(Journal - Robby, Age 12)

  A guy named Steve came today. Not the kind of adult you see wandering town, leaving papers behind, or yelling at people in the market. He’s… different. He walked straight to my dugout without hesitation, like he knew I would be here, like he had been looking for me. I froze at first, hiding a little behind the doorway, my hand on the spear. But he didn’t laugh, didn’t scold. He just looked at my place, the dugout, the way I had stacked my firewood, the garden I had fenced off and nodded slowly.

  “You built this?” he asked. Not surprised. Just… curious.

  I nodded.

  “Impressive,” he said. He didn’t touch anything, didn’t move around like a kid would. Just stood there and looked. That’s when I noticed something strange in his eyes. Careful. Calculating. But not cruel. I don’t know how to describe it. He’s the first adult to look at me and see me as something other than trouble or a small thing to take advantage of.

  I tried to keep quiet while he scanned my little area. He saw the antenna, the radio, even my food stores. Didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t take anything. Just noticed.

  Steve stayed a long time. He asked questions, small ones, about the radio, the garden, about my traps in the fields. I answered short and carefully, but I noticed him nodding as I spoke. He knows things about trading, about wheat, about corn, and he seems to know what’s valuable. He asked about the wagon, about how I carried stuff to market to trade, about the freezer I got running.

  He apparently knows Trixie who sent him here since she’s been so busy lately. He had some good tips on how to make my snares work better, and other things like tying some hair to my fence so my scent was on it to keep deer and such away. I tried to cook a meal for him for the tips but he refused and shared some of his food instead. We ended up eating both, he admitted grilled boar was better than his rations.

  Steve brought his girlfriend Sarah with him. She’s quiet, younger than him, but not in a stupid way. She watches and listens, helps without asking. I think she likes my cat, Nina. She smiled when she saw her curled up by the fire. I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded.

  Steve offered to trade. Wheat for tools, corn for some extra batteries. He had a pack of canned food too, some he said was from Silvercreek. I didn’t know there were people like him outside town that didn’t just take and leave. They actually wanted to trade fairly.

  I had my first beer today. Just a little, Sarah said it’s a “we’re still kickin” celebration. Steve handed it to me and told me to sip, not gulp. Bitter and weird, but… warm. I didn’t like it much, but it felt like being part of something bigger. Being trusted. Being seen as big.

  Arknad didn’t say anything about it. I didn't need to. I didn’t imagine him. I think he’s… fading. I’m not scared anymore, not like I used to be. Steve seems to notice when I hesitate, when I plan, when I’m thinking too much. I like that. Makes me feel safe, not in a bubble, but like someone is watching my back.

  I was careful around Steve today. I didn’t want him to know everything , like how I sometimes hide food in case something goes wrong, or how I can’t sleep without listening to the wind, or the distant sounds of the town. But he noticed the implant scar on my hand. Didn’t ask me to show it, didn’t probe, didn’t call it weird. Just said, “You’ve been through a lot.”

  I realized he’s the first adult to see me as useful. Not a kid to babysit, not a problem, not something to ignore. Just… useful. I like that.

  Steve left some books today. He said I should read them, learn more. Science, math, a little history. I didn’t know there were books that explained things the way he explained them, things I could actually use. He left them in a corner, told me to organize them the way I wanted. I like that. I think I’ll start reading tonight.

  I keep looking at the radio. It works. I listen to it sometimes when Steve and Sarah aren’t around. The voices are calmer now, people talking about survival, food, keeping their families alive. No more constant warnings, just instructions, advice. “Unchained Day” still comes up. Everyone is planning, everyone is making rockets.

  Steve helped me trade today. He walked me to the edge of town and talked to the mayor. I stayed quiet mostly, just helped carry things, showed off the extra food I had from the spring harvest, the meat all being frozen and packed in ice and hay. The mayor nodded at me, said I was very doing well keeping track of supplies. Steve explained how to move wheat and corn safely, what trades made sense. I didn’t know adults could be patient like that. I got more money this time than when I traded by myself. That was nice.

  I helped unload meat I traded from some hunting. Steve said it’s a good idea to ration it, to keep track of it. I wrote notes, like he told me. Everything I do seems bigger now. Not just surviving, but planning.

  (Journal - Robby, Age 13)

  My birthday. Not like before. Not hiding. Steve gave me a small bottle of beer again. Trixie showed up too since Steve had beer. We put it in my fridge this time so it was cold. Sarah laughed at my face when I tried it. Bitter. I liked it better this time because it was cold and because Steve nodded at me, approving, like I had passed some invisible test.

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  We talked about tools today. How to repair solar panels, move batteries, make sure the freezer stays running. Steve says I’m not just surviving anymore, I’m running a little operation here. I like that. I like that he trusts me.

  Arknad doesn’t appear much anymore. I don’t need him. I do think Arknad would prefer rum over beer. I put that on my to-do list, try rum before unchained day.

