Even for Bergelmir, understanding what he had overheard in the corridor proved difficult. A gnawing unease gripped him, making him restless and drawing him out into the night. The chill breeze on the Great Tower’s rooftop did little to calm the disquiet in his mind. From this high vantage point, Atlantis stretched out beneath him, a marvel of grand arches, domed structures, and sweeping bridges that connected the city’s concentric districts. The waterways, fed by the life-preserving crystals embedded deep within the earth, shimmered as if imbued with starlight. The amphitheaters, marketplaces, and grand halls—all were illuminated by the soft glow of crystalline lanterns, casting ethereal reflections that danced on the water’s surface. It was a breathtaking sight, a testament to millennia of unwavering dedication and vision.

Yet even this majestic view failed to soothe Bergelmir’s troubled thoughts. Why had Aryabhata’s words unsettled him so deeply? The fragments of the conversation replayed endlessly in his mind, pulling at his sense of reason. It was more than just Aryabhata’s warning—it was Odin’s cold, almost calculated dismissal that disturbed him. There had been something in Odin’s eyes, a glint of something more than mere skepticism. Was it contempt? Or something deeper?

What game are you playing, cousin? Bergelmir thought, his brows knitting together as he tried to read between the lines of Odin’s reaction. The man had always been shrewd, a master of political maneuvering, but this felt different. It felt personal.

His mind wandered to the council meeting earlier that day, where his son Haldor had presided over the proceedings with a quiet authority that still amazed him. The boy—though he could hardly call him that anymore—had grown into a leader that would have made the Elders proud. Watching Haldor navigate the tensions that arose during Aryabhata's presentation, maintaining order while giving every voice its due consideration, Bergelmir had felt a surge of paternal pride tinged with melancholy.

He’s so much like I was, he reflected, with a wistful smile. But wiser, more measured. How had so many thousands of years passed so quickly?

He recalled Aryabhata’s voice, thick with urgency, speaking of a danger that loomed over Atlantis. Bergelmir’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the implications. The “Knowledge of the Elders”—the writings left by the ancestors who first laid claim to this land—came to mind. These texts were old, even by his standards, ancient relics that spoke in riddles and veiled warnings. He had read them once, as a young man filled with curiosity, but even then, their cryptic nature made them hard to grasp. Time had only dulled those memories.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Could it be that Aryabhata has found what we all missed? That these warnings are not just tales, but truths waiting to resurface?

Now, centuries later, the books had faded from the public consciousness. Few in Atlantis remembered their existence, and even fewer bothered to delve into their obscurities. Yet Aryabhata, the Sage of Atlantis, had always been different. His relentless pursuit of hidden truths had led him to those forgotten corners of the grand library—the shadowed alcoves where the Elders’ writings lay, gathering dust. Everyone in the city knew of Aryabhata’s dedication, but most regarded it with a mix of reverence and skepticism. Yet dismissing him had never been wise.

Bergelmir shifted, pulling a folded set of papers from his inner pocket. The documents were crumpled but intact, the very ones Aryabhata had prepared for the council that day. Aryabhata had not attended that meeting, and Bergelmir had come across the papers by sheer chance, scattered and forgotten in the corridor after Odin’s confrontation.

“Whatever was so crucial that Aryabhata felt compelled to call for a full council meeting must be in here,” Bergelmir murmured, his voice barely audible against the wind.

He unfolded the pages and studied them under the moon’s pale light. Charts, diagrams, annotations in Aryabhata’s meticulous hand—each line told a story that resonated with the ancient prophecies. The stars, the alignments, the warnings—it all began to align with what he vaguely remembered from the “Knowledge of the Elders.” A shiver coursed through him, not from the cold but from realization.

Am I seeing this clearly? Could it be true—could the Elders’ warnings be more than just cryptic folklore?

You’ve been here before, old friend, doubting the whispers of the past, he reminded himself. But what if this time, the whispers are real?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the growing sense of foreboding. The council meeting earlier that day had been tense enough, but witnessing Aryabhata plead for Odin’s support only to be met with cold dismissal had added a new layer of urgency. Odin’s behavior gnawed at him, raising questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Had there been something more behind Odin’s words, some hidden motivation veiled beneath his authoritative tone?

What are you hiding, cousin?

Bergelmir turned back to the city below, the familiar sight of its interconnected structures and luminous channels offering little comfort. The people of Atlantis, with their unaging faces and serene lives, were oblivious to the storm that could be gathering just beyond their sight.

They trust me, he thought, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily on him. They look to me to safeguard their world, but what if I’m wrong? What if Aryabhata’s warnings are true, and we do nothing?

The silence of the night seemed to echo his doubts. He folded the papers and tucked them away, determination replacing hesitation.

Tomorrow, I will speak. If Aryabhata cannot make them see, then I must try. For the sake of Atlantis, I cannot remain silent any longer.