The world outside was white.

Snow blanketed the mountains like a clean sheet drawn over a scarred body. It softened everything—the broken fences, the cracked trail signs, the skeletal trees bending under frost.

Inside the Kiso Lodge, the silence felt almost kind. The fire in the old stove crackled softly, filling the room with the scent of burning pine.

Riku sat near the window, rifle leaning against the wall beside him, mug of melted snowwater in his hands. His hair was still damp from the morning wash. Steam rose faintly from the cup as he watched the snowfall.

Suzune came over, pulling her gloves tighter. "Morning patrol done," she said, stamping snow off her boots. "No tracks nearby. Not even animal prints."

"Too cold for them," Riku replied. "Even the wolves probably moved lower."

Suzune exhaled and stretched. "Good. I could use one day without something trying to kill us."

Behind them, the lodge was beginning to stir. Ichika was crouched near the stove, stirring the small pot they'd set to simmer overnight. "Breakfast is almost edible," she said.

Ken peeked over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Don't ask," Ichika said. "Just eat it and pretend it's rice porridge."

Hana giggled, her voice bright in the dim room. "It smells like socks."

Ichika pointed her spoon at her. "It's called protein flavor, kid."

Suzune chuckled as she unzipped her coat. "You keep bullying them, and they'll revolt one day."

"Good," Ichika said. "Someone else can cook for once."

Riku smirked faintly but didn't comment. He took another sip of the steaming water and kept his gaze on the snow.

Emi, still pale but stronger than before, was sitting by the wall mending a torn blanket. Her hands shook slightly, but she didn't stop. She had found thread and a bent sewing needle in one of the storage lockers yesterday and had barely spoken since.

Suzune glanced at her, then whispered, "She's doing better."

Riku nodded. "Yeah. She's keeping busy. That's something."

The pot finally began to bubble, filling the air with a salty, vaguely edible smell. Ichika scooped portions into dented bowls and handed them out. Everyone gathered around the stove, sitting on old blankets.

Hana took her first spoonful and winced. "It's… warm."

Ken shrugged. "That's already good."

Suzune smirked. "See, even he appreciates the effort."

Ichika rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, corporal."

For a while, the only sound was the clinking of spoons and the steady hum of the fire.

Riku broke the quiet. "We'll ration the cans from now on. One full meal a day, the rest half portions."

Ichika frowned. "We've still got plenty, don't we?"

"Plenty for a week," Suzune said. "And that's assuming no delays."

Riku nodded. "If the Burners start sweeping north, we might have to move again. I'd rather have something left when that happens."

Hana looked up. "Do we have to keep moving?"

Riku's expression softened. "Not yet."

Ken added quietly, "It's safe here."

Suzune glanced toward the window. "For now."

The words hung in the air. None of them wanted to admit how fragile "safe" really was.

After breakfast, they divided tasks. Ichika and Suzune cleared the entrance, shoveling snow away from the truck so it wouldn't freeze in place. Riku worked on the generator they'd found in the shed—rusted, barely functional, but salvageable. Hana and Ken carried firewood, laughing every time they slipped on the icy steps.

Emi stayed indoors, cleaning what was left of the storage room.

By noon, the cabin smelled faintly of pine resin and smoke. Warmth finally settled in.

Ichika leaned against the doorframe, wiping sweat from her forehead despite the cold. "Not bad for a bunch of apocalypse refugees."

Suzune threw a small snowball at her. "We're not refugees, we're mountain people now."

Hana giggled from where she was building a tiny snowman outside the porch. "Mountain people!" she repeated proudly.

Ken placed two pebbles on the snowman's face. "There. Now he looks like Riku."

Ichika laughed. "You nailed it. Same dead eyes."

Riku, still crouched by the generator, didn't look up. "Keep talking. I'll remember that when you're begging for hot water."

Suzune smirked. "Ooh, scary leader voice."

He finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "Want to test it?"

Suzune just grinned and went back to shoveling.

It was the first time any of them had laughed in days.

By late afternoon, the generator coughed to life. The lights in the lodge flickered weakly before glowing steady.

"Holy hell," Ichika said, eyes wide. "We've got power!"

Hana gasped. "The lights are back!"

Ken ran to one of the old switches and flipped it on and off repeatedly. The single bulb above the table blinked in rhythm. "It works! It really works!"

Riku stood, brushing grease from his hands. "Only for a few hours. I jury-rigged the line with the battery pack. Don't waste it."

Ichika saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir. Lights out by curfew."

