DOCUMENT REF: LFA-001-A
ARCHIVE STATUS: STASIS PRESERVATION / HARD COPY ONLY
ORIGIN: Cpl. Nicholas “Nick” Lombardhy
LOCATION: [REDACTED], Vietnam
DATE: October 14, 1968
[ARTIFACT DESCRIPTION] A weather-beaten, water-stained field notebook. The cover is peeling cardboard. The pages are stiff with dried mud and what forensic analysis confirms is Type-O negative blood. The handwriting is jagged, often pressing through the paper, written with a dull charcoal pencil.
[TRANSCRIPT]
I reckon I’m dyin’. Or I’m already dead and this is hell, though I always figured hell would have less rain and more fire.
I got separated from the squad two days back near the ridge. Charlie was hammerin’ us with mortars, shakin’ the teeth right out of my skull. I dived into a ravine to keep my head attached to my neck, and when I looked up, the boys were gone. Just me, the mud, and the jungle breathin’ down my neck.
I’ve been walkin’ since. Leg’s busted. Think I got some shrapnel in the thigh. Smells like copper and rot. I sat down against a banyan tree, clutchin’ my M16, prayin’ to sweet Jesus to just let it be quick.
That’s when the rain stopped. It didn’t taper off, it just… quit. Like someone turned a faucet off. The birds went quiet. The bugs stopped buzzin’.
And out of the mist, She walked in.
Now, I was raised Baptist. Momma told me about angels, men with wings and white robes. This lady wasn’t no angel. She was somethin’ older. Somethin’ fierce. She was tall—lord, taller than any man in my unit—with hair like a brushfire, all gold and copper tangles. She looked at me with eyes like a cat’s, yellow and sharp. She reminded me of a Lioness stalkin’ through the high grass back home.
I tried to lift my rifle, but my arm felt like it weighed a ton. She just smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind a wolf gives a rabbit.
“Rest, builder,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound right. It sounded like stones grindin’ together in a riverbed.
She touched my forehead, and I swear, the valley just melted away.
I wasn’t in the mud no more. I was floatin’. Around me was the dark. Not night dark, but the Deep Dark. The stars were cold and far away. And I saw ‘em. Ships. Great big iron beasts, ugly and blocky, driftin’ through the void like metal catfish. I saw men and women wearing armor I ain’t never seen, thick plates of green and grey, holdin’ rifles that hummed with electricity.
I saw my face in them. My nose. My chin. My kin.
Then I saw the monsters.
Lord have mercy, I wish I hadn’t. Slick black devils. Heads long like a banana, no eyes, just teeth and drool. They moved like oil and killed like threshers. I saw my kin fightin’ ‘em. Dyin’ by ‘em. Screamin’ in the dark where no one could hear.
I started hollerin’, tryin’ to wake up, but She held me there. She showed me engines blowin’ up, colonies freezin’, folks chokin’ for air.
“Why you showin’ me this?” I cried. “Why are you showin’ me my kin gettin’ slaughtered?”
The Lioness looked me dead in the eye. “Because steel requires fire, Nicholas. Your bloodline are not made for peace. You are made to keep the walls standing when the night comes.”
The vision snapped. I was back in the mud, heavin’ up bile. She was still there, fadin’ into the mist like smoke.
She leaned in close, smellin’ like ozone and wet earth.
“You are not dying today, Nicholas. You got work to do. Seeds to plant.” She pointed a long finger into the jungle, but I knew she wasn’t pointin’ at the trees here. She was pointin’ at somethin’ way off. “But when you are done… when the years run out… I’ll be waiting.”
“Where?” I managed to wheeze out.
“Yggdrasil,” she said. It was a strange word. Hard on the tongue. “The Great Tree. Where the roots drink deep. I wait for the Lombardhys there. Don’t be late.”
Then she was gone. Just the rain startin’ up again, soaking me to the bone.
The medic says I’m delirious. Says I’m lucky the patrol found me. But I know what I saw. I know what’s comin’.
My boy needs to learn how to fix things. Not just tractors and trucks. He needs to know how to fix things that keep the dark out. Because the dark is hungry, and it’s comin’ for us all.
If you’re readin’ this… keep your powder dry. And look for the Tree.
[Entry Ends]
HISTORIAN’S NOTE: Nicholas never spoke of this openly, but he spent the rest of his life obsessed with machinary and hydroponics, strange hobbies for a mechanic from [REDACTED]. He laid the foundation. We simply continue the work.
- E. Lombardhy