The council chamber was filled to capacity, the last few members filtering in, their robes sweeping over the polished stone as they took their seats. The room thrummed with low murmurs, an undercurrent of anticipation in the air. Bergelmir’s eyes scanned the gathering, his thoughts weighted by the sleepless night spent studying Aryabhata’s papers. A nagging unease gnawed at him, intensified by the casual demeanor of his peers.

How can they be so indifferent after Aryabhata’s warning? he wondered, his jaw tightening.

The grand doors opened, silencing the room as Aryabhata entered. His presence alone was enough to draw every gaze. With measured steps, he walked to the center, the hem of his deep blue robes brushing the floor. The thin lines on his face seemed more pronounced today, a testament to the strain of sleepless nights spent in study. His dark eyes, usually filled with an unyielding fire, were burdened with a profound seriousness.

“Esteemed council members,” Aryabhata began, his voice resonating with the calm authority of one who had guided Atlantis through many ages. “Today, I share not just a story, but a warning preserved by our ancestors—the tale of Nahrak.

The council members exchanged puzzled glances. Bergelmir shifted in his chair, sifting through memories to recall what he knew of Nahrak. The name sparked recognition, yet the details eluded him.

Aryabhata took a deep breath, then began to recite:

THE TALE OF NAHRAK

When spring’s first light meets heaven’s dome,

The Serpent’s Eye with Sun entwines,

And Vega crowns the northern home,

A cycle ends, a doom aligns.

When planets three in east do roam—

A decade’s count to wrath aligns.

The ancient beast will rise once more,

From earth’s deep scars to stalk the skies,

Its shadow swift across the shore,

Its roar alone, our final cries.

The prideful ones with sword and shield

Believed their might could tame the beast,

But Nahrak’s power claimed the field,

Their hopes consumed, their battles ceased.

Yet one stood back with humble mind,

Atlas, wise and full of sway,

Behind strong walls, he sought to bind

Those who chose life, not death, that day.

When three bright halos crown the Sun,

In skies of red and twilight hue,

The beast’s swift journey has begun,

Its fiery trail will soon break through.

As Serpent’s Eye begins to fade,

And comet’s fire will light the deep,

Fields lay waste, the skies are grayed,

But those behind the walls shall keep.

Teach your children, guard the lore,

For Nahrak’s wrath returns once more,

Heed the signs, prepare in time,

When distant stars in warning chime.

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When three align, and halos blaze,

The comet nears, with blinding rays,

For humble hearts the walls will stand,

While those who challenge lose the land.

Silence followed Aryabhata’s recitation, heavy and impenetrable. The council sat motionless, their expressions a mixture of intrigue and disbelief.

Bergelmir leaned forward, as Aryabhata met his gaze with eyes that spoke of unsaid truths. The weight of the verse, layered with symbolism and warnings, bore down on him.

Can it be true? Is the past repeating itself? Bergelmir’s mind raced, struggling to make sense of the poem’s cryptic message and the urgency with which Aryabhata delivered it.

“Aryabhata, if what you say is true...” Bergelmir spoke with the weight of ancient warnings pressing upon him, “then we may already be out of time.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed, a subtle twitch betraying his thoughts. Out of time? Absurd. This is nothing but an elaborate tale meant to stoke fear. Yet, he noted the way the council shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between Aryabhata and Bergelmir. The tension was palpable, and it irked him.

This is exactly the kind of spectacle Aryabhata relishes. But I won’t let him sway them so easily. Odin’s mind churned with calculations, considering how to steer the discussion back under his influence.

The silence stretched on, until Simeon, one of the elder council members known for his meticulous and calculating nature, cleared his throat. A man of considerable wisdom with a mane of black hair and a sharp, aquiline nose, Simeon was respected for his adherence to logic and precision. “Aryabhata, do you have any evidence beyond this ancient verse? Any astronomical data or findings from your observatory?”

Aryabhata nodded gravely. “I have been studying the stars for ages, and recently, I have observed alignments that mirror those described in the verse. The Serpent’s Eye, the triad of planets moving eastward—these are not mere coincidences.”

Bergelmir felt a chill run down his spine. The pieces are falling into place. But will they believe it? He glanced at Odin, whose expression remained unreadable, but he knew his cousin too well. Odin was planning, maneuvering even now.

If Odin resists this, it could fracture the council’s unity. Bergelmir’s thoughts weighed heavily as he prepared himself for what would come next.

And as the room began to murmur once more, Aryabhata’s voice cut through like a blade. “I do not expect you to accept this without question. But remember: hesitation cost our forebears everything. Let it not cost us the same.”

Simeon nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he took in Aryabhata’s words. “Perhaps it is precisely our complacency that makes us vulnerable. We have grown comfortable, and the warnings of the past fade too easily from memory. We cannot afford to dismiss this.”

The room shifted, murmurs replaced by an air of serious contemplation. Bergelmir could feel it—the tide was turning, if only slightly, in their favor. He met Aryabhata’s eyes, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Odin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, fury simmering beneath his composed exterior.

They’re starting to listen. I can’t let this continue, Odin thought, calculating how to derail the growing support.

Bergelmir took the moment to speak, his voice steady. “Council members, we must remember who Aryabhata is—a man whose dedication to understanding our world and its mysteries has never wavered. He has never misled us before. It would be wise to give heed to his findings.”

A few heads nodded, the room seeming to tilt ever so slightly toward belief.

I must act before this gains momentum, Odin resolved, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

As the debate carried on, Bergelmir felt a glimmer of hope. The council’s attention was shifting, the balance teetering on the edge of action. But in the shadow of hope, he sensed the silent storm gathering behind Odin’s eyes.

The fate of Atlantis hung in the balance, and the real battle was just beginning.