King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 27: The True History of Atlantis

[Third Person Pov]

“As I lingered in Atlantis, I was met with a premonition,” Vivienne began, her voice taking on a low, distant tone as if she were seeing it unfold before her eyes. “A vision—no, a prophecy—foretelling the end of all things. I had managed to foresee its destruction. The day when Atlantis would forever sink beneath the waves, swallowed whole by the very ocean that had once been its cradle.”

She paused, recollecting her thoughts. “At the time, I didn’t understand much. All I saw was the vision of its end. I didn’t know how it would happen, nor when it would come. I only knew that there would be a day when Atlantis would be no more.”

Vivienne allowed the silence to linger, letting suspense coil around her audience before she continued.

“That vision… it turned into a recurring nightmare,” she said at last, her expression darkening. “Every night, I saw Atlantis fall again. I felt the panic, the screams, the despair of the people as the city crumbled. I loved Atlantis—it was my home in a way, even if only for a while. I couldn’t stand idly by and watch it perish. So I decided to act. I forged a weapon… a trident, unlike any other.”

Arthur leaned forward, intrigued. Mera’s eyes shimmered with quiet fascination, while Dane listened intently, wanting to know more about Vivienne’s past.

Vivienne’s tone softened with pride as she spoke of her creation. “Its purpose was singular: to protect Atlantis. It could generate an immense force field capable of withstanding any major force. I poured my very soul into crafting it. But in my desperation to save Atlantis, I might have done too good a job. When I gifted the Trident to King Atlan, it caught the attention of a far greater power—Poseidon himself.”

Vivienne gazing toward the floor as though lost in memory. “You must understand… Poseidon’s symbol of power has always been the trident. It was an extension of his will, a representation of his dominion over the seas. And Atlantis—Atlantis was one of his favored creations, a jewel among mortal civilizations back when gods still walked the Earth.”

Her gaze drifted toward the distant walls, her eyes unfocused. “Poseidon admired the trident I had forged—admired it so much that he chose to bless it with his essence. That is how it gained the name ‘The Trident of Poseidon’. But there was more to it than admiration. Poseidon understood its potential. He knew that if it fell into the wrong hands, it could rival even his divine authority. So, with his blessing came a safeguard. He imbued it with his divine essence so that only his descendants—those who carried his blood—could wield its full power. From that day forward, it became the symbol of authority within Atlantis itself.”

Arthur blinked, taken aback by the implication and the look Vivienne was giving him. He pointed at himself incredulously. “Wait a minute… are you saying I’m a descendant of Poseidon?”

Vivienne smiled faintly, her expression carrying a subtle warmth. “All those who sit upon the Atlantean throne and can wield the Trident are. The blood of Poseidon flows through your veins, Arthur. It is why the royal family is stronger—more attuned to the sea, more resilient—than the average Atlantean. You are the ocean’s chosen line.”

Mera raised a hand, gesturing toward herself. “And what about us? The royal family of Xebel… are we descendants of anyone?”

Vivienne chuckled softly, the tension in the air easing. “Everyone is a descendant of someone, dear.” Her laughter was light, teasing, but her next words carried a surprising weight. “But since you ask—believe it or not—the royal family of Xebel descends from Poseidon’s wife, Amphitrite.”

Mera froze, eyes widening in shock. She turned to Arthur, who mirrored her expression. For a fleeting moment, both of them wondered the same thing, the unspoken thought crossing their minds: ‘Is that why we were drawn to each other so naturally? Why our bond feels… effortless?’

Vivienne’s knowing smile said she understood their silent exchange. She clapped her hands lightly to pull them back to the present. “Now then, as I was saying…”

Her tone shifted, growing heavier with the weight of history. “With the Trident in hand, King Atlan rose to become a mighty figure—respected, revered, and, in time, feared. Under his rule, Atlantis flourished beyond imagination. Its technology, its culture, its influence—everything prospered. The city became a shining beacon of power and knowledge that drew the admiration of all who beheld it.”

She took a breath, her eyes dimming as she spoke the next words. “But power, unchecked, breeds pride… and pride leads to downfall. Atlan began to believe that with the Trident in hand, he was untouchable—that no god, no army, no force of nature could ever bring him low. His arrogance blinded him to reason, to humility, to the very warnings I tried to give.”

Vivienne’s gaze turned distant once more, her voice soft and mournful. “And that, my friends, is what led to his downfall… and the downfall of all Atlantis.”

