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[on the inside cover of a journal, old and waterlogged. only the inside and outside covers are readable.]

Raqia is home, now. There was nowhere else to go. Not with the progress of the plague, and the magic corruption wrought in its wake. Much as I might miss the sky, I remind myself that this was the best of many, many bad options. All the modern conveniences of the outside world have been brought in with us. Humans and non-humans, all of us with magic will be safe in here, they assured us. And went unspoken, out there they will be safe from us.

The progress on the domes went quicker than I would have thought possible, but they sprang up in hardly as long as it had taken to breathe word of the idea. I would move heaven itself, to have them find our cure half as quickly. With any luck, we won't be here long.

[skipping to the end, there is a single line written on the back cover]

Finally, we will have our miracle.