July 16, 2044, Teyvat Dimension, Day 7
Recorder: Eileen Custer
The Electro Archon's death paved the way for the Watatsumi Island Resistance Army to quickly march on Narukami Island—and of course, we played no small part in that. Now, we have left Inazuma and are heading to Sumeru, currently aboard a ship bound for Port Ormos. There's not much to record about today's journey, so I'll focus on telling the story of Earth and myself…
I was born in the early hours of June 4, 2015. I learned to walk when I was one, and speak when I was three. But when I turned five, the whole world changed. A sudden plague swept across the globe, and my grandmother didn't survive it. I still remember the way my mother cried into her arms, and the empty chair at the dinner table that never got filled again.
In 2022, Russia and Ukraine went to war, and the Third World War broke out. At first, we thought it wouldn't affect us—we lived in Marseille, far from the battlefields. But in 2029, Russia declared war on France. My brother, a fierce French nationalist who always talked about "the glory of Gaul," enlisted immediately. He left home wearing a military uniform, promising to come back and protect us. He never did. He died on the Eastern European front, his body never recovered.
The turning point of World War III came when the U.S. launched a surprise attack on Hokkaido—a region that had been occupied by Russia at the time. The war dragged on until 2030, and by then, the world was already in shambles. In 2035, Roy—my boyfriend, who had always dreamed of "saving the world"—joined GTI, a military organization under the United Nations, saying he wanted to "uphold world peace." Soon after, he was sent to fight in the anti-terrorism wars in the Middle East. I prayed every night for his safety, and by some miracle, he came back alive—though he carried a scar across his chest and never talked about the things he'd seen.
By 2036, Earth's ecosystem collapsed, the result of decades of unbridled industrial activity and constant warfare. The skies were gray with smog, the rivers ran black, and crops failed across entire continents. But none of this was the real reason we turned to the inter-dimensional project. That reason came when we humans destroyed the Moon with our own hands.
The Moon's destruction stemmed from the Sol Space Program. Earth's energy reserves had dried up, and experts predicted that a massive solar flare would hit in 2038. HAAVK proposed deploying a million satellites to capture the energy of solar ion winds, which would power Earth for centuries. But then someone claimed that lunar activity—specifically a series of lunar eclipses—would interfere with the satellites' ability to absorb the ion winds.
Overnight, the world went mad. People took to the streets, waving signs and shouting: "Destroy the Moon! Trade it for energy!" No one listened to the astronomers who warned that the Moon stabilized Earth's rotation, that its destruction would trigger cataclysms. In January 2038, 55 antimatter bombs deployed on the Moon were detonated. I watched the live broadcast on a cracked screen—saw the Moon shatter into millions of pieces, forming a ring of debris around Earth. People cheered, calling that day "Liberation Day." But the celebration didn't last long.
The lunar debris ring interfered with the satellites just as much as the Moon itself had. The Sol Program failed completely, and we'd lost the Moon forever. The irony was cruel: the same people who'd screamed for the Moon's destruction now turned on the scientists who'd carried out the plan. On August 15, 2041—a day they called "Purge Day"—over 2,000 scientists involved in the Sol Program were hanged in public squares. My grandfather was among them. He'd spent his life studying astrophysics, dreaming of making Earth a better place. I watched him die from a distance, too scared to scream, too numb to cry.
With the Moon gone, Earth plunged into darkness. Tsunamis swallowed Japan, the Maldives, and parts of Hainan, China. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions ravaged every continent. Debris from the lunar ring rained down on the equator every day, turning cities into graveyards. Just when all hope seemed lost, HAAVK announced a breakthrough in Low Near-Magnetic Field Distortion technology—it could open a portal to another dimension.
The world erupted in joy. People talked of colonizing the new world, of starting over. But my parents opposed it. They said, "No matter where humanity goes, our evil nature will follow. We'll destroy that world too, just like we destroyed this one." Their words enraged the public. My father was arrested and hanged, accused of "obstructing humanity's survival." My mother stayed with me for a few months, then decided to go to the U.S. to find Roy's family. She never made it. The taxi driver recognized her as the wife of the "traitor scientist," drove her to the wilderness, and beat her to death with bricks.
I became an orphan overnight. I joined HAAVK's inter-dimensional project not because I believed in humanity's "new start," but because I had nowhere else to go. I wanted to find Roy—he'd been sent to Teyvat with the first expedition team, and had been missing for two months. Now, I'm here, in this beautiful world where the wind smells like flowers and the sky is blue. But as the ship sails closer to Port Ormos, I can't help but wonder: if humanity really comes here to colonize, will Teyvat still be this beautiful? Will we ruin it, too?
I looked out the window. Inazuma's closed-border policy had ended, and in the distance, I could faintly see the outline of Port Ormos in Sumeru. We were almost there…
Earth is already in ruins. We need to start a new journey. But this time, I pray we don't repeat the same mistakes.
End of Log