We have no numbers left. No safe halls. No time.
The forge is gone. What remains belongs to rust, filth, and the things that fear their own echoes. We cannot take it back — not with what is left of us.
So we give you this.
Every record we have kept, every observation, every memory of what this world was before the silence, before the taint. The rise, the fall, the years beneath the earth, the battles no one dared to acknowledge — all of it is here.
We have carried this archive across decades of shadow war, guarding it as fiercely as we guarded our lives. Now it must leave us.
The relay is old, half-dead, but it will reach the void. Somewhere. To someone.
If you hear this, then the forge still speaks, though we do not. Let these logs be our voice, our proof, our cry for aid. Remember that once, this world built the heart of war. Remember that it can again.
We will not see the answer. The moment we send this, they will find us. That is the cost we have chosen. Whoever you are, you are now the keeper of our history. Do not let it die in silence.
[End of transmission — no further records found]