Ilyria lounged on the velvet couch, her arms draped languidly behind the backrest, a picture of effortless grace. Her black dress shimmered faintly in the dim, amber light of Odin’s chambers, hugging her form with an elegance that seemed almost regal. Her emerald eyes gleamed with calculated sharpness, glinting as they caught the flicker of crystal sconces along the walls. Across from her, Odin sat stiffly in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests with a tension that betrayed his meticulously constructed facade of calm.

  Ilyria’s presence here was no casual visit. Odin knew this all too well. Her sudden arrival signified purpose, and her purpose often carried a labyrinth of hidden intentions. He studied her closely, his mind churning. What was her angle? What did she want from him? Was she here to sabotage his plans, to needle her way into his affairs with her characteristic guile? Or was she playing a longer, more convoluted game, one whose edges he couldn’t yet discern? Women as old and cunning as Ilyria were not to be underestimated. In many ways, she was more dangerous to him than Bergelmir. With Bergelmir, there was clarity: betrayal had drawn a line in the sand. But with Ilyria, the line was always shifting.

  His thoughts turned, as they often did, to Bergelmir. The man who had once been his closest ally was now a lingering thorn, a symbol of the very legacy Odin sought to dismantle. Bergelmir had avoided direct confrontation since the second council meeting, a move that suited Odin perfectly. A clash now would upset the delicate equilibrium he had so carefully constructed. After all, he had worked tirelessly to weaken Bergelmir’s position, deftly manipulating the council’s opinions in the aftermath of Aryabhata’s dire warning.

  Poor, naive Aryabhata. Odin almost pitied the man. Almost. Aryabhata’s idealism had made him believe that the council would leap to their feet and rally to his cause at the mere mention of danger. He had thought his prophecy—the dire prediction of an impending catastrophe—would stir Atlantis to action. But Aryabhata had underestimated the political dynamics of the city. He had failed to realize that the council’s decisions were not driven by noble ideals but by influence, leverage, and self-interest. His sincerity, while admirable, was a weakness Odin had exploited.

  Still, Odin couldn’t ignore the danger Aryabhata posed. With Bergelmir’s support, the man could have swayed the council, potentially rallying them to take action. And if Bergelmir had succeeded, his legacy as the savior of Atlantis would have been cemented, leaving Odin forever overshadowed. The thought of it ignited a familiar rage, a heat that burned beneath his composed exterior.

  Farman’s family tree. Odin clenched his fists at the thought. Bergelmir’s lineage, always trusted, always revered. Bergelmir, the charismatic, level-headed leader who had garnered the respect of all Atlanteans after the passing of the last of the Elders. Bergelmir, who had been tasked with leading the fledgling council during Atlantis’s early days. That role should have been Odin’s. He was older, more experienced. Yet the last Elders had chosen Bergelmir. And why?

  The memory rose unbidden, as it often did. The incident in the mines. The damned, cursed event that had changed everything.

  Odin’s jaw tightened as the memory clawed at him. That infernal moment, the discovery of the ancient entity beneath the earth. The malevolent presence they had stumbled upon should never have been unearthed. It was a shadow that still lingered over them all. And it had shaped their fates irrevocably. Bergelmir had emerged from the incident as a figure of strength, a leader who carried the trust of the council. Odin, by contrast, had been pushed aside. The Elders might have passed, but the shadow of the entity had tainted his aspirations.

  If it weren’t for that cursed encounter, I would have ruled Atlantis,

  Odin thought bitterly.

  There would be no council, no rival to my authority. I would have been king.

  He forced the thought away, focusing instead on the woman sitting before him. Ilyria’s eyes were watching him, calm and probing. Her expression was unreadable, but he knew better than to take her at face value. She was as much a predator as he was, and predators never revealed their full hand.

  Her voice broke the silence, smooth and cordial. “Odin, it is a pleasure to see you,” she said. “When was the last time I set foot in your home?”

  Odin forced a smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Or perhaps it is the first time. Time seems to hold little meaning for us. The Eldest of Atlantis live so long that memories twist and blur.”

  Ilyria’s emerald eyes glinted with amusement. “Memories do take on lives of their own, don’t they? Some slip away, while others resurface unwittingly, unbidden. I wonder, Odin, do you find that to be true for yourself?”

