He stood there for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior, before moving deeper into the corridor.

Then, from somewhere within the Observatory, a familiar voice broke the silence, startling him. “Bergelmir! You’ve come.”

Aryabhata’s voice, tinged with relief and excitement, rang out, growing louder as its owner approached. Bergelmir’s heart lifted slightly, though the weight of his thoughts remained. As Aryabhata emerged from the shadows of an adjacent corridor, his figure became clear—a wiry man with sharp eyes that seemed to hold an entire world’s worth of worry.

“Bergelmir,” Aryabhata repeated, his tone more eager now. He extended a hand, his movements brisk yet controlled. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d been delayed.”

Bergelmir clasped his friend’s hand, feeling the tension radiating from Aryabhata. “No delay,” he replied, his voice steady. “But I must admit, this place… it feels heavier than I expected.”

Aryabhata nodded, his expression grave. “It always does. That’s why we built it here—away from the city, away from its distractions. Here, the truth is unavoidable.”

Bergelmir’s eyes scanned the corridor, its walls adorned with crystalline panels and faint etchings of stars and constellations. The Observatory had been designed to see beyond the limits of the city’s perfection, but now it seemed to loom with its own foreboding presence.

“Come,” Aryabhata urged, turning on his heel. “There’s much to show you, and little time to waste.”

Bergelmir followed, his steps echoing alongside Aryabhata’s. The Observatory’s labyrinthine halls seemed to stretch endlessly, the faint glow of the crystals casting shifting shadows as they moved deeper into its depths. The answers they sought lay somewhere within, but so too did the weight of a truth Bergelmir wasn’t sure Atlantis was ready to face.

Straightening, Bergelmir pressed forward, leaving the last waterway behind as he exited the city. The streets gave way to open fields where the farmlands stretched into the distance. Here, Atlanteans tended crops and livestock, the only true "work" the city required. Despite their long lives, farmers carried out their duties with care and diligence, guided by millennia of perfected routines. Their unhurried lives epitomized the timelessness of Atlantis.

The council’s dismissal of Aryabhata’s warning gnawed at Bergelmir. He couldn’t ignore the urgency in his friend’s letter, nor the sense of dread it stirred within him.

They’d rather focus on celebrations, he thought with disdain.

The 25-millennial festival, marking Atlantis’s founding, consumed the council’s attention. For some, like Ilyra, who chaired the event commission, it was an opportunity to solidify influence. For others, it was a welcome distraction from the harsh reality Aryabhata had laid bare.

He turned a corner onto a smaller avenue where the bustling crowds thinned, replaced by the soothing sound of flowing water. The city’s lack of walls stood out to him. Once, generations ago, Atlantis had been surrounded by protective barriers, but those had been dismantled when the Atlanteans deemed them unnecessary. No external threats existed; the wild animals had long retreated, and no other humans lived outside Atlantis. The only danger, if it existed, was within.