Thalor followed Arcadia through the ruins.
The woman of water and light moved effortlessly through the ancient corridors.
Every so often, her body flickered.
A hand would briefly become flowing water.
A strand of glowing hair would dissolve into droplets.
Then stabilize once more.
The sight bothered him.
Not because it was unnatural.
Because it looked familiar.
Like the dying runes throughout Atlantis.
Everything here seemed to be falling apart.
Including her.
"You're running out of power, too."
Arcadia glanced at him.
"Correct."
"How long?"
"Current projections indicate sixty-eight days before critical system failure."
Thalor sighed.
The number had somehow become worse.
Atlantis wasn't merely dead.
It was dying again.
And apparently, it had decided to make that his problem.
They emerged onto a raised platform overlooking the valley.
Thalor stopped.
The sight still stole his breath.
Broken towers stretched across the ocean floor.
Collapsed bridges connected shattered districts.
Ancient statues rested beneath centuries of sediment.
Everywhere he looked lay the remains of greatness.
And thanks to the Trident...
He could still see what had once existed.
For a brief moment, the ruins flickered.
A memory overlay.
The broken valley transformed.
Crystal towers pierced the depths.
Mana flowed through illuminated canals.
Merfolk and humans walked side by side.
Leviathans drifted overhead.
Children laughed.
Scholars debated.
Hope filled every street.
Then the vision vanished.
Only ruins remained.
The contrast hurt.
"Was it always like that?"
Arcadia followed his gaze.
"No."
Her voice sounded quieter than usual.
"For forty-three thousand years, Atlantis knew peace."
Thalor remained silent.
Forty-three thousand years.
The number was impossible to comprehend.
His entire life amounted to sixteen.
"Then what happened?"
The question lingered.
Arcadia's expression became distant.
"Success."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Atlantis became successful."
The answer made no sense.
Arcadia continued.
"Prosperity became entitlement."
"Entitlement became ambition."
"Ambition became greed."
The valley darkened.
A new projection appeared.
The beautiful city returned.
Only now the streets were divided.
Arguments.
Protests.
Military formations.
The beginning of the conflict.
"Knowledge became power."
The projection shifted.
Academies became fortresses.
Research became weapons.
Friends became enemies.
The city began tearing itself apart.
"The Atlanteans forgot why Atlantis existed."
The illusion vanished.
The ruins returned.
Silence followed.
Thalor found himself staring at the broken city differently.
Not as a victim.
As a warning.
Eventually, he spoke.
"I don't want it."
Arcadia turned toward him.
"Clarify."
"The throne."
"The empire."
"The successor nonsense."
He gestured toward the valley.
"I don't want any of it."
The response didn't surprise her.
Her records had already predicted it.
Ninety-seven percent probability.
The remaining three percent involved outright panic.
This outcome was preferable.
"Understood."
Thalor frowned.
"That's it?"
"That is your decision."
"You aren't going to argue?"
"No."
The answer surprised him.
Arcadia looked toward the ruins.
"Atlantis was destroyed by people who wanted power."
Her sapphire eyes shifted back toward him.
"The Trident chose someone who does not."
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then a violent tremor shook the valley.
Runes dimmed.
Entire sections of the city lost power.
A distant tower finally collapsed.
The structure had likely been standing on borrowed time for millennia.
The crash echoed across the seabed.
Arcadia immediately stiffened.
Her body flickered.
Warning symbols appeared around her.
Critical reserves exceeded.
Emergency systems activated.
Thalor's expression darkened.
"That sounds bad."
"It is."
She extended her hand.
A projection appeared.
An island emerged above her palm.
Small.
Remote.
Forgotten.
Beneath it pulsed a brilliant sphere of blue light.
"A mana geyser."
The image expanded.
Ancient structures appeared beneath the island.
Atlantean architecture.
Buried.
Hidden.
Waiting.
"A relay station."
Thalor studied the image.
"What does it do?"
Arcadia's eyes brightened.
For the first time since awakening, genuine excitement entered her voice.
"It allows Atlantis to live."
The projection changed.
Ancient conduits stretched from the relay station into the depths.
Across oceans.
Across continents.
Connecting distant parts of the world.
A network.
An enormous one.
"The Trident was never merely a weapon."
The silver trident appeared beside the projection.
"It is the master keystone of the Atlantean mana distribution network."
Thalor stared.
"The what?"
"The central control system."
That sounded absurd.
Then again, so did everything else about Atlantis.
Arcadia continued.
"The relay station can reconnect Atlantis to the geyser."
"Providing power?"
"Providing survival."
The distinction was significant.
Thalor rubbed his forehead.
"So if we activate it..."
"Atlantean systems stabilize."
"And if we don't?"
Arcadia remained silent.
She didn't need to answer.
The ruins surrounding them already had.
For the first time since escaping slavery, Thalor felt trapped.
Not by chains.
Not by guards.
By responsibility.
He hated it.
A part of him wanted to leave.
To swim away.
To disappear into the world.
To finally enjoy the freedom he had sacrificed everything to obtain.
Then he looked at Arcadia.
At the flickering runes.
At the dying city.
At the ghost of Atlantis that still lingered in the ruins.
And he remembered something.
Nobody had waited for him.
Not his parents.
Not his village.
Not the world.
But somehow...
Atlantis had.
For ninety-eight thousand years.
The realization made no sense.
Yet he couldn't ignore it.
Finally, he sighed.
A long-suffering sigh.
Arcadia immediately recognized it as a surrender.
"You're smiling."
"I am not."
"You are."
She paused.
"...Perhaps slightly."
Thalor pointed toward the island projection.
"How far?"
"Three days."
"Three days?"
"Assuming optimal currents."
"That's your definition of close?"
"Yes."
He groaned.
Arcadia's smile widened.
Only slightly.
But enough.
After nearly one hundred thousand years...
Hope had returned to Atlantis.
And for the first time since its fall...
The future no longer seemed impossible.