The city of Atlantis glowed like a fallen constellation beneath the sea.

Spired towers of living coral stretched toward the distant surface, their edges illuminated by drifting ribbons of bioluminescent light. Vast currents flowed through the streets like slow rivers, carrying schools of silver fish between palace arches and crystal domes.

At the center of it all stood the royal palace.

A structure older than most kingdoms of the ocean.

Inside the grand throne chamber, silence reigned.

Rows of Atlantean nobles lined the hall, their armor and ceremonial garments shimmering softly beneath floating lanterns of living algae. At the far end of the chamber rose the throne of Atlantis — carved from ancient stone and framed by towering coral pillars.

And upon it sat the king.

King Orm appeared exactly as the legends described: composed, immovable, carved from authority itself. His posture was flawless, his expression unreadable, the weight of an empire resting effortlessly on his shoulders.

Yet his gaze was not on the court.

It was fixed on the distant palace gates.

Because today the eastern ocean had arrived.

The massive doors slowly parted, releasing a gentle rush of water into the chamber.

Atlantean guards stepped aside.

And through the opening entered the royal delegation from the eastern seas — emissaries of the kingdom beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean.

At their center walked the princess of the Bay of Bengal.

The future queen of Atlantis.

Whispers rippled across the court like a passing current.

The marriage had been arranged for months. Diplomats had negotiated every term, every territory, every ceremonial detail.

But this was the first moment the king and his bride would stand in the same room.

Orm rose from the throne.

The entire court followed.

His movements were precise, controlled — the gestures of a ruler who had been trained since childhood to reveal nothing.

But when the princess approached the foot of the throne…

The king’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than expected.

Just long enough to betray the faintest flicker of curiosity.

Perhaps even something softer.

The court waited for the king to speak.

Orm descended the steps of the throne slowly, stopping only a short distance from her.

For a moment he simply regarded her.

Then the king inclined his head — a gesture of respect rarely given.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried calmly through the vast chamber.

“Princess of the eastern seas.”

A small pause followed.

The faintest shift in his expression — almost thoughtful.

“Atlantis welcomes you.”

The court heard diplomacy.

But somewhere beneath the king’s composed tone…

There lingered the quiet beginning of something far more complicated than politics.