Standing perilously close to the tumultuous shoreline, Bergelmir felt the sting of saltwater spray against his face. The wind howled, driving foamy waves to crash relentlessly against the rocky landmass, as if nature itself sought to assert its dominance. The sky above was painted a dark, brooding gray, with clouds swirling in ominous patterns that mirrored the turmoil within him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, glistening like pearls, each sob intensifying until his entire body trembled. The emotions he had kept tightly controlled over the past three months now surged forth, overwhelming his defenses much like the relentless waves battering the shore.
How did it come to this? The question burned in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. He had led armies, steered his people through crises, and stood firm against forces that would have shattered lesser men. But now, in the wake of the great cataclysm, all that strength felt like an illusion.
The solitude weighed heavily upon him, and guilt gnawed at his conscience. His thoughts repeatedly returned to the final image of his beloved son—the youth’s vibrant eyes, his vigor, his unwavering concern for their people. Haldor had always been courageous, a beacon of hope and strength, the future that Atlantis had pinned its dreams upon. Now, that future had been stolen, swept away by a force beyond understanding. A crushing pain settled in Bergelmir’s heart, as if a massive stone pressed upon it. Tears flowed freely, a deluge long held at bay. The wind masked his anguished cries, screams he could no longer suppress. If only I had tried harder. If only I had seen the signs. The regret clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting. I should have listened to Aryabhata sooner. I should have acted.
The memories came unbidden, sharp as shards of glass: Haldor’s determined smile as he rallied the defenders when the waters first began to rise; his last words, spoken with conviction, “Father, protect them. Lead them.” Those words echoed now, a haunting reminder of the duty that remained. The pent-up emotions demanded their due, having been repressed for far too long.
Never before had Bergelmir felt such profound sadness and devastation, such weakness and powerlessness. This rare moment of vulnerability allowed him to confront his feelings and grieve for the loved ones he had lost. It was not a side he could reveal to the other survivors. As their leader, it was his duty to rebuild what remained of Atlantis and forge a new beginning. They look to me for hope, for strength. If I falter, they will fall with me. His people had lost everything—their homes, their friends, their history—but most of all, they had lost hope. They stood on the brink of surrender, persevering solely because of his leadership. He provided them with hope, yet they remained unaware of the turmoil within him. His helplessness weighed heavily, but acknowledging it would betray the hopes of his son and all who had perished.
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Haldor, I must not fail them now. I will carry your wish forward. I will protect them.
They had only recently made landfall after months at sea, the barren land just now becoming visible. It was jagged and unfriendly, a stark contrast to the grandeur of Atlantis—a city that had glistened with crystal spires and streets that shimmered with life. The sea voyage had been grueling; the ocean was unforgiving, and the survivors’ numbers had dwindled further as sickness and hunger claimed more lives. Their arrival here, to this unyielding strip of land, felt as much a defeat as a reprieve.
This land will be our proving ground, Bergelmir thought, steeling himself. If we are to survive, I must be stronger than ever.
As the sun rose, heralding a new dawn, Bergelmir wiped his face and slowly stood. It was time to return to the survivors’ camp. They were not yet safe; the land was desolate, and food had to be rationed. Their survival depended on his leadership. He bid farewell to his emotions, steeling himself. He had to look forward, and this moment of release was all he could afford.
Birds that had survived the cataclysm now struggled to share this place with the newcomers. Hidden beneath his garments, Bergelmir felt the weight of the Prime Crystal, its faint warmth a reminder of both hope and burden. Its power had been a symbol of prosperity, but now, it represented the last vestige of a shattered legacy. The waters were receding, but it would take time for them to return to pre-cataclysm levels. Much work lay ahead. There would be time for grieving later; for now, survival took precedence. As he crossed the rugged terrain back to the camp, Bergelmir thought of the rooftop view and his beloved city—the great city of Atlantis, once bustling with life, where he had experienced unparalleled joy among his people. He longed for those halcyon days, reflecting soberly as he navigated the rough landscape.