Point of View: Princess of Atlantis
I ascended at a young age—four and a half years old.
I remember the moment clearly: the pain, the confusion, and then… calm.
My father watched me in silence for a long time.
His face was filled with worry.
From that day on, they called me many things, but the most famous was The Pearl of the Ocean.
I only knew one thing:
I thought too much.
While others celebrated the city's safety, I saw its limits. Atlantis lacked many things. Its resources were scarce, and the number of ascended was small.
But the world did not wait.
The abominations were growing in number.
Dungeons appeared in the depths, and conquering them constantly was extremely dangerous.
I studied the maps.
I listened to the reports.
And I understood something the adults avoided saying aloud:
Atlantis was deteriorating.
My father had built the city to survive.
I wanted it to endure.
I knew I couldn't speak like a ruler.
I was a child.
But I could observe.
Learn.
Think.
The ascended began to notice that my questions were not simple curiosities. I asked about currents, migratory routes, regions where abominations were denser. I asked about the dungeons—why they appeared, what they left behind.
Some grew uncomfortable.
Others smiled.
My father… listened.
One night, while we watched the lights of Atlantis, I said something that changed our relationship.
"Father… if we keep waiting, one day it won't be enough."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Waiting for what?" he asked.
"Waiting for others to ascend. Waiting for the ocean to leave us in peace. Waiting for the danger to pass."
The silence was long.
"And what do you propose?" he finally said.
"To expand and prepare. To change before we are forced to."
That day, my father looked at me differently.
Not as his daughter.
But as his heir.
Atlantis was not born to rule the ocean.
But perhaps… it was destined to.
And this time, I will be an active part of it.