Chapter Text
" . . . In a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea. " - Plato, 360 B.C.
It begins with a city.
A city of light blues, pastel pinks, sunny yellows, and stone grays.
A city that spans miles with statues and structures all around.
A city with people who live their lives in kindness, in harmony.
The last day the isolated city was seen as a desperate day. People scurrying around like ants when the tides changed inappropriately. The people, mere minutes later, being thrust into a panic as the water recedes farther than it should have. Fisherman ran to the palace with bare, wet feet demanding they be seen by the King and Queen. The fishermen knew the signs: water receding meant tsunami. The fish were scarce, scared. The King contemplated before standing, taking his steps to walk outside the room with his wife, who had beckoned their two young children. It only took a few more minutes, feeling the air change and hearing the distant scream-like hums of the Ketaks being pushed past their limits and ultimately, being swallowed by the wall of water traveling behind.
The King’s eyes could only widen at the height of the wave. The Queen, beside her, held tightly to both of her son’s hands and took one footstep back when she saw it. It was unclear what the cause of this event was. She only knew that it was dangerous. Bells began to ring before the royal family could process the horror, warning bells. The King looked back at his wife, his children, and gently grabbed her by one of her wrists, tugging before letting go.
“We must leave!”
The Queen nodded and began to move with her children. The people in the courtyard knew where to go, everyone knew where to go. The shelters were the only safe place from the impending tsunami. Her youngest stumbled, lost his footing. He scraped his knee and she stopped to turn to him, rushing him to stand. Tears clouded the child’s eyes and the Queen looked up from her son to see her husband, stopped and waiting for them. On her chest, the crystal began to glow like it did with most domestic things she did with it. It vibrated softly before it lifted from her chest and she stood. The sky began to glow the same green-blue the crystal gave off as her eyes changed from a honey brown to a steely blue.
There were no words as she let go of her children, her husband only gaping. There were no words as she was lifted from the ground and limply brought to the sky. Her youngest tried to grab for her, and her oldest, only two years older, held his brother tightly to him. The youngest didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He only knew his mother was leaving him. The two boys and their father watched as a beloved wife and mother disappeared and a barrier form around the sky.
The last thing seen of the once prosperous island was washed beneath the waves, presumed to not be seen again.
-
The years go on. New settlements are made, and a child is born in New York, 1882. The child is only four years old when his parents pass, due to illness. Jesse McCree was placed into the foster care system for two years until he was adopted by a man by the name of Gabriel Reyes, a well-known linguist, and adventurer.
Gabriel Reyes was one of the best of his time but went into a semi-retirement when he adopted a six-year-old Jesse. The child adored Gabriel, demanded stories of his adventures, even. He told him stories of Atlantis, and the child would demand to hear more, completely infatuated. Gabriel would tell him of his own pursuits of Atlantis, and Jesse vowed to one day find it if Gabe didn’t.
Jesse had a fascination with adventure, fueled directly by Gabriel. Gabriel would take Jesse hiking, rock climbing, and more. The child absolutely loved it. Jesse showed promise when he was young, asking Gabriel to teach him as many languages as he could with far too much enthusiasm. They practiced together as often as they could until Jesse became fluent.
In 1896, Jesse gained an interest in cartography. He set up games for Gabe and himself to play, creating ‘treasure hunting’ maps in his free time. Jesse McCree-Reyes was a spunky young man.
It was 1902 when Gabriel got sick. It was lung cancer, he told Jesse. He was only twenty years of age, and he felt almost as if his whole world was crumbling. The man who took him in, who he called ‘father,’ was dying. With no way to fix it.
It was only a year later when Jesse sat beside Gabriel on his deathbed, tears in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips.
“I’m looking for Atlantis, Pa. I’m gonna find it for you just like I promised.”
“I know you will, mijo. If anyone can find it, you can.”
Those few final words of his would fuel Jesse for the next ten years. When Jesse wasn’t working, he would be spending his time looking through his father’s old stuff for anything Gabriel hadn’t seen. Gabriel had extracted most of what he could from books and items, but not as much as he could.
Gabriel had a journal with as much written Atlantean he could translate. Jesse used this to his advantage, using it to teach himself what Gabe knew, and using what he knew to become proficient in it. He studied into the late hours of the night, memorizing what his father knew, memorizing the information he found himself. There was only a matter of time for him to actually find some information of substance. It came in the shape of an Icelandic artifact.