The Omen
It began with the Falling Star. Lyara had seen it streak across the heavens one fateful night while she stood atop the tallest tower of the Observatory Temple. The air was still, the sea unusually quiet, as if waiting. Her fingers tightened around her pendant as she sang to the star, her voice resonating with a melody older than the oldest oak in the Atlantean forests. But the star sang back, its voice a low and mournful wail. It was not an omen of prosperity, as some claimed. It was a warning.
Days later, tremors shook the marble streets of Atlantis. The towering statues of their gods swayed but did not fall, and the crystal spires of the temples remained intact. Still, unease spread like wildfire through the populace. Fishermen returned with tales of areas where the ocean floor seemed to breathe, and farmers spoke of livestock behaving erratically. Lyara’s visions became fragmented, her dreams torn by images of a roaring, fiery serpent swallowing Atlantis whole.
A Warning Ignored
She presented her fears to the High Council, a group of stoic men clad in long emerald robes embroidered with the sigils of leadership. Their leader, Exarch Kiros, was a man of broad shoulders and cold, calculating eyes. You speak of stars and visions," he sneered, his voice echoing in the Council Chamber. "Yet Atlantis is a civilization of reason and power, not superstition. Our mastery of the earth and the sea shall protect us from any petty disturbance."
Lyara glanced at the gathered members—some hesitant, others whispering to themselves. "This is not a disturbance," she implored. "I have communed with the stars. The calamity is real. We must evacuate to highlands beyond the sea."
The Exarch dismissed her, and the Council adjourned, laughter and derision trailing the Star Chanter as she exited the chamber. But doubt flickered in a few minds, and whispers of escape plans buzzed in private corners of Atlantis that night.
The Subterranean Chamber
Unwilling to stand idly by, Lyara sought answers in the forbidden Subterranean Chamber, hidden beneath the Observatory Temple. There, lost wisdom of Atlantis lay concealed—manuals on how stars were once charted, almanacs on ancient cosmic events, even artifacts from before the advent of their civilization. Few dared enter; doing so required both courage and heretical intent.
Lyara descended the spiral staircase, the walls lit with blue orbs of light powered by an unknown Atlantean energy. At the bottom, a massive circular door, engraved with constellations, awaited her. Her voice trembled but rang clear as she sang a song of passage. Moments later, the constellations glowed and the door slid open with a low hum.
Inside, she uncovered ancient maps detailing cosmic trajectories, their ink faint but legible. One parchment depicted a monstrous celestial object—what we would now call an asteroid. It was alarmingly close to the trajectory described in the star's song. The parchment predicted catastrophe, and worse, it suggested Atlantis itself had lured the object closer through experiments with celestial harnessing—a misuse of their advanced technology.
There was no time left. The Star Chanter ran, her robes streaming like a comet’s tail behind her, as she ascended from the depths of the forbidden chamber.
The Fall
On the eve of destruction, the signs could no longer be ignored. The ocean began to retreat, revealing an expanse of sand and marine life gasping for air. A terrible noise filled the air—a low, guttural rumble that seemed to rise from the earth’s very core. Lyara stood on the shore, her arms raised toward the massive fireball that hurtled through the blackened sky.
She began to chant. Her voice carried across the doomed continent, summoning every ounce of her power to shield her people. The stars seemed to respond; they flickered and danced as if pouring their essence into some desperate gambit to delay annihilation. Yet the force hurtling toward them was too great. The cosmos would not bend to her will.
The asteroid struck with unspeakable fury. Fire consumed the horizon. Mountains crumbled, and floods roared as waves taller than the tallest temple crashed against Atlantis. Lyara’s song was swallowed by the cacophony, but even in her final moments, she stood defiant, her face radiant with determination as the sea swallowed her world.
The Legacy
Atlantis disappeared beneath the waves, but Lyara’s sacrifice was not in vain. Across the oceans, survivors who had fled during those final days remembered her warnings. They carried fragments of Atlantean culture, seeding their knowledge in distant lands that would later become Egypt, Mesopotamia, and other cradles of future civilizations. Lyara passed into legend, her name whispered in stories of the woman who communed with the stars.
And deep beneath the Atlantic Ocean, the ruins of Atlantis sleep, the echoes of her fallen civilization buried in sediment. Yet if one listens closely on certain nights, when the stars burn bright and the sea is calm, they say you can still hear the ghostly strains of a distant, haunting melody—a celestial song, forever carried by the tides.
The Star Chanter had fulfilled her purpose. Even in obliteration, her voice soared eternal.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: 4 Unsolved Mysterious Extinctions from Earth’s History
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