Chapter Text
Stanford returned to consciousness due to the persistent sensations that assaulted him: a vaguely aching body, wet clothes plastered against him, and someone shaking him roughly. Tight hands clamped on his shoulders, jostling him. Years on high alert had him respond before he fully comprehended the worried voice telling him to “wake up” and “don’t make me try CPR on ya.” In one swift and fluid movement, Stanford drew his laser pistol and pointed it up at the blurry shape leaning over him.
He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. It was dark, but not completely without light. Some of the blurriness was due to his absent glasses, but there was also a slight burn that reminded him of long summer days at Glass Shards Beach. The salty taste in his mouth only added to the strange nostalgia. But regardless, he wasn’t completely blind without his glasses. The faint light was enough to make out the figure raising their hands to demonstrate a lack of weapons or aggressive intentions.
After one too many encounters with multilimbed species that liked to keep a backup weapon hidden, it didn’t reassure Stanford as much as it used to.
“Easy there, Sixer. Just making sure you’re not dead or nothing. It was a rough landing, but it doesn’t look like anything here’s gonna kill us.”
The gruff voice and the gradual recognition of those familiar features — even in the dark, he would always know that face — helped to calm those entrenched defensive instincts. He wasn’t lost in the multiverse and he wasn’t alone. He made it home, Bill was gone, and he was traveling the world with his twin. He was safe. Or as safe as he was ever going to be. He didn’t have to be constantly on guard because Stanley was there to watch his back.
And it was Stanley that he was pointing his weapon at.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. Then, unable to help himself, he added, “And it would be ‘not dead or anything.’”
Stanley gave a slight chuckle that sound rather relieved. And despite still having a laser pistol aimed at his head, some of the tension melted out of his frame and his hands slowly sank.
Stanford swallowed briefly before forcing a slow breath out, lowering his weapon and sitting up. There was that uncomfortable and yet familiar twist of guilt that always accompanied his fight-or-flight instincts causing him to threaten his brother. At least the frequency of such occurrences had drastically dropped after Stanford managed to force himself to stop sleeping while armed.
But they weren’t in their bunks on the Stan-O-War II. He seemed to be sprawled on a stone surface, somewhat tilted at an angle and covered in an inch or two of water where he’d landed. The salty scent in the air had grown into a familiar one over the last few months at sea, but there was something else. A heavy staleness as he breathed in. As if the air hadn’t moved in a very long time.
Passing them into his hand, Stanley said, “Found your glasses. Guess they got dragged through too. Along with mine, a couple of fish, and a half-grown shark. That was fun to land next to.”
As Stanford put his glasses back on, he did his best to get his bearings by going over everything that had happened. The entire sequence of event prior to losing consciousness. They had been in the Atlantic Ocean, not far from Belize. One of Mabel’s past relationships was a young merman that still kept in contact with her via messages in bottles. She told her grunkles about one of those messages during their regular weekly video-calls, mentioning offhandedly that Mermando and the Queen of the Manatees had gone to the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System for their honeymoon and were considering a brief stop near the ancient site of Atlantis if there weren’t too many humans in the area. Which led to the shocking revelation that merfolk not only knew where Atlantis used to be, but the knowledge was a fairly casual matter for them. Not the huge mystery that it was for humanity. Needless to say, Stanford had immediately begged his brother to change headings.
It had taken months even with Fiddleford’s modifications to the Stan-O-War II. It was a long distance to cover. They had to leave their previous explorations of the detected anomalies at the Arctic Ocean to head to their new destination near the equator and on the opposite side of the continent. But Stanley had seemed enthusiastic about spending January somewhere tropical after decades of Oregon winters. And Stanford would love the chance to study the famous city of Atlantis.
Except the city of Atlantis had been smaller than the stories suggested. Plato exaggerated the size of the city and the vast empire. Of course, he’d been writing about something that happened thousands of years before he was born and some creative liberties were bound to be taken. Instead, it had been a single island that had been submerged ten thousand years ago, the end of the last Ice Age leading to rising sea levels that swallowed it up. Leaving an atoll as the only evidence that an island ever existed. But according to a later message from Mermando, Atlantis had been notable for being the only settlement in history shared by those early humans and merfolks. A peaceful coexistence that had never been repeated. Which made the place all the more fascinating.
