[EVENT Ch 3 - Story] The Shackles of Atlantis

The jungle closed behind Faramond like a living wall.
Vines as thick as ropes dangled from the canopy, draping themselves over marble ruins that lay cracked and sunken in the undergrowth. The air was damp, heavy with the musk of orchids and the faint tang of salt drifting in from some hidden sea. Faramond’s claws sank into mossy stone as he pressed onward, his horned head lowered, his eyes bright with stubborn determination.
He had been traveling for weeks. The legends of Atlantis spoke of trials, of ancient guardians, of peril that would strip all but the worthy of hope. Faramond had braced himself for hardship, but even his warrior’s hide was weary. His muscles ached beneath his plated feathers, and his throat was parched despite the constant humidity. Still, he trudged forward, guided by faint echoes of rushing water.
The jungle deepened before breaking into an ancient corridor. Two stone knights loomed on either side, statues of saurian warriors hewn from jade and basalt, their blank eyes fixed forward. As he approached, the silence shattered. The statues groaned, grinding their limbs with the creak of age, their heavy weapons rising.

Faramond bellowed and charged.

The first guardian swung its obsidian blade downward, sparks flashing as horn met stone. The impact sent tremors up his skull, but Faramond pushed harder, ramming his horn beneath its chest and shattering the knight into fractured slabs. The second statue raised a hammer, its shadow swallowing him whole. Faramond ducked, his tail whipping, and smashed the knight’s knee. It toppled, crumbling, vines coiling to reclaim it.

Breathing hard, he pushed past the guardians.

And then the world changed.

The jungle fell away, revealing the heart of Atlantis.

It was unlike anything Faramond had ever seen. A hidden oasis spread out in shimmering brilliance: marble fountains choked with ivy, pools glistening like molten glass, terraces overgrown with vibrant gardens heavy with bougainvillea and lilies. Birds with jeweled feathers darted between the branches, their songs weaving into a hypnotic chorus. The air smelled of jasmine, honey, and the faint metallic tang of ancient bronze.
At the center rose a great dais carved from white stone, flanked by ruined columns wrapped in flowering vines. Upon it stood the court of Atlantis.
There was splendor and menace in their forms:

• Oviraptors draped in silk cloths that shimmered like fish scales.
• Euoplocephali whose armored backs glittered with chains of gold.
• And above them all, an iguanodon in a mantle of blue and silver, his eyes sharp and cold as a whetted blade.

Behind them loomed the throne itself; empty, carved from a single massive pearl, glimmering with an otherworldly light.
Faramond stepped forward, lowering his head in respect. His horned silhouette reflected in the marble pool at the dais’s base. He opened his mouth to speak—
“Stop! You’ve violated the law!”
The shout cracked through the garden like a thunderclap.
Velociraptors clad in bronze helms and leather skirts leapt from the shadows, spears bristling. Chains rattled as they encircled him, their tails lashing like whips.

Faramond’s frill flared in confusion. “What law? I braved your knights, passed your jungle, and reached your hall as tradition demands. What crime have I committed?”

The iguanodon’s voice was cold. “You entered without summons. You stepped onto sacred soil unbidden. That is trespass against Atlantis rules.”

Before Faramond could answer, the guards surged forward. Heavy bronze chains clinked across his horns, pinning his head. Spears pressed against his flanks, herding him like prey. With a growl, he resisted, but the sheer numbers forced him back.
The court watched in silence, eyes glittering. Some were amused. Others leaned forward in interest. And still the throne stood empty.
They cast him not into a dungeon of stone but into a sunken garden pit, carved deep into the marble floor.
The prison was paradoxical. Sunlight filtered down through trellises heavy with flowers. Vines tumbled over the edges, their blossoms perfuming the air with sweetness. Pools of clear water trickled from hidden spouts, feeding moss and orchids. The marble walls, though polished smooth, rose too steep for even a styracosaurus to scale.
It was beautiful. It was suffocating.

