The Arbiter and the Arcstone
Arriving at the final call.
The bell tolls thirteen. Thirteen strikes and it was only four in the afternoon. Those in the know understand its meaning, its fateful, frightening meaning. Terrifying, but with a wonderful potential yet to be unveiled. Atlantis has arrived at its pinnacle. The choice seems clear. No one will be left behind. All had successfully traversed the evolutionary leap required to sustain the golden age. The promise, the ongoing bliss of an eternal Golden Age, playing out before them. A wonder that no one doubted.
We are tasked now to quickly make our way to the chamber, so we can see and know each other’s will, the Arbiter tallying all. Generations of Atlanteans culminating at this one point. Time now seems irrelevant, although this moment is timed to perfection. The requirement here is that we are unanimously certain of the attainment of cultural evolution. Not a single doubt or fear can remain present. Such an ambiguity would destroy the world. But we have prepared well and all the work necessary has been done. The exhilaration is building, as is the certainty of renewal.
If the clock strikes fourteen then success has been assured, an Eternal Golden Age for Atlantis. And that’s all anyone can see. Are they blinded by their own light? This is the question and the chamber will decide, while the Arbiter simply presides. His role requires that he abstains from the tally, so he can remain uninvolved, and see clearly and true. He presides over all, but has no influence. Many have looked to him at such times, but there has not been a time quite like this, not in living memory. The cycles so grand and the darkest hours too dense to see into, or beyond. Certainty now has to come from within and that is the seed of the eternal Golden Age.
The most common feeling of the present memory is that only one seed was required to propel us on the journey towards the Golden Age, but all seeds are required to take it further and be ongoing and evermore. All seeds must be present in time and in order. The grandeur of communal love present right now is extraordinary. But none are thinking of failure at a time like this. For to harbor doubt, is to send us back around. Not by force of will, but by genuine certainty, can we persist. And the having of no fear, of no doubt, cannot be faked, not in the presence of all, including the Arbiter. He would know.
I would know.
I’m standing by the Arcstone in the center of the chamber, lit by the late afternoon sun. The grandest fixed memory of all Atlantean culture, and all those that came before, a grand testament to human endeavor, the pride of all who came to seed. Time is now the assurance, not the memory. The work done, but can it be, that remains the question. Not a question of doubt, but a question of prophecy. Do we break the cycle and go on or do we shatter the Arcstone and risk breaking the world to go around again? In a way it’s not a choice, it is a feeling. Nothing is truly being decided here. Only a record of the truth of our feeling, our combined feeling.
There is little time remaining. All other questions need to have been resolved by now, or they are unlikely to be able to resolve them in the heat of this moment. No open questions have been asked in the chamber for many a moon, and all that were known were settled. There is only time for clarity and certainty now. A truth that none can break or the world does. At sunset does light dawn for Atlantis?
The sun is setting on the Arcstone, and time is short.
In the last seconds before the eye of the sun is passing from sight, the excitement is building to a climactic pitch. Everyone is fully invested in the moment. Then it passes and the sky fills with thunder. Deafening cracks peeling through the sky. And in that moment a wave of fear leapt through them like lightning, the mortal flesh unable to sustain, sending their exaltation, driven by fear, lightning from within, towards the Arcstone, into the Arcstone, causing it to shatter.
The sundering of the Arcstone. The sundering of the world.
And now with their power drained and the world quaking, the masses have begun to name me the World Breaker, rather than the Arbiter. How quickly tides turn. None have truly been made powerless, but their fear guards them. Each now planning their own escape or demise. The oceans are heaving. None can deny the outcome, but blame is easy. Who else but me?
“Why didn’t you proclaim?” Consternation strong in the High Magi’s voice.
“It wasn’t given to me. It was not a choice to make. I am as unaware of what comes as anyone. Truth was its own answer.” The Arbiter’s strong reply falling on deaf ears. “It has not been done before.”
“And might not be done again.” Disgust visible, as the Magi waves herself away.
The truth, a single window of doubt, remained open. It was not mine to close and it was not mine to expose. In a way it feels like that was always true, unavoidable, inescapable. We can attempt to grow the cycles but not truly break them, not for all. The choice has to remain available for each. Or in time it would not remain available for anyone.
Here the story of the Arbiter ends, and the myth of the World Breaker begins.
The tide turns but the oceans continue to heave …