What used to be the island was now the Lighthouse Reef. Apparently a very popular place to scuba dive. He didn’t expect to find intact buildings tucked just under the waves. People would have noticed by now. Everything would be destroyed or buried under thousands of years of sediment and coral. But Stanford hoped that some of the tools and sensors that he’d brought back from the multiverse might be able to detect something.
And if he was honest, Stanford had another motivation. A page from Bill’s accursed book that had come free, disconnected from where it belonged within the rest of the narrative. The forty-seventh attempt at building a portal, constructed out of coral by dolphins in the sunken Atlantis. Despite knowing it did not work correctly, he’d needed to check. Stanford had needed to take readings and prove to himself that it couldn’t be used by Bill to return from wherever he’d ended up. He had to inspect the remaining evidence of the Finterdorsmentional Porptal.
That name was awful. Almost painful. Stanford nearly wanted to revive Bill to kill him again specifically for making him read those words.
Like the Bottomless Pit in Gravity Falls left behind by Modoc the Wise and his original portal attempt, the one that the dolphins created also produced very distinctive signs of the attempted activation. Within the Lighthouse Reef was the so-called “natural” wonder of the Great Blue Hole. A nearly perfect circle in the middle of the shallower lagoon. Nearly a thousand feet across and four hundred feet deep, there was no obvious manipulation of space or time within the dark blue depths. It seemed almost like a normal hole. Theorized to be a collapsed cave. And perhaps it partially was. Bill had seemed particularly disappointed by the results of the Finterdorsmentional Porptal. Despite the origins and location, the Great Blue Hole might simply be an ordinary hole by now.
But he had to know. He had to have proof or else he would always wonder.
They’d maneuvered their converted trawler through the bright and lively lagoon, teeming with all sorts of sea creatures and coral formations, following the northern channel to reach the hole in the late afternoon. The tourist boats had already been leaving, the divers finished for the day and undoubtedly needing to be ferried back towards the mainland hotels. They had been alone to do their investigations in peace.
Except something had gone wrong.
Stanford reached up to rub his neck and try to roll out the worse of the soreness. The last part got a little chaotic. They’d been on deck. He remembered that. Both of them appreciating the picturesque view, the incredible shades of blue of the lagoon and the deep hole. The contrast between the two making it almost seem like a painting rather than anything real. But he’d also been studying the readings from his equipment. Running every scan possible. Some passive and others… a little more in-depth and intense. He’d seen the readings spike in the seconds before the still and tranquil sea became violent.
They hadn’t been expecting it. They’d been too complacent. They didn’t even put on their life-jackets. The surrounding reefs provided enough of a buffer that the lagoon was practically like glass that day. There had been no indications. Just that sudden spike on his equipment and then chaos; the Stan-O-War II abruptly and violently being tossed, tipping back and forth as the sea churned. They didn’t have a chance. Both of them were sent overboard, right into the forming whirlpool. Narrow, deep, and strong. Like water draining out of a tub.
“Any idea what happened?” asked Stanley. “Or at least where we are?”
Stanford took a moment to properly look around now that he had his glasses. He could tell that the floor was smooth and man-made rather than anything natural, but it was also tilted at a slant. Indicating that something later on caused the entire surface to shift and sink. The lowest point where the sea water had pooled seemed to be composed of numerous piled boulders that look like a cave-in or other collapse that tried to bury everything, the rubble piled together on the opposite side of a pair of red columns. Very nicely crafted columns that seemed to be keeping the actual ceiling intact. The source of the light also lay in the same direction. Between the twin columns was a floating ring approximately five feet across, composed of what looked like a watery bubble in that unusual shape. The bubble ring gave off a faint and unnatural glow.
Despite the differences in appearance and structure, Stanford was intelligent enough to realize what it must be.
“If I had to theorize,” he said slowly, “the lingering traces of energy from the failed portal was somehow triggered underwater. Gravity and the flow of water carried us through when it activated.”
“How’d it kick on?”
“It is hard to say for certain. I doubt the actual structure is intact after all of this time, so it is unlikely that some sea creature turned it on. Especially when it was a failed attempt at a portal from the beginning. Perhaps Weirdmageddon caused a delayed reaction or maybe one of my scans somehow triggered it.”
