There are no stores of a settling of Atlantis. It seems that we have always been here, that we have always been part of this proud city, of her lush fields, of the sea that cradles her and throws upon her more favors than any of her other children.

            At strange thing it is, too: even in the bustle of the city, even in the hidden places seemingly untouched by human hands—and there are such places, if you know where to look—no matter where on the island, one can always, always hear the waves. For us Atlanteans, for those of us whose ancestors have called this island home since its beginning, the constant rhythm is a lullaby, in time with the singing of the blood in our veins.

            It seems, too, that just as we have always been part of the island, Atlantis has always prospered. There are stories of the flourishing of our Empire, of the canny merchants who brought back precious minerals to add to our already considerable store, of the wily diplomats who seduced lesser nations to our will. And yet, there are no tales of struggle or setback; if there ever was an age before Atlantis, it gave way to us almost willingly, as if it knew our divine destiny.

            Yet from other countries come other stories. Foolish peasants—they are always seeking to find something before the Beginning. There are myths of a civilization whose cities once lit up the sky, whose wonders spanned the world, where even the simplest citizens took for granted things the like of which we could never dream (and such as strange thing to say—for if there was ever any race that was given to dreaming, it would be us Atlanteans). But with this great power came great potential for destruction, and behold: the greatest nations fell to war and launched terrible weapons, and thus the entire world was dragged down with them. And so all that was left was Atlantis (or perhaps Atlantis rose from or after this; who can say? These are just stories, after all), lone pearl in a land of dust.

            And what of us Atlanteans? Did we migrate here, after the fall of the world? Or were we created by the grace of some unknown god with our island, to be both its protectors and beneficiaries? Many, I think, would say the latter. Have I not said that we are part of Atlantis?

            If our origins are shrouded in mystery, I can at least give you some glimpse of our modern history. For much of our past we chose to remain isolated, cultivating our knowledge and unlocking the secrets of our magic without outside interference. But at the population grew and the fields were lost to the ever-expanding city, we were forced, a thousand years ago, to search abroad for more resources, alternatively conquering some lands and trading with others as we saw fit.

            Traveling abroad to places we had so long ignored, we were shocked at the decrepit state they lay in. Warlords vied constantly for feeble power, rarely managing to do more than kill their own people and destroy what few resources they did have. Too busy with the struggle for everyday survival, not even the meagerly wealthy had time for art or education. Alone in the world we were—and remain still—the cradle of civilization.

            At first it was permitted, even encouraged, for us to go abroad, bringing back foreign spouses and settling in new countries. The Council of the Light, the rulers of Atlantis, grew concerned with matters overseas, leaving the Temple to govern internal affairs. It is said that at this time the true Spirit of Atlantis, that individual believed to be the reincarnation of Atlantis itself, began to be replaced with a surrogate, politically appealing, individual. But of course this is false—to say such things is blasphemy.

            When the magic that we Atlanteans had so long taken for granted began to appear from our influence in foreign places as well, however, the Temple appealed to the Council to ban the easy foreigner-Atlantean relation we had grown accustomed to. Afraid of our blood being permanently polluted, interracial marriages were outlawed and all Atlanteans living abroad were brought back to the island under threat of death if they disobeyed. At the same time, all foreigners living on Atlantis were expelled to their native lands.

            Despite these attempts to once again isolate ourselves, there was still a need for trade. We allowed merchants, especially those from our conquered territories to come to Atlantis to do business. Inevitably, some would bring their families or illegal passengers. Living as we do from and of the sea, we know better than to try and fight the tide. So, rather then having our ranks and blood infiltrated, we walled in our main city and allowed the area around the ports to be settled by foreigners. Although many, many people wish to come to Atlantis, we allow only a very few to stay permanently. Those who pass our inspection—and their offspring—are known as “Etrani” and are even allowed to enter the Inner City from sunup to sundown.

            But despite our generosity, some of these foreigners, these Etrani who we have graciously allowed to settle in Atlantis grow malcontent. They complain of the restrictions upon them, say that they are not considered equal, that they are treated like second-class citizens. Foolish! How can they presume to be as great as us, as the Atlanteans, fairest of all races? After all, does “Etrani” not come from the old Atlantean word for “slave”? But they are shameless and ungrateful. I have even heard that they have created their own supposed Council of the Sun to rival our own Council of the Light!

            This is not the only thing to make us think we might be entering troubled times, however. The Servants are claiming more and more power for the Temple, and calling for more and more Blood Sacrifice—Atlantean blood too, not just that of the slaves of foreigners! We cannot help but grow nervous as more and more rumors of doom begin to travel through the streets.

            In full circle, then, we come back to stories. There is a legend, more ancient than any other we tell, of a beautiful city that grew too rich and arrogant, and so was swallowed up by a great wave from the sea that had once favored it, never to rise again. Others, however, speak of this not just as legend but as prophesy; is this whisper our past or our future? Is it a repeat of history or is this the making of history itself?

            No city has ever been as fair as this one, and none will ever be again. If—fate forbid—we were lost, then it would not only be a travesty for our people: it would be a wound on the world itself, a hollow repeated with every slapping of wave on rock, like the rolling of the Temple drums.

            Do not betray us, then! Raise Atlantis up; give your life for her, the salt of your blood for the salt of her ocean. Somehow I know, with mingled hope and despair, that this—this most beautiful of cities, most proud of people, greatest of civilizations is it: we are the Last Atlantis.

Author unknown. Written in black ink on a silk scroll. Lira University Library archives.