Vivienne’s expression grew solemn. Her tone softened, carrying a mixture of regret and melancholy.

“His intentions were noble, believe it or not,” she began quietly. “Atlan’s thirst for power didn’t come from greed at first. It was born from the desire to protect his kingdom, to shield his people from any threat that might one day rise against them. But noble intentions can twist easily when guided by fear. What began as a wish to preserve soon became an obsession—to control, to dominate, to never be vulnerable again.”

Her voice wavered slightly as she continued. “In his desperation, he strayed from the gods. He began dabbling in things he shouldn’t have… forces beyond mortal and divine comprehension. He meddled with the natural order, consorted with Dimensional Lords and forgotten deities that had nothing to do with Atlantis. I warned him. I pleaded with him to turn back, but he was already too far gone—lost in his pursuit of power and blinded by the illusion of control.”

Vivienne paused, exhaling a long breath. Her shoulders fell, and her voice became almost a whisper. “In the end, I had no other choice but to walk away. It wasn’t easy—walking away never is. But I knew then that Atlantis’s golden age had come to an end.”

For a moment, the room was silent. The weight of her words seemed to hang in the air. Then, slowly, she clasped her hands behind her back and continued.

“It wasn’t until I left that I truly understood how Atlantis would fall,” she said softly. “For so long, I believed its destruction would come from an outside force. That was the reason I created the Trident in the first place—to protect it from the unknown. But I was wrong. The true threat came from within. Atlantis was doomed by its own arrogance. The fall was inevitable… no barrier or weapon could ever defend against that.”

Her gaze grew distant again, and for the first time, guilt tinged her expression. “In their pride and defiance, they invited the wrath of the gods. And when it came… it was swift, merciless, and absolute. The once-great city that had shone brighter than any other was wiped clean from the face of the world. The ocean claimed what was hers to begin with.”

Vivienne’s voice trembled, though she tried to mask it behind a faint, wistful smile. “That’s not to say I was blameless. I learned a hard lesson that day—about the cost of defying fate. I thought I could fight against destiny, change the course of what I saw in my vision. But in doing so, I only gave them the very tool that brought it to pass. I suppose… the mortals of your time would call that a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“That’s not fair,” Mera suddenly interjected, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. “You can’t blame yourself for that. You were only trying to help! If anyone is to blame, it’s King Atlan. He was the one who lost sight of what mattered. He saw power and became consumed by it.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, his tone steady. “A weapon is nothing without the will of its wielder. You forged the Trident to protect, not destroy. What happened afterward isn’t on you—it’s on the one who misused your gift.”

Dane crossed his arms and inclined his head respectfully. “I must agree, my lady. Even a goddess cannot control the hearts or choices of mortals. You gave them a chance—they chose their own ruin.”

Vivienne blinked in surprise, then smiled gently, a spark of warmth softening her features. “You three…” she said with a small laugh. “You’re kind to say that. I appreciate your words more than you know. But I made peace with it long ago. I’ve had centuries to reflect and accept what happened.”

She paused, her smile turning bittersweet. “In truth, I wasn’t the only one who sought redemption. After King Atlan was excommunicated, he came to find me. He wanted to apologize for his arrogance and the destruction he had brought upon his people.”

“Excommunicated?!” Mera gasped, clearly taken aback. “That’s not what the historical texts say. The records mention that he left Atlantis because he couldn’t bear the shame of his failure.”

Vivienne chuckled softly and shook her head. “That’s only part of the story, my dear. The truth is… the council stripped him of his title and banished him from the royal bloodline. His pride had turned him into something unrecognizable, and in their grief, his people cast him out. And yes—shame did weigh heavily on him. It consumed him, actually.”

Her tone softened, eyes clouded by ancient sorrow. “To atone, he used the Trident’s power to ensure that his people could survive beneath the waves—to make it so that Atlanteans could breathe underwater, to adapt to the world that had swallowed their home. It was his final gift, and perhaps his only true act of redemption. But even then… it could not undo what had been done. The gods’ wrath had been earned, and Atlantis would remain buried for eternity.”

A heavy silence followed her words, the kind that pressed against the heart like deep ocean pressure. Arthur, Mera, and Dane exchanged glances but found no words to answer. Vivienne simply smiled faintly, her eyes distant once more.

“Such is the fate of kings,” she murmured, “and the burden of those who think themselves greater than the gods.”