Or maybe it was Stanley’s presence. Because as much as Stanford didn’t want to think about what happened that day— what he’d done to his brother and how close he’d come to essentially murdering him— he could not pretend that Bill Cipher hadn't died in Stanley’s mind. Violently.
Stanford had run every test possible to ensure that his brother wasn’t permanently damaged it and that Bill was truly gone; he couldn’t risk Bill hiding in some dark corner in Stanley’s mind, licking his wounds and waiting to harm Stanford’s family worse.
Bill was dead, Stanley was recovering from having his entire sense of identity erased, but there was still evidence of what happened. The faintest traces of Bill’s violent demise lingered. Like psychic shrapnel. Metaphorical ash and smoke that coated the recovering mind of his twin after burning the monster out. Not enough to be concerning or harmful. Certainly not enough to be worth worrying anyone at this point. They’d all gone through enough already. But Stanford did try to keep an eye on it during the monthly checkups that Stanley grudgingly allowed him to run. And perhaps those faint traces from Bill’s death were enough to accidentally activate an ancient portal prototype with his proximity.
But it didn’t matter exactly what caused the Finterdorsmentional Porptal (Stanford still hated that name) to turn on and drag them and a lot of salt water through. It happened. There was no changing it. They needed to focus on where they were now and what was going on.
Slowly climbing to his feet, water running and dripping from his clothes, Stanford said, “This portal prototype was very rudimentary compared to mine. It was even less effective than the one created by Modoc the Wise in Gravity Falls. At least that one produced the Bottomless Pit and its unique behavior. Wherever the accidental activation might have sent us, we can at least be confident that we are still in the same dimension.”
“And how can we be certain of that?”
“I know what interdimensional travel feels like,” he said bluntly. “After the twelfth time, you can pick up on the slight buzzing in your molars in the aftermath.”
Stanford studied the glowing bubble ring, absently rubbing his arms against the chill. They might have been sailing in warm tropical waters, but the temperature dropped the deeper they plummeted. And a dark cave and soaked clothes were not exactly the best combination for staying warm.
“I would assume that the malfunctioning result would be short-range transportation within the same dimension. Like the portal potty that I encountered, but far more limited. Especially with the actual original structure likely gone by now and the brief activation consisting solely on the lingering energy in the area without proper containment or direction.”
He turned his head, looking around further in the dim light. There were straight and solid walls to the left and right, suggesting the end with the columns might have originally been an entryway. The fairly smooth walls also seemed to have designs painted on them, though the lighting wasn’t good enough to identify anything specific without getting closer. It wasn’t a natural cave. They were in a building that had been buried and forgotten. And judging by the architecture style of the columns and the required proximity to the Great Blue Hole, it had been forgotten for a very long time.
“Bottom line, Poindexter?”
Trying to keep the bubbling giddiness contained as realization set in, Stanford said, “We are almost certainly still in the area of the Lighthouse Reef, but obviously below it. Unless I am greatly mistaken, we have found an intact structure from the legendary Atlantis.”
Stanford dug through his dripping coat. He tended to still stash important supplies in his pockets. And the contents rarely spilled out. He’d made modifications to the original coat years ago to ensure that he had the space and that everything stayed in place. He’d spent too long in various dire circumstances with minimal resources to feel comfortable without such preventative measures.
From deep in one of his multiple pockets, he managed to retrieve the emergency portable light bar. It provided better surrounding illumination than the unidirectionality that a simple flashlight could have given them. And if he was going to properly appreciate the craftsmanship from ten thousand years before, he needed to see.
“I thought Atlantis was underwater. Not underground.”
“It’s both. It has been buried deep enough that the seafloor is actually above us,” explained Stanford excitedly. “Most likely, there is only somewhere between six feet and nineteen feet of water above us due to the average depth of the reef, but there is no way to know how much deeper underground we are beyond that. Of course, there is also the possibility that this structure could have originally been closer to the shoreline of the island before it sank and thus would now be in the deeper section of open water. There are some impressive drop off points toward the east end of the atoll.”
