(a written account by an unknown author, salvaged off the coast of Thera)
Daybreak
To think that the expected day has arrived! I find myself filled with both trepidation and anticipation. I barely slept. I’m proud to be part of history.
Early Morn
Our Adepts have boarded their boats to take positions. Everyone is talking about the degree of success; never did I dream that we would actually be able to expand! The others say the land should be especially fertile.
Early Morn, cont.
Everyone is in position. I’ve said more than a few prayers to the Fates.
Morning
The incantation is slow going, but the rumbling beneath the waves indicates progress. How big will it be?
Morning, cont.
Something is wrong. The rumbling has not stopped, but nothing has appeared. There should have been results by now. The Adepts continue their incantation.
Late Morn
The ground has begun to rumble harmonically with the ocean. My colleagues are beginning to panic. We should abort the effort, but I fear we’ve gone too far already. The leaders call for the Adepts to stop chanting. Some onlookers are leaving, but the rest stare, unwilling to turn their backs on what’s to come.
Early Afternoon
The order has been given for anyone not affiliated with this project to return home. The Adepts have stopped their spell and come back to the docks. My colleagues speak quickly and with unconcealed agitation: What Went Wrong, they ask. I raise a different question: How Can We Fix This.
Afternoon
The entire island shakes, making it difficult to walk in a straight line. This is no landshake, but the consequences of our hubris. Our Adepts are at a loss. Some have already fled, while the rest frantically attempt to engineer a counter-incantation. No one has answers. I excuse myself.
Afternoon, cont.
I have gathered my family and make for the docks, a plan adopted by many, it seems; the streets are crowded and I fear there will not be enough boats. The shaking has grown worse; I silently thank the Fates for the number of people, however, since it keeps most of us from falling as we flee. We make frequent stops.
Late Afternoon
The boats are overloaded, and some have been swamped by the increasingly turbulent ocean. My wife tries her best to calm the children, but they know the situation is dire. Our turn will come soon, I hope.
Late Afternoon, cont.
We managed to catch the last two seats on one of the remaining boats at these docks; the children sit upon our laps. Even in the water, we can feel the shaking: hard, rhythmic, relentless. Can barely write due to the crowding and turbulence. We launch.
Early Eve
We’ve managed to put some distance between ourselves and the island, but the waves will not abate. Our rowers struggle to take us to the mainland, but something holds us back.
Early Eve, cont.
Our worst fears have come to pass: the island is sinking beneath the waves, and the suction is drawing our boat and others back toward it. Our rowers can no longer even hold our position; we’ve begun to drift inexorably back. We’ll return to our homeland in time for it to consume us all, pulling us beneath the water to die in its embrace. One man leaps from the boat to try and swim to shore, but the unnatural undertow is like a capricious child, dragging him beneath the surface. He comes up for air much closer to the island, gasping and crying for help. Everyone on the boat is silent.
Evening
All able-bodied men and women take turns on the oars, doing their best to slow our regress. I can see the other boats doing the same, and hear their calls to row harder echoing our own. It’ll be my turn soon. The children are crying.
Later
All around us is the sound of water with a bass undercurrent from the ocean floor. Our homeland is half-gone, though I can barely see even that now that night has fallen. The sky is unusually clear tonight, a three-quarter moon our only beacon in darkness both real and impending.
Later
Can barely see to write. We’ve nearly returned to what used to be the docks. The water churns and pulls; our rowers gasp, exhausted. Some of the boats seem to have broken free and made it to land, but the Fates have not smiled upon ours. We were foolish and the innocent have paid the price. My children are silent and my wife silently weeps, her body shuddering against mine.
(unreadable)
i would ask forgiveness if i thought it would come
my dear children