The room was dark except for a single mana lamp burning low against the far wall. Its light did not flicker. It held steady, casting a pale glow across the stone floor and the tall window that overlooked the distant northern horizon.
Edward stood alone.
No documents lay before him. No maps were spread across the table. No ink stained his fingers. There was nothing written because there was nothing he needed to write.
Atlantis existed in his mind more clearly than any chart drawn by mortal hands.
He closed his eyes.
The mental map unfolded instantly.
A coastline first. Jagged. Broken. Rising from the Northern Sea like the spine of a drowned god. The gates would not open on land, not truly. They would tear space above the water, connecting the human world to the submerged continent that surfaced only once every three centuries.
Outer flooded ruins.