Trying not to drop his light source, Stanford fumbled eagerly with his omniband (or his “weird sci-fi watch,” as his brother called it). In addition to the mundane task of telling time, it was a versatile tool for someone wandering the multiverse or even just exploring new corners of their home world. Stanford could use it to help pinpoint their exact location, access (“hack” as Stanley insisted) numerous databases, project holographic images, take some very rudimentary readings that he could use for establishing baseline information for a location— it was important to determine a new dimension’s level of radiation and oxygen content quickly upon arrival— and record detailed three-dimensional images of his surroundings. And while it would probably be useful to determine how deep they were and how far from the Stan-O-War II they’d ended up, his first order of business was getting as much of these ruins copied as possible. Sketches could come later when he had his new journals present. For now, he would use the tools at hand.
The columns weren’t quite the ornamental white columns of the Pantheon, but there was something familiar about the red structures. The bases were a little more elaborate, the carved designs obvious even partially submerged by the sea water that they’d dragged in. It looked like they were designed to resemble sea turtles holding up the columns on their backs. And while Stanford would never claim to be an art expert, he did have a familiarity with numerous ancient cultures since they often provided the most intriguing descriptions of certain anomalies. The legend of Atlantis might be Greek in origin, but the limestone turtles covered in stucco and painted green looked almost Mayan in style.
Regionally, it made sense. On the other hand, the place sank thousands of years before them or ancient Greeks. So it was honestly a surprise that the building was constructed at all.
Stanford moved to the neighboring walls. The pictures that he’d glimpsed before turned out to be elaborate murals. Beautiful depictions of various sea creatures ranging from simple fish to long-limbed octopuses to the half-horse half-fish hippocampuses. All of them swam among stylized seaweed. But it was the design of the octopuses and the dolphins that triggered an old memory from a college class.
“Minoan,” he said, snapping his fingers as the name came to him.
Sloshing through the water, Stanley asked, “What?”
“The murals. They clearly resemble the art style of the ancient Minoans. The columns as well due to the color and being narrower near the base than at the top. Our knowledge of them is limited, but they once dwelled on Crete and they had quite the influence on the people who eventually became the ancient Greeks,” he explained. “But some of the stonework reminds me more of the Mayans.” Making certain that his omniband recorded every detail of the structure, he muttered, “Did a group of the Minoan predecessors arrive here and intermingle with the local population? Or perhaps the people of the island took the knowledge to both the mainland and across the Atlantic Ocean to Crete instead?”
“Maybe mermaids taught all of them,” said Stanley. “How about we do some exploring and see if we can find anything useful? Like an exit.”
He gestured in the opposite direction of the columns. As Stanford essentially moved uphill in the buried ruins, he studied the dark doorway. The wooden doors themselves lay collapsed on the floor. But he could make out the carved dolphins on them. And the door frame itself was intricately covered in carved and painted stone images of merfolk. Stylized, and yet accurate in their depiction. The tails were all green, but the human halves were different colors: white for the women and a reddish-brown for the men. He made certain to scan and record every detail. He would have to study them later on the boat when he could take his time to appreciate it.
“Ten thousand years ago, most humans were still nomadic hunter-gatherers,” he said, trying not to bounce in excitement. “This would have been… This structure wouldn’t be some common house or grain storage. Plato clearly got many details wrong, but a structure of this level of effort and importance…”
Stanford trailed off as he grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him along. Out of the standing water and through the open doorway. Wet boots walking on ancient smooth stone. The floor white with rings of blue that might be inlaid turquoise — didn’t the Aztecs do something similar with some of their mosaics? — that seemed to center at the far side of the chamber. Taking a deep breath, Stanford raised the portable light bar higher.
“Holy Moses,” breathed Stanley.
Grinning broadly, he said, “I believe that we have found the Temple of Poseidon within the lost city of Atlantis.”
Plato’s descriptions of ivory ceilings and every inch being covered in silver and orichalcum might have been an exaggeration, undoubtedly born from the vast time and distance separating him from the reality of Atlantis. But he was clearly correct about one aspect: the presence of gold statues.
