May 17th, 1886

My pack is starting to become heavy as I trek through this godforsaken snow; I can’t even see WinterHome’s beacon anymore.  All I see for miles is ice and snow.  With every step I take my pack begins to feel heavier and heavier.  Every instinct in my body is telling me to turn back to WinterHome, but the city won’t survive for much longer.  Even though every nerve in my body is telling me to, I won’t turn back, I won’t abandon my mission, I am WinterHomes last hope, if I fail all hope will be lost.

As I proceed farther and farther into this miserable wasteland, I come across a long abandoned dreadnought.  As I walk past this titan from a bygone era, I wonder if it had been used to ferry people to our sister city.  I wonder if WinterHome will suffer the same fate as that city.  The stories from survivors don’t quite inspire hope.

I am WinterHome’s last hope.  The Captain knew of a third generator somewhere to the North, I was one of seven who volunteered to go in search of the generator.  The others are all gone.  One was lost in an avalanche, another to the cold, and another fell off a cliff.  The others all lost hope and went back to WinterHome.  Hope, there’s that word again.  When I left WinterHome the Captain told us that we were WinterHomes last hope.  As I trek through this unforgiving wasteland, I look for any shred of that hope that the Captain spoke of, but I have yet to find it and I begin to wonder what is the point of all this.  There is no hope in this unforgiving place.  The thought of my daughter is the only thing that keeps me going in this wasteland.

Finally after days of searching, I fall to my knees and my eyes begin to water as I have found it, the generator hidden in the crater below.  As I tried to find a way down, I ended up slipping and falling into the crater.  I feel the pain in my leg and I know that it is broken.  I crawl through the snow to the generator.  I rested my back against it and my eyes began to ball as I knew the cold truth.  I will never make it back to WinterHome.  Without me, no one will know about the generator, no one will come to this place, and no one will survive the cold.  This generator was our last hope and no one will ever know it’s here and no one else will come in search of it, no one will survive in this godforsaken cold. When our generator dies all hope will be lost, not that it will matter for I have already lost hope.  My final thoughts are of my daughter.

– From the journal of Issac Smith, Last scout of WinterHome.