  Her gaze flicked briefly to his hands, which had tightened into fists on the armrests. Odin adjusted himself in his seat, forcing a calm demeanor. “Memories may play tricks on some of us, Ilyria. But I have always found it imperative to maintain stability, to keep my mind clear.” He leaned forward slightly, his smile sharpening. “Surely you, of all people, would understand the value of a steady facade.”

  She smiled back, but there was a subtle challenge in her expression. “Indeed, Odin. A steady facade can mask many things. But even the strongest mask can crack, given the right pressure.”

  The air between them grew heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Odin decided to cut through her games.

  “Ilyria,” he said firmly, “why are you here? Let’s not pretend this visit is anything but business. What do you want?”

  Her smile deepened as she leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You have been busy, my old friend,” she said. “Gathering support against Bergelmir, aligning with Lyras, and even leaking Aryabhata’s doomsday predictions to the public. You have laid the groundwork for something ambitious.”

  Odin’s eyes narrowed. “And who told you that?”

  Her response was calm, almost dismissive. “Your reaction just confirmed it, Odin.”

  He flushed, realizing he had played into her hands. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair, forcing his expression into one of cold calculation.

  “You have my attention, Ilyria,” he said. “What do you suggest?”

  She straightened, her tone growing sharper, more serious. “A direct attack against Bergelmir will fail. The people love him. The council respects him. Even with your cunning, a direct confrontation is a gamble you cannot afford. A fifty-fifty chance at best. Are you prepared to risk everything on a coin toss?”

  Odin’s jaw tightened as her words sank in.

  Could I lose?

  His insecurities gnawed at the edges of his confidence, stirring old memories.

  Damn this woman for throwing me off balance.

  The weight of not being chosen as the next leader hung heavily in Odin’s thoughts, a bitterness he could never entirely purge. He forced his focus back to Ilyria, whose poised demeanor spoke volumes. She waited for his response, her expression calm, as though she already knew how he would react. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

  “You’ve planted seeds of doubt, Ilyria,” Odin finally said, his voice low and measured. “And now you’ll tell me how you propose to water them.”

  A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face, vanishing as quickly as it came. She leaned forward, clasping her hands loosely in her lap. “Aryabhata is your target,” she said simply. “Not Bergelmir. Not yet.”

  Odin raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as her words piqued his curiosity. “Aryabhata,” he repeated. “The Wise Sage. The relic who clings to the Elders’ writings as though they hold all the answers. Why him?”

  Ilyria’s emerald eyes gleamed. “Because Aryabhata’s warnings are the foundation of Bergelmir’s current endeavor. The tower on the hill? It exists only because Aryabhata whispered of doom. Remove Aryabhata’s credibility, and you collapse the very premise of Bergelmir’s actions.”

  She paused, letting her words sink in. Odin’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair, a subtle sign of his mounting interest.

  “Without Aryabhata,” she continued, “Bergelmir becomes a man chasing ghosts. A leader wasting resources on a folly built on paranoia. The people will see it. The council will see it. And when they do, Bergelmir’s spotless reputation will crumble. He will stand alone, vulnerable, his foundation turned to sand.”

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  Odin’s lips curled into a thin smile, though his eyes remained calculating. “And how, exactly, do you propose we dismantle Aryabhata’s credibility? The council humors him, yes, but they still respect his wisdom.”

  “They respect his reputation,” Ilyria corrected. “Not the man himself. And reputation, Odin, is a fragile thing. You’ve already begun the process by leaking his warnings to the public. Let that warning fester. Frame it as fearmongering, the desperate ramblings of an old man clinging to relevance. When Aryabhata’s credibility collapses, so too will the tower of trust Bergelmir has built on it.”

  Her words were precise, surgical. Odin couldn’t deny the elegance of her strategy. It was almost too perfect, and that made him wary. “And what, Ilyria, do you gain from all this?” he asked, leaning forward, his tone sharp. “Why involve yourself in my schemes?”

  Her smile deepened, though it did not reach her eyes. “The Great Observatory,” she said. “Aryabhata has held its reins for far too long. His obsession with the Books of the Elders blinds him to the needs of Atlantis today. Under my leadership, the Observatory would become more than a relic. It would be a beacon for our future.”

  Odin’s gaze narrowed. “And you think I’ll simply hand it to you?”

  “Not simply,” she admitted. “But strategically. You need me, Odin. My craftsmen are already aiding Bergelmir, ensuring his towers rise just enough to be seen. When the time comes, I will pull the rug from under him. The council will see the folly of his efforts. They will look to you as the stabilizing force. And I will quietly claim the Observatory, as you consolidate your power.”