There were two smaller ones tucked into alcoves on the left and right. But the main statue and the main subject of worship within the temple lay at the far end of the chamber. The blue rings on the floor centered on it. Larger than life was a golden statue of a bearded man clothed only in a loincloth as he held up a triton, clearly representing Poseidon. He stood in a chariot pulled by a pair of winged hippocampuses. And surrounding the chariot on both sides were dolphins and merfolk. All of them on a slightly raised stone base with more designs carved into them. And the elaborate statue was crafted of shining gold, easily reflecting the light in the room and making it seem brighter.
Whistling briefly, Stanley said, “I guess this counts as the treasure of Atlantis. Don’t know how we’re getting out of here, but we definitely need it as a souvenir, Sixer.”
“Try not to break anything yet,” he said absently.
Like the entrance, the walls were also covered in bright murals. Up near the ceiling were carefully carved and painted friezes that lined the room. As Stanford scanned and recorded every detail, he could work out the story being told. A variation of a couple that he already knew, combined together into something that might serve as the founding myth for Atlantis. Either metaphorically or perhaps even literally.
“This is absolutely fascinating, Stanley.”
“Mm-hm,” he said, still investigating the main statue.
“As far as I can tell from these murals, which seem to combine the art style of the Mayans and the Minoans in a rather intriguing fashion, they are describing a version of the myth concerning Poseidon deciding to make Amphitrite into his consort.”
Stanford gestured at one of the smaller gold statues. That one was closer in size to an actual person. Her hair was carefully gathered up and held in place by what looked like a miniature fishing net, around her neck was a necklace made of seashells, crab claws were attached near her temples like decorative clips, and bead bracelets occupied both wrists. But other than those accessories, she wore no clothing. Perhaps due to her being a nereid and thus a nature spirit instead of a goddess originally? And with the exception of a crown made of actual red coral perched on her head, the statue was just as expertly crafted of gold as her husband’s statue. She truly did look like the queen of the sea. Conventionally attractive and regal, but she wasn’t smiling. She was simply staring sternly at anyone who chose to visit the temple.
“She’s a good-looking lady,” agreed Stanley. “I can see why the Poseidon guy would be interested. And her statue is smaller. Might be easier to move.”
Ignoring the last part, he said, “According to the myths and supported by the murals, Poseidon saw her one day with her sisters and immediately wanted Amphitrite as his wife. She didn’t. But since telling the gods ‘no’ rarely worked out, she fled west to the farthest reaches of the sea.” Stanford gestured toward their surroundings and a picture of her in a white-and-yellow dress sitting on a rock. “And that was clearly this former island. Far to the west of ancient Greece. This could very easily be the earliest version of this myth, thousands of years before Plato, Homer, Hesiod, Eustathius, and even Oppian recorded them.”
“Well, someone is having fun,” he said with a chuckle, coming closer to affectionately nudge him in the side. “Okay, Poindexter. So she ran off here because she didn’t like the Poseidon guy hitting on her?”
“Unfortunately, he was not someone that gives up easily. He sent the various creatures of the ocean to search for her. And a dolphin managed to find her. Some versions of the myth claim the dolphin spoke to her on Poseidon’s behalf and convinced her to give the god of the sea a chance. Other versions say the dolphin merely told Poseidon where to find Amphitrite and was rewarded.”
“Snitches get stitches,” he muttered.
“In that version, their reunion was a less… consensual event.”
The murals made it fairly obvious which version that was followed in Atlantis. The dress from the earlier images of had disappeared. She was completely unclothed as Poseidon lifted her in his arms, her hand trying and failing to push his face away. Anyone familiar with the usual way Greek myths go, it was easy to extrapolate what happened next.
Crossing his arms, Stanley said, “Sounds like someone should have punch Poseidon in the face.”
“First, this might not be an actual historical event. There’s a reasonable chance that it is simply an attempt by the early Atlanteans to explain how their settlement formed and where they came from. Foundational myths for cities or entire populations are common in various cultures. And second, the Greek gods were always treated more like personifications than all-knowing benevolent figures of morality. And the sea is not always kind.”
And maybe it was only Stanford, but he preferred knowing a powerful entity was fickle, flawed, and occasionally cruel rather than being tricked into believing that they were trustworthy and altruistic when they weren’t. At least he would know what he was facing.
Moving his attention to the next mural, he continued, “Poseidon took Amphitrite and made her into his bride, rewarded the dolphin with various honors, and founded a city on the same island to mark their marriage. While not as vast as what Plato described, it was a settlement ahead of its time.”
