On the morning following the tense council meeting, Bergelmir found himself walking the familiar path to Haldor’s office. The corridors of the Great Tower were quiet, bathed in the soft morning light that streamed through the high, arched windows. The steady hum of life in Atlantis felt distant here, almost muted, as though the building itself held its breath.

As he approached Haldor’s office, Bergelmir noticed with surprise that it was empty. A frown creased his brow. Where could he be? This was the time when Haldor would usually be knee-deep in petitions and requests, a sea of paperwork that marked the burden of being the head of the governing council. Bergelmir sighed, the weight of his own years as leader pressing down on him like an old, familiar cloak.

Just as he turned to leave, the door opened, and Haldor stepped in, his expression softening when he saw his father. “Father! It’s been some time since you’ve visited my office,” Haldor said, his voice warm with surprise.

“There has never been a need,” Bergelmir replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You have governed well, son.”

Haldor gestured for him to sit. “Come, let us talk.”

The office, spacious and filled with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, had once been Bergelmir’s private refuge. He remembered days when he would come here to gather his thoughts between council meetings, seeking brief moments of solace. Now, it belonged to his son. The large window at the back let in the morning sun, casting long, golden beams across the room. Bergelmir settled into a chair by the window, the light warming his face.

It has changed so much, he thought as he looked around. The memories of days past, of debates, laughter, and the challenges that had come with building Atlantis, washed over him. The city has been shaped and reshaped by countless hands, but its essence has remained.

He glanced at Haldor, who was busying himself with pouring drinks. The younger man’s calm, steady demeanor filled Bergelmir with pride. He carries himself with a confidence I didn’t have at his age, Bergelmir reflected. The future of Atlantis is safe with him. But even that comforting thought failed to chase away the dark cloud that had settled over him since Aryabhata’s warnings.

“Father,” Haldor said, placing a cup in front of him. “You seem troubled. Did you not sleep well?”

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Bergelmir hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of the cup. The events of the previous night, the hours spent on the rooftop with Aryabhata’s papers, weighed on him. He glanced up, choosing his words carefully. “No, I did not,” he admitted. “I was reading through the documents Aryabhata had left behind.”

Haldor’s expression shifted slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern. “And? What do you make of them?”

Bergelmir looked out the window, the light catching in his eyes. The view of Atlantis, its intricate waterways and gardens, stretched before him. This city, this masterpiece… could it truly be in danger? He took a deep breath. “I feel afraid, son. And that’s not something I say lightly.” The admission felt foreign on his tongue, as though it belonged to someone else.

“Afraid?” Haldor’s brows lifted slightly.

Bergelmir nodded, a hint of steel entering his gaze. “I know it sounds irrational, but something in me says that Aryabhata’s warnings must be heeded.” He paused, the silence filled with the echoes of unspoken fears. “I remember the Elders’ writings. They died so quickly, before we could fully learn from them, and so much of their knowledge was lost. We do not know why they came to this land or from where. All we have are the ‘Knowledge of the Elders,’ texts that have grown more cryptic with time. Even those of us who spoke with them cannot fully comprehend their meanings now.”

They were our fathers and grandfathers, Bergelmir thought, an ache of remembrance stirring in his chest. And yet, their voices feel so distant now.

“Aryabhata has spent his life studying what the rest of us forgot,” he continued aloud. “While we turned our focus inward, building this city, shaping our society, he looked outward, searching the skies and the ancient words for meaning.” His gaze met Haldor’s. “He never stopped admiring the Elders. He never grew complacent.”

Haldor’s expression softened as he listened, but there was a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Father, it’s hard to believe that Atlantis could be in such danger. We have endured so much—even when the earth shakes, our buildings stand unscathed. We have created a paradise that has lasted for millennia.”

“I know,” Bergelmir said, his tone measured. And that is what frightens me most—our certainty. He could see Haldor’s confidence wavering, caught between his father’s unease and his own belief in their city’s invulnerability.

“I have looked through Aryabhata’s charts, his star maps and calculations,” Haldor continued, placing his own thoughts into the mix. “I don’t see the significance in them. The alignments, the changes—they are interesting, yes, but not conclusive.”

Bergelmir’s gaze did not waver. “And yet, even if we look like fools in the end, is that not better than risking everything we have built?”

A silence settled between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves outside and the distant murmur of the city. Haldor nodded slowly. “If you feel so strongly, you must act. I will support you, though I believe Aryabhata may be overstating the threat.” He stood, signaling the end of their conversation. “Shall we go to the council chamber? It is time.”

Bergelmir rose, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. For the sake of Atlantis, I will make them listen.