  Odin leaned back, studying her intently. She was bold, too bold perhaps, but her ambition was undeniable. It mirrored his own in ways that unsettled him. “And why not ally with Bergelmir instead?” he asked suddenly. “He is trusted, respected. If you stood with him, your path to the Observatory would be far easier.”

  Ilyria’s expression hardened, though her voice remained calm. “Because Bergelmir’s loyalty to Aryabhata will always overshadow his pragmatism. As long as Aryabhata stands, Bergelmir will never allow me to take the Observatory. He is a man of sentiment, Odin. And sentiment is weakness.”

  She leaned forward, her tone softening, almost conspiratorial. “Do you know what that makes him? Vulnerable. Vulnerable to Aryabhata’s ideals, to his warnings, to his desperation. If I stand with Bergelmir, I become a mere extension of his influence, a servant to a dying cause. But if I step out of his shadow, with the Observatory under my stewardship, I become indispensable to Atlantis.”

  Odin’s silence pressed her to continue. She leaned back, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “And let us not forget, Bergelmir is already a liability. His public defiance of the council is a fire waiting to spread. If I attach myself to him, that fire will consume me too. He’s chosen his path, Odin, and it’s a doomed one.”

  The room was heavy with tension as Odin considered her words. They were sharp, deliberate, and undeniably compelling. Yet, they were also dangerous. Ilyria’s ambition shone through every syllable, a flame that could just as easily burn him as it could light his way.

  “Ambition suits you, Ilyria,” he said finally, his tone laced with both admiration and caution. “But tell me this—how far are you willing to go to secure your place? To prove that your vision isn’t just empty rhetoric?”

  Her emerald eyes locked with his, unwavering. “As far as I need to, Odin. By helping you destroy Aryabhata and Bergelmir, I will demonstrate my worth. If that isn’t enough to convince you, then nothing will be.”

  Odin allowed a faint smirk to touch his lips, though his eyes remained cold. “Very well, Ilyria. You may have the Observatory—when Aryabhata is dealt with. But know this: if I sense even a whisper of betrayal, I will ensure you share their fate. Disgrace will be the kindest mercy I offer.”

  Ilyria inclined her head, her expression serene. “Understood.”

  Odin leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Ilyria as silence wrapped around the room. The weight of her words lingered, her strategy playing through his mind like a game of chess. The pieces were falling into place, but not all of them felt secure. There was something about her that unnerved him—the calm, almost predatory way she dissected his vulnerabilities, exposing truths he had long tried to bury.

  He hated how much of himself she seemed to understand. He hated even more that she was right.

  For a moment, Odin’s thoughts strayed to Aryabhata. The Wise Sage had always been an anomaly within the council, a man more concerned with the pursuit of knowledge than the exercise of power. Aryabhata had spent decades poring over the Books of the Elders, searching for answers buried in their cryptic wisdom. His mind was brilliant, but it was tethered to the past, and that tether had become a noose. Odin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled the prophecy Aryabhata had shared with the council. The end of Atlantis, he had said, brought on by a calamity no one could see but him.

  The council had laughed. Odin had laughed with them. But deep down, he had felt something else—a flicker of unease, a memory buried in the depths of his mind. The ancient entity in the mines. That malevolent presence had been a shadow over his life ever since, its whispers clawing at the edges of his thoughts. Could Aryabhata’s warnings have any connection to what they had encountered that day? Was it possible that the calamity Aryabhata predicted was already set in motion?

  No. Odin forced the thought away. Aryabhata was no prophet. He was an old man clinging to old fears, and fears were easy to manipulate. Ilyria was right about that much.

  “You speak with conviction, Ilyria,” Odin said at last, breaking the silence. “But you have not yet proven your loyalty to me. You’ve outlined your plan, yes. And it’s an intriguing one. But how do I know you won’t turn on me the moment it suits you?”

  Ilyria’s smile was faint, her expression serene. “I could ask you the same, Odin. Loyalty is a fragile thing, and we are not children who trade in trust without reason. But our goals align—for now. That is what matters.”

  Odin studied her, searching for cracks in her composure. He found none. Ilyria was a master of ambiguity, her words perfectly measured, her motives just opaque enough to keep him guessing. It infuriated him.

  “Our goals align,” he repeated. “But they do not align perfectly. You want the Observatory. You’ve made that clear. What assurances do I have that your ambition ends there? What stops you from reaching beyond it?”

