Chapter Text
As mankind sent the first horde of satellites to low orbit and drank vineyards of wine in celebration, my people fabricated slumber.
Well, we reinvested in the illusion. Since the smallest details of the homeland escaped our borders, Atlanteans have used the strongest tools of our nation to obscure our true nature. The remnants of history's greatest catastrophes were used to decorate our living rooms. Entire construction companies were bewitched to cover up translocations. There were spies and disinformation campaigns on every continent, funded by beings older than the very nations they deceived. The creatures, weapons, and forces that for so long have made up human myth were hidden away, framed as mere fairy tales.
For as long as either has existed, magic has retained its impact on humanity. Humanity’s memory of it, however, was not so well preserved.
With their masterful wielding of magic, Atlantis was afforded unbelievable power.
And the ability to use it without consequence was intoxicating .
But as we chiseled mountains into palaces and tamed infernos of dragons, the human world advanced alongside us. As we ripped elementals from the ocean to mix our drinks, they created shipping vessels. As we turned our enemies to solid gold, they forged iron into swords. As we forged flames into our blades of war, they invented the first radio. Because no matter how many magical disciplines were mastered, or what titans were slain, or seas turned to path, the march of mankind’s technological progress never slowed. It was never halted; and it never gave the smallest of indications that it would ever, let alone that it could ever end.
With every advancement, with every revolutionary discovery, with every prosperous industry rising overnight, Atlantis redoubled its defenses. As civilization grew and the desire to explore grew along with it, ever more spells were cast along our coasts. With every reinvention of communication, another law of physics had to be ignored to keep what small strategic advantage we had. As nations shifted their focus away from the conquering of land to the conquering of people , we had to learn the basics of human psychology before we even knew how to make textbooks .
And as the Space Race gained speed, we scrambled to keep up. The launch of Sputnik 1 was a greater catastrophe than the demise of an Arcana. There were more Atlanteans snuck into North America and Europe in the year of 1957 than the previous two hundred . Even with each member of the Arcanum’s near Godhood , they barely restrained the riots. All of Atlantis was on the verge of madness as a result of Vostok 1. Every minute of the craft's ascension caused more flames to be thrown, more buildings to be shattered, more dragons to roar, more lightning to crack the sky.
It truly seemed like our world was ending. And my people had no hesitation in acting like it.
For Atlantis, Yuri Gagarin's orbit of the Earth was a moment of great dejection. The accomplishments leading to it were met with unprecedented rage, panic, and terror. Enough rugs were pulled out from under us for the friction to set fire to the floor we stood upon. But that flame diminished as Vostok 1 remained in orbit. As the first cosmonaut carefully observed our planet's islands and continents, Atlanteans were not angry. They were not afraid. Instead, we were... somber.
We no longer looked to the near inevitable reveal of our existence with rage, or with fear.
We simply awaited it.
As the Russian spacecraft gradually moved across the Atlantic, we prepared for war. We polished our blades and sharpened our speeches, for we did not know if it would be fought with the sword or the pen.
These preparations were for naught, though. Because Yuri Gargarin did not see Atlantis.
He saw the walking mountain of flame and steel rising up from the depths of the Atlantic less than a thousand miles away.
And when it turned skyward to make eye contact with him, we had a far larger war to fight.