Snow melted slowly that week.Every morning, the white outside the lodge thinned just a little more, revealing patches of dark soil and dead grass. The trees, once coated in frost, began to drip steadily, each drop echoing softly in the still air.

Inside, life had settled into a rhythm. Riku woke first every day, checked the perimeter, cleaned his rifle, and returned just as the others stirred. Suzune handled the stove and the small chores that made the place livable. Ichika, grumbling as always, kept the fire going and repaired what she could find around the lodge.

It wasn't much of a home, but it was home enough.

That morning, Hana was helping Ken fold the blankets when Ichika spoke up. "Hey, boss man, when are we moving out of this frozen hell?"

Riku didn't look up from the map he was studying. "When it's safe to travel again."

"Define 'safe.'" Ichika leaned against the table. "Because the last time you said that, we almost got blown up by pyromaniacs in gas masks."

Riku gave her a flat stare. "Exactly why I'm being careful now."

Suzune smirked from the stove. "You'll never win an argument with him. Save your breath."

Ichika groaned. "How do you people live with him?"

"By not talking too much," Suzune said with a grin.

Riku ignored them, tapping a point on the map. "Once the road clears, we'll move west—Takayama, maybe. Smaller towns, less traffic. Might find untouched supplies."

Ken perked up. "Will there be people there?"

Riku paused. "Maybe."

Hana frowned. "Good people or bad?"

"Both exist," Suzune said gently. "We'll just have to hope for the right kind."

Ichika crossed her arms. "Or we make our own kind. I vote we start our own country right here. Kiso Republic. Population six."

"Seven," Hana corrected. "You forgot the snowman outside."

Everyone laughed, even Riku, just a little.

By midday, the sun peeked through the clouds for the first time in weeks. Hana and Ken begged to play outside, and Riku finally agreed—on one condition.

"Stay where we can see you," he said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir!" Hana chirped, dragging Ken toward the snow piles behind the lodge.

Suzune leaned against the doorframe, smiling faintly. "They're getting louder every day."

"That's a good thing," Riku said. "Means they're still kids."

Ichika came out with an armful of laundry. "I'm jealous. All we do is cook and shovel."

"You could join them," Suzune said.

"I don't play in the snow. I supervise." Ichika dumped the wet clothes on a rope line. "See? Responsible adult."

"Sure," Suzune said. "Very inspiring."

Inside, Emi was sweeping the floor, moving with quiet focus. Her color had returned, though her eyes still carried a distant look. When Riku passed by, she asked softly, "Do you think we'll stay long?"

He glanced toward the window. "Depends."

"On what?"

"If the world lets us," he said.

She smiled faintly. "Then maybe we shouldn't wait for its permission."

Riku didn't answer, but her words stayed in his mind.

Afternoon came warm enough to melt the ice at the edge of the porch. The sound of dripping water filled the air. Suzune took a walk down the trail with Riku to scout. The forest smelled of wet pine and earth—a scent they hadn't noticed in months.

"Feels strange," she said, stepping over a fallen branch. "Almost peaceful."

"Almost," Riku agreed. "Too quiet, though."

"Can't you just enjoy it?"

"Old habits die hard."

Suzune chuckled. "You mean paranoia."

"Experience," he corrected.

They reached a cliffside overlooking the valley. From there, they could see the faint traces of the burned towns below—black scars half-hidden by snow.

Suzune's voice softened. "Do you ever think about before? Like… what you'd be doing if all this never happened?"

Riku kept his eyes on the valley. "Not really. It doesn't change anything."

"I would've been teaching," she said quietly. "I liked kids. Used to think patience was hard until I met you."

He gave her a look. "Funny."

"I try."

They stayed there a while, watching clouds drift over the peaks, before heading back.

When they returned, the smell of something cooking greeted them. Ichika stood proudly by the stove. "Look, real food!"

Suzune frowned. "What did you do?"

"Found a can of curry paste in the storage room. Mixed it with the last of the potatoes."

Riku raised an eyebrow. "You didn't check the expiration date, did you?"