  I’m still cautious. I watch Steve when he moves around, notice what he does with Sarah, the way he checks the weapons, the supplies, the town boundaries. He’s organized. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t threaten. He just… acts. I’m starting to see how adults can be structured. I’m starting to see how people survive, and survive together.

  Sometimes I imagine what it would be like without him. The thought makes me shiver. I think about Lethe in the sky, the fires that burned the farmhouses, the looters. I think about Nina, and the cat. I think about the people I’ve lost. I think about the rockets. I think about what Steve might expect from me one day.

  I think I'll be ready to try soon, but not yet.

  Fishing at the old farmhouse lake today. Sarah kept quizzing me while I tried not to drop the line. Multiplication and division. I think she’s convinced I live in a math textbook or something. She couldn’t believe I thought I had to memorize all the tables up to 100. I didn’t tell her about the calculus problems I sometimes practice in my head. Best if she thinks I’m just a farm boy. Steve says most people forget things they don’t use anyway. That’s true. But if anyone knew I was good at numbers… well, they’d find a way to make me do their math for them.

  Steve showed me how to set the bobber so it doesn’t drag in the current. Sarah laughed when mine flipped into the reeds. I pretended I meant to do that. She’s quick. Observant. Keeps asking questions about everything I do. I like that about her. Makes me pay attention to what I’m actually doing instead of just thinking about what I should do.

  We sat on the bank after lunch. Sarah was counting fish and writing notes. Steve told stories about his first time fishing, how he always caught more weeds than fish. I told him the first time I tried catching a fish with my hands because I didn’t know how to make a fishhook yet. Sarah and Steve both thought that was funny. I think it’s funny now too, I still remember it not being funny when I was so hungry though eating green air all the time.

  I watched the sunlight hit the water, made little glitter trails. Steve talked about rationing fish, how to make them last. I made notes. Thought about Nina. About the freezer back at the dugout. About how safe it feels, just three of us out here, no one expecting anything more than patience and effort. Even if they’re just visiting sometimes. Funny how quiet and simple things feel heavier than danger sometimes.

  At night, sometimes I still go back to the old car. No radio, just candlelight and the stars. I read by the flame, turning pages slowly. I still wonder about Mom and Dad sometimes. If they’ll ever show up. If they did, would they even recognize me? I think about letting them find me, but then I imagine the chaos it would bring. I like the quiet, even if it’s lonely.

  Someone tried to follow me from Ravenholt the other day. They thought they could find my food stores, my freezer, maybe take some wheat or corn. I left them chasing shadows for hours, then spread a story. I live here with my parents. That seemed to do the trick, most stopped trying to follow. Best if they think I’m not just a kid with a farm out in the wild. It keeps them guessing. Keeps me safe.

  Steve keeps showing up randomly and talking about Silvercreek. He wants me to come with him someday, see the place, learn more. I nod, but I’m not ready yet. Too many pieces out here, too many little things to fix, to track, to understand. But I listen, and I think. Maybe someday. Trixie doesn’t visit anymore, she’s busy training with some cyberdoc in town. Her chickens are doing good though and her garden is too. I checked on them for her since she’s so busy.

  (Journal - final entry - Robby, Age 13)

  I decided today. I have to leave.

  Steve offered me land in Silvercreek. A place inside town where I can build a house, and a few acres outside the walls for a garden. Real land. Real ground that belongs to me. I didn’t answer him right away. I needed time.

  I didn’t do any work today. No fixing, no checking traps, no counting supplies. I just sat by the lake with my feet in the water. Early fall. Cold enough to sting a little, warm enough that I didn’t mind. I sat there thinking for a long time.

  If I stay here, I’m just waiting. Waiting for Mom and Dad. Waiting for something to change. And if I keep waiting, I’ll never build a ship. I can’t do it alone. I need people. Tools. Power. A place where things don’t break faster than I can fix them.

  They say I’ll have to go back to school because I’m “only thirteen.” I think that’s stupid. I’m an adult. I have a tattoo. I drink beer. I feed myself.

  Okay, I drink a little beer. And it still doesn’t taste that good. I only like it sometimes.

  Still counts.

  I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I can’t wait anymore. I’m big now. I have to do big people things and make big decisions. This big decision is moving on.

  I’m leaving the journal here in the car. Just in case you come back someday and look for me. If you do, you’ll know where I went.

  I sold all the wheat and corn from the silo to the mayor. Got several coppers for it. He wanted the tractor too, but I said no. I’m taking that. And the big wagon. I need it to move my things.

  Steve and Sarah are here helping me load up. I told them I needed a break for a bit. I think they understand. This is hard for me.

  Arknad says he’ll stay here and guard the journal so you can find it and nobody else touches it. Make sure you thank him when you get here.

  Steve explained why you did what you did. Why you left. He said if you hadn’t, I’d probably be dead now. Or worse - stuck in some academy on the moon base. He said the chips in our hands were meant to make us slaves. Make us have lots of children for the war. That part doesn’t make sense to me.

  But I forgive you.

  And I thank you.

  You kept me safe long enough to grow up.

  I’ll take care of it from here.

  I’m big now.

  And that’s what big people do.