Morning came soft and warm.

The last of the frost had vanished from the porch railings, leaving behind wet streaks that glimmered under sunlight. Birds were singing again—faint, cautious sounds that echoed through the quiet valley. The forest below, once buried in white, was now alive with color.

For the first time in months, Riku didn't wake to cold air biting at his lungs. The cabin was warm, the stove still glowing faintly from last night's fire. He pushed off the blanket and stood, stretching stiff shoulders. Suzune was already up, stirring something in a pot by the counter.

"Morning," she said without looking back.

"Morning," Riku replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What's cooking?"

"Soup. Again."

He gave a tired smile. "Can't complain."

"You always complain," Suzune said, smirking faintly.

"I call it constructive feedback."

Ichika's voice came from under a pile of blankets in the corner. "It's not feedback if all you say is 'needs meat.'"

Suzune laughed softly. "He's right, though. Even rabbits would be nice."

"Then you can catch one," Ichika muttered.

Riku looked over. "You volunteering to help skin it?"

"Not a chance," she said, rolling back under the blanket.

The quiet laughter that followed was small but real.

By midday, the group was outside again. The snow around the lodge had finally melted into soft mud, and the small garden Hana had planted weeks ago had started to grow.

"Look!" Hana said excitedly, crouching beside a sprout. "It's bigger today!"

Ken knelt beside her. "I think this one's turning into a leaf."

Suzune smiled from where she was hanging laundry. "That's the point, Ken."

"I know," he said defensively. "I just like saying it."

Ichika came out with a basket of tools. "All right, future farmers. We've got new seeds to test. Found them behind the shed—some kind of root vegetable, I think."

Riku walked over, glancing at the old, faded packet in her hand. "That's daikon. If it grows, we'll eat better next month."

"See?" Ichika said proudly. "I told you I'm a genius."

"Or you'll grow weeds," Suzune teased.

"Optimism, Suzune. Try it sometime."

They spent the next few hours working the soil. Riku shoveled, Ichika dug rows, and the kids followed, dropping seeds carefully into the dirt. The sun climbed high, warm enough that they removed their coats. For once, sweat instead of frost covered their skin.

When they finally stopped to rest, Suzune brought out cups of cool water from the stream.

"Feels like we're actually living again," Ichika said, lying back on the grass.

"Don't jinx it," Riku murmured.

"Come on," she said, eyes closed. "You can't stay in survival mode forever. You'll give yourself wrinkles."

Suzune smirked. "Too late for that."

Riku shot her a look. "You done talking?"

"Never," she said, grinning.

Hana giggled. "You two sound like Mom and Dad."

The air froze for just a second—long enough for the adults to exchange glances. Then Suzune smiled softly and ruffled Hana's hair. "Guess that makes you the boss of us, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Hana said proudly.

Riku stood, stretching. "All right, boss. Playtime's over. Let's check the stream before sunset."

"Fine," Hana said, mock-sighing.

The stream had swelled from snowmelt. The water ran fast, clear, and cold. Riku crouched near the edge, dipping a bottle in to fill it.

Suzune watched him from behind. "Still thinking about the map?"

"Always," he said. "Once we know the roads are clear, we'll need to move again."

"Even after all this?" she asked quietly. "We've built something here."

Riku didn't answer right away. The current shimmered against his reflection—hardened eyes, unshaven jaw, the face of a man who hadn't known peace in years.

He finally said, "Peace doesn't last. Not in this world."

Suzune frowned. "You don't believe in rest, do you?"

"I believe in staying alive."

She sighed. "You sound like a machine sometimes."

"Machines don't get tired," he said. "That's the difference."

They followed the stream down to where it met the road. The asphalt was visible again—cracked and broken, but clear of snow. Tracks marked the mud.

Riku knelt, touching them. "Tires," he murmured.

Suzune crouched beside him. "Not ours?"

He shook his head. "Too wide. Military-grade. Maybe a truck."

Her voice lowered. "Recent?"

"Yesterday, maybe two."

They exchanged a look—neither surprised, but uneasy.

"We'll double the watch tonight," Riku said.

When they returned, Ichika was mending a broken chair while Hana and Ken played cards near the stove. Emi was by the window, sewing again, though this time she hummed softly—a tune Riku didn't recognize.

Ichika looked up as they entered. "Find anything?"

Riku set his rifle by the wall. "Tracks. Vehicle type."

"Burners?"

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. Either way, we stay alert."

Ichika sighed. "Just when I was starting to enjoy pretending we were farmers."

Suzune closed the door behind her. "Farmers can still carry guns."

Ichika pointed at her. "That's my kind of agriculture."

Emi looked up from her work. "Should we pack?"

"Not yet," Riku said. "If they're passing through, they won't bother coming this high."

"Unless they see the smoke," Ichika muttered.

He glanced toward the chimney. "We'll keep fires low. No lights after dark."

The mood in the room dimmed slightly, though Hana and Ken didn't seem to notice. They kept playing, laughing when Ken cheated by sneaking an extra card.

Suzune smiled faintly. "Let them play. We'll handle the rest."

That night, the fire burned smaller than usual. The cabin was darker, shadows stretching across the walls. Riku sat by the window, rifle across his lap, eyes fixed on the tree line.

Suzune joined him quietly, handing him a cup of tea. "You're not sleeping again."

He took it with a nod. "Not yet."