Ichika grinned. "That's what makes it exciting."

Despite her sarcasm, the meal turned out surprisingly good. The room filled with warmth, laughter, and the faint taste of nostalgia. Emi even hummed a song while cleaning the bowls afterward, something Riku hadn't heard since the world fell apart.

When the dishes were done, Hana crawled beside him on the floor, holding a small drawing she'd made with bits of charcoal. "Look, Riku!"

He looked down. The picture was crude but clear—a small cabin surrounded by snow, with seven stick figures holding hands.

"This is us," she said proudly.

Riku stared at it for a moment, then nodded. "Good drawing."

"You don't look happy in it," she teased.

"I'm always happy," he said dryly.

She giggled. "Liar."

Suzune leaned over his shoulder to see. "You actually gave him eyebrows this time."

"He looks less scary that way," Hana said.

Ichika snorted. "Kid gets it."

Riku just sighed.

That night, the wind picked up again, but it wasn't as sharp as before. They all slept close to the stove, sharing warmth. Riku stayed up a little longer, staring at the ceiling beams.

For the first time, he wasn't thinking about enemies or plans. Just the small, simple sound of breathing around him.

Maybe Emi was right—they didn't need the world's permission to live.

Two days later, the snow melted enough for them to explore further. Riku, Suzune, and Ichika took the truck down the path while Hana, Ken, and Emi stayed to maintain the cabin.

The road was rough but open. They found remnants of an old mountain village—collapsed roofs, empty houses, and one untouched temple at the base of a hill.

Suzune stepped out carefully. "Looks quiet."

Riku scanned the area. "Let's check the temple."

Inside, it was cold but intact. Wooden floors, a small altar, dust-covered prayer plaques. Ichika brushed one clean and read aloud. "'To keep my family safe.'"

She sighed. "Guess no one's prayers got answered."

Suzune found something behind the altar—a storage box with candles, matches, and an old photo. It showed a group of people in hiking clothes, smiling.

Riku pocketed it quietly. "Let's take what we can and head back before sunset."

On their way out, they passed a tree blooming faintly pink—early sakura, growing despite the cold.

Suzune stared at it for a long moment. "Spring's coming."

"Maybe it's trying," Riku said.

Back at the lodge, the others were waiting. Hana ran out first. "Did you find anything?"

"Supplies," Ichika said. "And a tree that refuses to die."

Ken grinned. "Then it's like us!"

Riku smiled faintly. "Yeah. Something like that."

They spent the evening lighting candles from the temple instead of the generator. Emi arranged them neatly on the table. Their soft glow danced across the walls.

Hana looked up from her seat. "Can we stay here forever?"

No one answered for a while. The fire crackled. Snow dripped outside the window.

Riku finally said, "We'll stay as long as we can."

Suzune smiled softly. "That's enough."

Days turned into weeks. The snow continued to melt, revealing brown earth and green shoots beneath. The air grew warmer, the nights less harsh.

They repaired the truck, cleaned the nearby stream, even started a small garden behind the lodge with scavenged seeds. Ichika joked that they were turning into farmers. Hana took it seriously, naming every sprout that managed to grow.

Emi began smiling more often. Ken laughed again. Suzune hummed while cooking. And Riku, though quiet as ever, found himself walking lighter.

One afternoon, as the sun set over the mountains, he stood outside, watching the sky turn gold. Suzune joined him, hands in her pockets.

"You ever think this could last?" she asked.

Riku thought for a moment. "Maybe not forever. But for now… it's enough."

She nodded. "Then we make it last."

He looked at her, then at the cabin where laughter drifted out through the window. "Yeah. We will."

For the first time since the world ended, Riku allowed himself to smile—not out of hope, but acceptance.

The fire burned steady inside, the snow nearly gone outside, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world might forgive them after all.

That night, the stars returned—clearer than any they had seen before. Riku watched them through the window, their faint shimmer reflecting in his eyes. For the first time in months, the silence wasn't heavy. It was peace, and it was real. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the fire and the soft laughter behind him remind him that they were still alive.

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