DOCUMENT REF: LFA-155-G
ARCHIVE STATUS: [REDACTED] / RECOVERED POST-MORTEM
AUTHOR: Silas Lombardhy
LOCATION: [REDACTED], Luna
DATE: August 12, 2155
[TRANSCRIPT]
Well, ain’t life a funny son of a bitch.
I spent forty years runnin’. I ran to the Empire. I learned to bow. I learned to eat with sticks. I thought I could wash the dirt off the Lombardhy name.
But gravity is a hell of a thing. My son Kian dragged us all back to Luna for a contract. And now, here I am, an old man sittin’ in the park, watchin’ the curse come home to roost.
I’m lookin’ at my grand-babies. All four of 'em. And I ain’t lookin’ at their smiles. I’m lookin’ at their eyes.
The Debt is due. The “Receipt” Nicholas talked about… it skipped me, it skipped Kian, but it hit these kids like a freight train.
Endou, twenty-three, standin’ there in his dress blues. His eyes are burnin’ crimson. He looks like a wolf ready to snap a neck. He thinks he’s tough. He is.
Frederick, thirteen, laughin’ with a bloody lip. His eyes are flashin’ like sparks. He’s got the fire.
And Kaito… little six-year-old Kaito.
I asked him what he was lookin’ at by the airlock. He turned those deep, rusty-red eyes on me—eyes that look like dried blood—and said the machine was “tired.”
He sees it. He sees the entropy. He sees the cracks in the world.
I’ve got Nicholas’s book on my lap. The book of monsters. The book of fear. I was gonna give it to ‘em. I was gonna say, “Here, boys. Here’s the map to the hell that’s waitin’ for you.”
But lookin’ at ‘em now… I reckon that’s the wrong move.
If I give ‘em this book, I’m just passin’ on the fear. I’m tellin’ ‘em they’re victims. I’m tellin’ ‘em to be scared of the dark.
To hell with that.
These boys ain’t victims. They’re Lombardhys. And they got the Wadhya blood now, too. They got the grit and the precision. And they got the Eyes.
The Lioness didn’t curse us. She armed us. She gave us night-vision for the soul. And ain’t that a blessin’?
I’m finna do somethin’ crazy. I’m takin’ this book to the incinerator.
I ain’t gonna be the ghost hauntin’ their future. Let ‘em walk into the dark with their heads high. Let ‘em trust their gut. Let ‘em trust those red eyes.
If the monsters come, and boy I hope they come, my boys won’t need a history lesson. They’ll write their own damn book.
Endou. Frederick. Kaito. And sweet little Keisha. Grandpapa is checkin’ out. The wall is yours now. You don’t need me to hold it up. You’re strong enough to be the wall yourselves.
I pity the poor alien bastard that tries to cross you.
This is Silas Lombardhy, signin’ off.
Keep your powder dry, kiddos.
The rest is up to you.
[Entry Ends]