The winding stone corridor opened into a grand avenue, bathed in a pale turquoise glow that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat all its own. Milo stumbled to a halt, his breath catching as he took in the sight of Atlantis proper for the first time.
The city sprawled out beneath a vast crystalline dome that shimmered with faint glyphs, suspended above a cavern of staggering size. Towering spires curved like spiraling shells, their surfaces carved with flowing Atlantean symbols that gleamed faintly in the ambient light. Waterways flowed along intricate canals, glistening like ribbons of liquid sapphire as they fed into pools and waterfalls that spilled gracefully from terraced balconies.
Milo adjusted his glasses and whispered, almost to himself, "This… this isn't just a city. It's a masterpiece. It's beautiful."
Kida paused several paces ahead, her sharp blue eyes studying him. There was suspicion in her expression still, but also something softer—an ember of curiosity she could no longer hide. Her previous experience with Helios' group made her guard drop slightly unbeknownst to her.
"Keep moving," she said firmly, gesturing forward. "The King will decide your fate soon enough."
Rourke, walking at the rear of their group, glanced briefly over his shoulder, the faintest smirk curling his lips. He didn't speak, but his eyes flicked to his mercenaries with a silent signal. They fanned out slightly, their hands resting casually—but not too casually—on the butts of their rifles.
Milo nodded quickly and caught up to Kida, his journal clutched tight against his chest. "Right, yes. Of course. I—uh—thank you for not…you know… killing us outright. That's very hospitable, all things considered."
Kida glanced at him sidelong, the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. "Several thousand years ago, I would have killed you outright."
Milo swallowed hard. "Good to know we've…uh…progressed. Did you say thousand?"
They stepped onto a broad stone bridge spanning a glowing canal, its surface etched with faintly luminescent glyphs. Children darted past on the lower levels, chasing each other in a blur of pale fabrics and glowing crystals. For a brief moment, their laughter echoed through the cavern, breaking the tense silence.
Milo blinked in amazement. "They…they're thriving. But…" He frowned slightly, noticing the cracks in the buildings, the faint wear on the stones. "…the city looks… quiet. Almost like it's dying out."
Kida's shoulders stiffened. "Atlantis is not what it once was," she admitted reluctantly. "Our history, our knowledge—it is all fading. The Heart still protects us, but…"
She trailed off, and her eyes grew distant as they walked past a massive archway carved with intricate symbols.
Milo hesitated, then spoke gently. "If I may… I can help you remember. I've studied civilizations like yours my whole life. It's why I'm here."
Kida turned sharply, her eyes narrowing. "You say that, yet you travel with those who carry strange weapons and even stranger hearts. What are you?"
Before Milo could answer, Rourke's voice cut through the air, smooth and calm.
"He's our translator, Princess," Rourke said, striding forward. His polished boots clicked softly on the stone. "Nothing more."
Milo shot him a nervous glance, but Rourke only smiled, his expression unreadable. "We're simple travelers, explorers really. Hoping to see the wonders of your city."
Kida didn't look convinced. Her gaze lingered on Milo for a long moment before she turned away. "We will see what my father thinks of your presence."
As they approached the great gates of the palace, Milo quickened his steps to walk beside her again. "Your language… it's remarkable. The structure, the syntax—I've never seen anything like it."
"You speak it well for an outsider," Kida said coolly. "How?"
Milo pushed his glasses up nervously. "The Shepherd's Journal—it's been my guide. A lifetime of study… and I suppose a little luck. You also speak English quite well. I'm actually surprised you know it."
Kida's eyes softened slightly despite herself. "Then you are not entirely a fool. You must be quite studious. As for your language, I've heard it before, so it was easy to learn."
Behind them, Rourke's smile remained frozen in place, but his eyes hardened. He murmured quietly to Helga Sinclair at his side, his voice low enough that even Milo didn't hear. "Keep your eyes on the runt. He's already too friendly with the princess."
Helga smirked. "Don't worry, Commander. He won't be a problem."
The group ascended a grand staircase, each step humming faintly underfoot as though alive with energy. At the top, massive doors carved with scenes of battles and triumphs swung open slowly, revealing the throne room beyond.
The massive throne room fell silent as the great doors groaned open. A deep, resonant hum seemed to roll through the chamber as a line of guards stepped aside, and an elderly man entered, walking slowly but with the weight of authority. His figure was draped in flowing robes of deep cerulean, etched with glowing glyphs that pulsed faintly with every measured step. Atop his brow sat a delicate circlet of crystal, fractured in places, like a crown worn too long.
His eyes were concealed behind a thin, opaque veil—a reminder of the blindness that had claimed him centuries ago. Yet despite this, the King of Atlantis seemed to see everything.
"Yora'tes, dol A'tani!" one of the guards barked, slamming the butt of his spear into the stone. The others followed suit, all intoning the same command.
Milo's eyes widened, but he caught the meaning. "They—they want us to kneel," he translated nervously, glancing between Kida and his companions. "We should probably—"
"Enough."
The word carried across the room in perfect English, heavy with age and calm authority. The King raised a hand, and the guards immediately fell silent.
"It is fine," he said, his voice deep but strangely gentle. "There will be no kneeling here."
Milo swallowed hard and stepped forward slightly. "Your majesty," he said carefully, inclining his head with nervous respect. "I… it's an honor to stand before you."
The King tilted his head faintly, as if amused. "Relax, boy," he said. "You are not standing before a god, only a man who has lived too long. My name is Kashekim Nedakh, the king of Atlantis."
With a faint gesture of his hand, he invited Milo to speak. "Now tell me, traveler… why are you in my city?"