"Want company?"

"You're already here."

She smiled softly. "You always have an answer for everything."

"Habit."

Outside, the forest was calm. Crickets had returned, singing somewhere near the stream. The air was warmer now, carrying faint scents of soil and wood smoke.

For a moment, it felt like spring had washed away winter's ghosts.

Then a distant sound broke through—a low, mechanical hum.

Riku froze.

Suzune's hand moved to her pistol. "Engine?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Coming from the valley."

They listened. The sound grew louder, echoing up the slope, then faded again. Whoever it was had stopped nearby.

Riku stood, grabbing his rifle. "Wake Ichika."

Suzune nodded and slipped away.

He stepped outside into the cold night air. The moon was thin but bright enough to see faint movement far below—headlights, briefly flashing between trees before disappearing.

He watched for several minutes, counting the rhythm of the lights. Two, then one, then darkness again.

Military convoy, maybe three vehicles. Moving west.

When Suzune returned with Ichika, the sound was already gone.

"They passed," Riku said. "Didn't stop."

Ichika exhaled in relief. "Could've fooled me with the way my heart's trying to explode."

Suzune frowned. "They were heading west."

Riku nodded. "Toward Takayama."

"Where we planned to go," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Riku muttered. "Which means we'll wait a little longer."

The following day was quiet again, almost too quiet. No more engines, no smoke trails. The world returned to birds and melting snow.

But the unease lingered.

Ichika took it out on the garden, shoveling soil like it had insulted her. "I swear, if those idiots bring trouble up here, I'm throwing rocks at them."

Hana blinked. "Who?"

"The noisy ones," Ichika said. "You'll know if they show up."

Ken pointed toward the mountain road. "Are they bad people?"

Riku, checking his gear nearby, said calmly, "We don't know yet. But we'll be ready."

Suzune added softly, "That's why we stay together."

Hana nodded, though her expression turned thoughtful. "Even if they're good?"

Riku looked at her for a moment. "Especially if they're good."

Ichika chuckled. "The day we meet someone who's both alive and decent, I'll build a statue."

That evening, the air smelled of rain again. Dark clouds rolled over the peaks, hiding the sunset. They brought everything inside—the drying clothes, the tools, the last of the firewood.

When the storm finally broke, thunder rumbled across the valley.

They lit a single candle and gathered near the stove. Hana and Ken huddled together while Ichika told stories—wild, exaggerated tales about her "heroic" days as a mechanic in Yokohama. Suzune laughed at half of them, rolled her eyes at the rest.

Emi listened quietly, occasionally smiling.

The storm grew stronger, rain hammering the roof in steady rhythm. Riku sat near the door, listening not to the thunder—but to the spaces between.

When the lightning flashed, he saw movement again. This time closer—at the edge of the trees.

A shadow. Human-shaped. Still. Watching.

He stood immediately.

Suzune noticed. "What is it?"

Riku didn't answer. He raised his rifle and moved toward the window.

Another flash of lightning—and the shadow was gone.

Only dripping branches remained.

Ichika frowned. "Please tell me that was just your paranoia again."

"Maybe," he said quietly. But his tone said otherwise.

They kept the lights low for the rest of the night.

Morning came gray and heavy. Puddles glistened outside, reflecting the dull sky. Riku checked the perimeter after breakfast.

Near the forest edge, he found what he'd seen last night: footprints. Human, adult-sized, leading toward the trees—and stopping halfway, as if whoever made them simply vanished.

He crouched, tracing one with his finger.

Not Burners. Boots were smaller, soles worn.

Suzune joined him. "So you weren't imagining things."

"No."

"What now?"

He looked toward the forest. "We wait. If they wanted to attack, they would've done it already."

Ichika called from the porch. "I don't like this waiting game, boss!"

Riku smirked faintly. "You never like anything."

"Because everything we do ends with me nearly dying!"

"Then don't die," he said simply.

Suzune shook her head, half amused. "Your motivational speeches are terrible."

He glanced at her. "Still alive, aren't we?"

"Unfortunately," she muttered, smiling.

By evening, the storm had passed. The sky cleared into a deep, cold blue. The world looked clean again, washed of tension.

Inside the lodge, the group ate in relative peace. Emi ladled out soup for the kids while Ichika tuned the old radio Riku had repaired. Static filled the air.

Then—faint, crackling words.

"…north…safe zone…Nagano… repeat, Nagano—"

Everyone froze.

Ichika's hand trembled on the dial. "Did you hear that?"

Riku stood slowly. "Nagano."

Suzune looked at him. "That's east of here."

He nodded. "And close."

Emi's eyes widened. "Safe zone… you think it's real?"

Riku didn't answer immediately. The thought lingered like the echo of thunder.

Finally, he said, "Tomorrow, we find out."

Suzune exhaled. "So much for staying put."

Ichika groaned. "And here I was starting to like the Republic of Kiso."

Riku picked up his rifle, checking the magazine. "Then we'll carry it with us."

Hana looked up from her bowl. "Does that mean… we're moving again?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's time."

Outside, the last of the rain dripped from the eaves, glinting in the fading light. The air smelled of wet earth and something new—possibility, maybe.

They didn't know what waited in Nagano, or if anyone truly lived there.

But for the first time since winter, Riku felt a pull—not of fear, but of purpose.

Spring had come, and with it, the faint echo of a world that refused to die.

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