The depiction of Atlantis was fascinating and enlightening, even in such a limited medium. Canoes made from tree trunks and what looked like a raft demonstrated that the ocean was no obstacle for them. Nets of fish suggested that a great deal of their food came from the sea, though there was also what looked like someone harvesting squash and indicating that there was at least some agriculture. There were the described rings of water and land from Plato’s story. The buildings in the picture lacked much details, but Stanford copied them regardless. Vague and generic building designs might still be revealing in time.
Stanford spotted a small doorway behind Poseidon’s statue. And as much as his curiosity urged him to explore, he resisted for the moment. He still had the murals on the opposite side to record. He couldn’t miss a detail. People had searched for Atlantis for countless generations. He couldn’t waste the opportunity.
Especially, based on what he was seeing, the myth was heading in an extremely interesting direction.
Grabbing Stanley’s arm and yanking him over close, Stanford pointed and said, “Look at this! It’s not just the founding of Atlantis. Or a metaphorical interpretation of that founding. The validity of the potential historical accuracy requires further research. But my point is that there’s more to it.”
“All right, Poindexter. I get it. Exciting nerd stuff.” Despite the eye roll, Stanley chuckled and seemed amused by his enthusiasm. “Give me back my arm and get to the point. What happened next in your story?”
Taking a breath in an attempt to compose himself, he said, “Well, as I already mentioned, Poseidon wed Amphitrite. And she eventually bore him a son. That would be Triton, another god of the sea. Specifically, he ruled over the depths of the sea. But the interesting part was that, unlike his parents, Triton…”
He trailed off, pointing at the final statue as an explanation. Like Amphitrite’s statue, it was close to human-sized. But it wasn’t fully human shaped. The upper half was a bare-chested man holding a conch shell as if he was about to use it like a horn, all depicted in the same shiny gold as the other statues. But the lower body was the tail of a fish, covered in individual scales of jade in a display of incredible craftsmanship and patience.
“Huh… He’s a merman,” said Stanley. After a moment, he asked, “Did he pop out of her with a tail or do you think she laid an egg or…?”
“A mystery for a later date, assuming that it is meant to be taken literally. The point is that he would be the first. The original merman. The entire species started in Atlantis. This wasn’t merely some shared settlement for humans and merfolk. It was their origin.”
There were a few ways to interpret it. Depending on how literal that he wanted to take the story carved and painted into these walls. It could mean that these were literal godlike entities, equal or greater than Bill Cipher in power and abilities. And that Triton was the precursor to all merfolk, creating them in his role as a sea god or possibly fathering them in a more traditional way. Or if he viewed these individuals as powerful sorcerers instead of deities of some type, using their magic and knowledge to rule over the people of the settlement, then perhaps they created merfolk by giving certain humans the traits of fish. That would be a useful adaptation for a young civilization living on an island. And sorcerers capable of such magic would likely be worshipped as gods.
Regardless, the rest of the murals proved that the humans and new merfolk lived side-by-side in Atlantis. The waterways and canals were filled with merfolk, often interacting with the humans. They were even swimming alongside the canoes and helping them catch fish.
And the temple proved that the people of Atlantis, human and merfolk, gave full credit for their happy existence to Poseidon, Amphitrite, and Trion. Even if the three may or may not be metaphorical rather than actual beings. And even if they were real, Stanford could easily be wrong on the details. He was basing his interpretation of the murals on the later Greek versions of the myths.
There were so many things that he still needed to research and study. This could be the work of months.
His fingernail scratching at the jade scales on Triton, Stanley said, “This looks expensive. Not emeralds, but still pretty valuable. Think they’ll come off? Might be easier than dragging up the whole statue. Especially since we don’t know how…”
He trailed off. Stanford barely noticed that he’d stopped talking. He was too distracted recording the last mural, the most intricate depiction of Atlantis with humans and merfolk coexisting. A few moments later, Stanley was shaking his shoulder.
“Hey, Ford?” he said uneasily. “I need you to tell me I’m wrong.”
“What?” asked Stanford, blinking and turning to look at him.
Gesturing back towards the temple entrance, Stanley said, “The water wasn’t in this room before, was it?”