  Ilyria’s emerald eyes gleamed. “Nothing stops ambition, Odin. Not truly. But I am no fool. I know the limits of my influence, and I know where it is unwise to tread.”

  Her words were careful, but Odin could hear the edge in them, the undercurrent of defiance she tried to keep hidden. He filed it away, another note in the growing ledger of reasons to keep her close—and to keep her watched.

  “If you fail,” Odin said after a pause, his voice dropping to a near growl, “if Aryabhata is not discredited and Bergelmir does not fall, you will not leave this unscathed.”

  Ilyria inclined her head, her expression unchanging. “Failure is not an option.”

  Odin rose from his chair, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. He loomed over her, his eyes piercing. “See that it isn’t,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier.

  But Ilyria did not flinch. She met his gaze with unwavering calm, a quiet strength that almost unnerved him.

  “If we are done with threats, Odin,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk, “I believe we have an understanding.”

  Odin held her gaze for a moment longer before turning sharply and striding toward the door. “Do not make me regret this,” he said without looking back.

  As the door closed behind him, Ilyria remained seated, her hands resting lightly in her lap. Her outward calm belied the storm of thoughts racing through her mind. Odin was a dangerous ally, a man who would turn on her in an instant if he thought it would serve him better. But for now, their alliance was necessary.

  Odin strode down the corridor, his mind churning with the echoes of his conversation with Ilyria. The faint sound of his boots against the polished stone floor was the only noise in the otherwise oppressive silence. He despised how easily she could unearth the buried cracks in his armor, forcing him to confront the insecurities he had spent decades suppressing. He had long prided himself on his ability to control every situation, yet Ilyria’s presence was a reminder that there were forces beyond even his control.

  As he passed the towering stained-glass windows depicting the rise of Atlantis, he felt the weight of his ancestors pressing down on him. Each pane told a story of triumph: the Elders guiding their people through the early days, the discovery of the crystal mines, the construction of the first settlement and the discovery of the secret of the crystals that now powered their city. Yet Odin’s gaze lingered on one particular panel—Farman, standing resolutely above the other leaders, with his son Bergelmir at his side. The image stung like a blade. It should have been Mardan and Odin standing there. He had been the rightful heir to the Elders. Instead, the mines had stolen that destiny from him.

  The damned incident in the mines.

  His thoughts spiraled back to that cursed day. The discovery of the ancient entity had been an accident, one born from childhood curiosity. It had been a mistake to disturb the depths, but the consequences had been far greater than anyone could have imagined. The malevolent presence they encountered had left a mark, not just on their minds but on the fate of Atlantis itself. Bergelmir had emerged as a hero from that incident, the steady hand who had guided them out of darkness. Odin, on the other hand, had been tarnished by the whispers that followed. Whispers of fear. Whispers of weakness.

  He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

  Bergelmir must fall.

  Reaching his private chambers, Odin paused before the heavy wooden door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. This alliance with Ilyria was dangerous, but it was necessary. If she could help him bring down Aryabhata, the rest would fall into place. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that Ilyria’s ambitions extended far beyond the Observatory. She was playing her own game, of that he was certain. He just didn’t know all the rules yet.

  Meanwhile, back in Odin’s chambers, Ilyria remained seated, her posture as composed as ever. But within her, a storm was brewing. Her calm mask concealed the whirlwind of calculations spinning through her mind.

  Ilyria acknowledged Odin’s strength, though she found him predictable. His anger and bitterness were potent drivers, but they also blinded him to subtler maneuvers. She had seen it in his eyes, the way they darkened at the mention of Bergelmir. That simmering rage was his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

  Her fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of the couch as she replayed their conversation. She had laid her cards on the table, but not all of them. Odin didn’t need to know everything yet. Not about her deeper plans.

  The calamity Aryabhata had spoken of lingered in her thoughts. A small, nagging voice questioned whether Aryabhata had glimpsed something she might have overlooked, something tied to the ancient entity in the mines, a threat that could affect them all.

  Shaking the thought away, Ilyria refocused. For now, her path was clear. Her lips curved into a faint smile. She would let Odin believe he held the upper hand for the time being, knowing it was a necessary illusion to keep their alliance intact.

  Rising gracefully from the couch, Ilyria smoothed her dress and cast a final glance around the room. The game had begun in earnest, and every move mattered. She stepped toward the door, her mind already calculating the next steps.

  Ilyria resolved to take her next move carefully, ensuring every step aligned with her ultimate goals. It had to be flawless.