"Exactly," he said.

They spent the evening in a kind of peace none of them expected.

Suzune boiled water for instant tea—half expired, half miracle—and poured it into tin cups. Ichika found an old deck of playing cards in one of the drawers and taught Hana and Ken how to play blackjack. Emi even joined for one round, smiling faintly when she won with a perfect twenty-one.

Riku watched them from the corner, sitting near the window again. His hand rested loosely on his rifle, but for once, his shoulders weren't tense.

The kids were laughing. Emi was smiling. The fire flickered warmly across Suzune's face as she poured tea. For a few hours, it almost felt like they'd escaped the world outside.

Almost.

Suzune glanced at him. "You're thinking again."

"Always," Riku said.

"About what?"

He shrugged. "If this place will hold. If we can make it through winter."

Suzune took a sip of her tea. "You always look for the next problem."

"It's kept us alive."

She leaned back, exhaling. "Still, you should rest sometimes. You're allowed to."

He gave a small smile. "That an order?"

"More like advice," she said, smirking. "You ignore orders anyway."

Riku chuckled quietly. "Fair."

They sat in companionable silence, the sounds of laughter filling the background.

When the tea ran out and the cards grew boring, Ichika began telling stories about her old job before the world ended—how she used to complain about traffic, how she once paid rent two days late and thought that was the worst thing in the world.

Hana and Ken listened wide-eyed. Emi laughed once, a sound that seemed almost foreign coming from her.

Suzune smiled. "See? Civilization still exists in the form of bad memories."

Ichika grinned. "Damn right. And you know what? I miss vending machines."

That made everyone laugh.

When the lights began to dim, Riku checked his watch. "Generator's nearly out. Time to shut down."

Suzune nodded. "Got it." She flipped the main switch, and the cabin fell into gentle darkness, lit only by the stove's glow.

Everyone settled into their spots—blankets, sleeping bags, whatever scraps of comfort they could find.

Riku took the first watch again, sitting by the window with his rifle and a thermos of cooling tea. Outside, snow kept falling in slow, steady silence.

He could hear the others breathing softly behind him—Ichika snoring faintly, Suzune shifting in her sleep, Hana mumbling something about her stuffed rabbit.

For a moment, Riku let himself relax. The mountain was quiet. The fire was warm.

He looked toward the horizon, faintly lit by the moon. Nothing moved.

For the first time in a long while, he let himself believe they might make it.

The next morning came soft and pale.

Suzune woke first and started the fire again. Ichika helped melt snow for water. Hana and Ken slept in late, wrapped together like puppies under layers of old jackets.

Emi was sitting at the window, watching the sunrise. When Riku approached, she spoke without turning.

"I dreamt of my husband," she said quietly. "We were in the city again. He was cooking breakfast. I could smell it. Then the sky turned black."

Riku said nothing.

She looked at him. "Do you ever dream?"

"Not anymore," he said.

Emi nodded slowly. "That's probably mercy."

He didn't argue.

Outside, the snow was finally beginning to ease. The light turned golden across the trees, glinting off frozen branches.

Suzune came over, stretching her arms. "Weather's clearing. Maybe we'll be able to move around more tomorrow."

Ichika handed her a cup of snowmelt tea. "Let's not rush it. My legs still feel like lead."

Hana stirred awake, blinking sleepily. "Can we go outside later?"

Suzune smiled. "If it's not too cold."

Ken perked up. "We can build another snowman!"

Ichika groaned. "Great. More Riku lookalikes."

Riku gave her a look. "You're on wood-cutting duty."

"See? Tyrant confirmed."

The laughter that followed was soft but real.

As the day passed, the cabin filled with simple, ordinary sounds—snow crunching under boots, water boiling, the creak of wood expanding near the fire.

They mended gear, patched clothes, and washed what little they could. The smell of smoke mixed with the faint scent of soap Suzune had found in an emergency kit.

It wasn't much, but it was life.

By evening, as the sun dipped below the peaks, they all gathered again by the stove.

Ken and Hana drew shapes in the frost on the window, comparing whose looked more like animals. Emi hummed softly while sewing a patch on Suzune's coat. Ichika leaned back, eyes half-closed, soaking in the warmth.

Riku glanced around the room, quiet pride in his chest. For once, they weren't just surviving. They were living.

And in that fragile peace, as snow fell gently outside and firelight painted the walls, Riku let himself believe—just for tonight—that maybe, somehow, they still had a future waiting somewhere beyond the mountains.

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