The room was filling. One by one, the 11 council members entered, some alone, others in pairs, their conversations blending into a low hum that resonated off the high, ornate ceiling. The air was charged with anticipation, a stark contrast to the gnawing tension that gripped Bergelmir. He had spent a sleepless night poring over Aryabhata’s papers, the ones he’d found discarded in the corridor the previous morning. The thoughts stirred by those documents had unsettled him deeply, a feeling he couldn’t recall experiencing in recent memory. The relaxed chatter of the other council members only heightened his disquiet.
*How can they be so calm after Aryabhata’s warning about a cataclysm that could obliterate our city?* Bergelmir’s mind churned with frustration, an internal battle between the rational part of him that demanded evidence and the intuitive part that screamed for vigilance.
The second council meeting was about to begin. Finally, Odin entered the chamber, his presence drawing a few respectful nods. Only a handful of members were yet to arrive, signaling that none would dare miss this session. Even those skeptical of Aryabhata’s warnings held enough respect for him to attend. In Atlantis, decorum was paramount, especially in a society where time stretched infinitely. Disrespect could not be masked for long—in a community of quasi-immortals, every slight would eventually come back to haunt its giver.
*It’s almost ironic,* Bergelmir reflected, watching Odin’s confident stride. *Here we are, an eternal people, and yet we’re so bound by appearances and unwritten rules. We debate while the world may be shifting beneath our feet.*
This societal norm had taken root soon after the power of the crystals bestowed longevity upon the Atlanteans. Bergelmir knew well that aggression rarely solved anything; it only prolonged conflict. Within a century of the city’s founding, their culture had tangibly shifted, civil debates taking the heated conflicts. The council became the bedrock for decisions, and with time no longer a pressing matter, their deliberations grew painstakingly thorough. He recalled the protracted debates that once stretched on endlessly, such as the decision to replace the city’s outer walls with the glistening water channels now synonymous with Atlantis. The memory made him uneasy as he contemplated the monumental task of garnering the council's approval for the Great Observatory.
*How will they ever act swiftly if the danger is real?* The deliberative nature of Atlantean decision-making did not favor Aryabhata’s plea. Bergelmir sighed inwardly. A year’s time was but a blink to the Atlanteans; forging a consensus in that span seemed almost impossible.
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“I can see you didn’t sleep well, cousin,” came Odin’s deep, resonant voice, shattering Bergelmir’s train of thought. Odin’s expression was one of practiced ease, a smile playing on his lips as he approached. His golden hair shone in the morning light, framing sharp, calculating eyes.
*Always so composed,* Bergelmir thought, forcing himself to respond in kind. Odin was adept at reading people; showing weakness would only give him leverage. “Hello, cousin. It’s good to see you.” His voice betrayed a weariness he couldn’t quite mask. *He’s watching me, weighing every word.* “No, it’s nothing,” he added quickly. “Just stayed up working late.” The statement hung in the air as a thin shield, an invitation to drop the subject. But Bergelmir knew Odin too well to think that would be the end of it.
“Don’t try to fool me,” Odin said, his eyes narrowing with an unsettling intensity. “I know you better than anyone in this room. You were probably up on the tower roof, brooding over Aryabhata’s warnings, weren’t you?”
*He always knows,* Bergelmir thought, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He had hoped to keep his concerns private, but Odin’s perceptiveness had always been a double-edged sword. “Yes, I was,” Bergelmir admitted. “I couldn’t shake the unease. The more I think about Aryabhata’s words, the more worried I become.”
Odin’s expression softened slightly, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. *He’s too calm,* Bergelmir noted. *What’s playing out behind that facade?* “I understand, cousin. But you must trust me when I say that I will support you in whatever you decide to do.”
*Support me?* Bergelmir’s suspicion flared. *Why the sudden shift from skepticism to support?* The words felt like a hidden snare, and Bergelmir’s instincts screamed that this change in Odin’s stance was anything but genuine. He feared a trick, a calculated move in a game only Odin seemed to know the rules for.
Bergelmir nodded, the burden of uncertainty weighing heavily on him. Deep down, he had long come to terms with the fact that Odin’s loyalty was complex, shaded by ambition and rivalry. Though Odin’s words offered some comfort, they also carried a hint of something unspoken. Still, Bergelmir allowed himself a moment of solace. *Maybe he truly means it this time.* “Thank you, Odin. I appreciate it, though I’ve yet to decide what path to take.”
*Perfect,* Odin thought, masking his satisfaction with a genial smile. *Stay unsure, cousin. The more uncertain you are, the easier this will be.* His eyes flickered with subtle intent as he spoke. “That’s no problem,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
As the council members took their seats and the air settled into an anticipatory silence, Bergelmir stole one last glance at Odin. The unease in his chest tightened, a warning he couldn’t ignore. And though the meeting had yet to start, Bergelmir realized that this was just the beginning of a deeper game, one that would unravel truths and betrayals neither he nor Atlantis were prepared to face.