At night, glowing lantern-fruits dangled from hooks above, bathing the pit in soft gold light. Velociraptor guards paced along the rim, shadows stretching long and thin. Their tails twitched restlessly, claws drumming on stone.
Faramond tested his chains. Bronze links as thick as his claws bound his horns and legs, humming faintly with some Atlantean craft. He pawed the marble floor, carving deep scratches in frustration. The air smelled too sweet, cloying.

Still, he listened.

From above, voices drifted down; courtiers gossiping, guards muttering, whispers of plots. Atlantis was no paradise. It was a jungle of its own, full of rivalries and shifting loyalties.
Faramond lowered his head to the marble, eyes burning in the lanternlight. He had not come so far to be forgotten.
The guards were raptors, loyal yet restless. Faramond began to speak to them at night.

“You keep me caged, but for what? The throne stands empty. Your court squabbles while the jungle tests all who dare approach. I survived where many perish. Do you not wonder if I was meant to arrive here?”

At first, they laughed. But one lingered: a young raptor with nervous eyes.

“My duty is to guard,” the raptor said, though his voice wavered. “The law is the law.”

Faramond’s deep voice rumbled. “Laws are written by those in power. Tell me, who sits the throne now? Who commands you?”
The raptor hesitated. Silence spoke louder than words.
Night after night, Faramond sowed doubt. He told stories of the jungle, of the knights he shattered, of the strength that earned him his place here. He promised that a new age was coming, and those who stood beside him would not be forgotten.
One evening, when the lanterns burned low, the raptor approached the pit. The key glimmered in his claws.
“Go,” he whispered. “Show them why you came.”
Faramond rose, chains falling loose. He climbed the marble with claw and horn, emerging into the moonlit oasis. The court gasped as he stormed into their midst.
The iguanodon rose in outrage, but the young raptor’s cry rang louder:
“Behold the champion of the jungle! Shall not the strongest lead us into the new age? Prophecy speaks of the queen who will ascend upon a throne, but where is she?”
Gasps, shouts, chaos. But among it, voices rose in agreement. Faramond stood proud before the empty throne, and the court bent beneath his shadow.
Patience, Faramond thought. The jungle is not conquered in a single stride.

He lay in the pit, silent, enduring. Days blurred. The flowers opened and withered. Rain fell, cool against his scales. His chains grew tarnished with dew.
The court watched. Some mocked him, others admired his stillness. The guards, too, began to respect his silence.
At last, weeks later, the iguanodon descended with an entourage. His mantle gleamed, but his voice was quieter than before.
“You have endured,” he said. “Few would have lasted. Perhaps you are no trespasser, but one tested by the will of Atlantis itself.”
Chains fell away.
The court gathered, restless. Whispers stirred. Faramond stepped onto the dais once more, his scars glinting in the sun. This time, none dared cry trespass.
He bowed his head to the empty throne. “Atlantis has judged me,” he said. “Now let us see who is worthy to rule.”
The court erupted, not in laughter but in debate, his name carried among them as one who had endured and triumphed.
But patience was not in his blood.

Faramond’s rage boiled. He tore at his chains, muscles burning, bronze links groaning. Sparks spat from his horns as he rammed the walls. The guards shouted, alarm rising.
With a roar that shook the flowers from their vines, he shattered the chains. The pit cracked, marble splitting. He clawed his way upward, scattering raptors like dry leaves.
The court cried out as he stormed into their midst, eyes blazing. The iguanodon raised his hand, but Faramond charged, his horns carving furrows in the dais. Nobles scattered in terror.

“Atlantis tests strength!” he bellowed. “And strength has answered!”

He slammed his horn into the pearl throne. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, light flaring. The court fell silent, staring at him in awe and fear.
The throne remained empty, waiting for the one worthy of the crown.

Faramond stood up, looking at the throne, then slowly backed down.

It was time to go. As he left the room, crowd watched him in silence, knowing he would not be forgotten.

The heart of Atlantis had tested him.
And he had endured.