The last birds left two summers ago. Eri’s never heard birdsong, but she says she can still hear the quiet they left behind. Would you know what silence sounds like, if the whole world fell still? Since the blue fires ruined the cities and pushed thick gray air across the land, time slips by with few markers left.
Her brother Soma handed her a battered old radio weeks back, hoping someone was still out there, somewhere to talk to. The radio spits nothing but static. It plays on anyway. That’s how this whole arc starts—Eri hunched over a crooked living-room table, dust hiding all hint of the old world, the little red radio singing to nobody but her. Soma stands by the door. His gaze slinks toward the barricade as he whispers, “Supplies are running low. Tomorrow we try for the orchard.”
This story wades deep into longing, memory, and small, day-to-day risks when nobody’s boss but desperation. Eri wants hope—a new voice, a fresh sound, any proof that life can grow among dead orchards and shaky ruins. Soma just wants to keep Eri safe and make it through another week.
Yui joins next, climbing through a blown wall with arms full of scavenged cans and canned laughter “Found beans! Old beans! Guess dinner’s set…unless anyone wants to trade them for, I don’t know, oranges and a warm shower?” Soma can’t help but smile for a moment. But a real problem snags his look: If tonight’s beans were under spotlights last week, what watched Yui while she rummaged? To survive is to play this balance, even among friends.
The orchard looms on every mind. It’s the only place left with trees Folks say one can hear them breathe when the wind sweeps over their twisted boughs. But none know what pace the orchard’s shadows keep or if any fruit ever clings to those branches anymore.
This post-apocalyptic world draws on mundane pain. Walking outside clears the lungs less and less each time. Chill lingers in skipped beats, subtle talks—“How did mother used to pack oranges?” “Your hair’s grown.” “I think the sky cleared a little,” Eri mentions as dust glimmers under midnight moonlight. Soma clips shreds of dry map to next-hand boots while Yui cracks wise about seed-bearing hope: “Maybe tomorrow’ll be the day a fig calls your name!”
Dawn glows sharp. The group heads out, avoiding collapse where concrete yawns over old train tracks. Side quest: Help an old man on the bridge whose boot’s caught. He mutters about silent trees and his lost grandson. They pull him loose, but the ways he keeps looking over his shoulder set everyone on edge. Is the orchard haunted, or is every step just paranoia by another name?
Each hour brings stranger sights—wheel tracks not made by any bike they remember, faint childlike sketches on a farmhouse window. Yui taps a pane, “Looks recent. People?” Soma grinds out: “Or someone watching. Move now.” Were you ready yet for this, or does dread hang easiest where hope grows inside the ruins?
They reach the ruins by noon. Up close, the orchard looks more like grasping hands, gray branches lined thick with swollen, thorned knots. Where fruit should’ve grown, webwork spreads. The three debate how deep to enter. Soma wants zigzag caution; Eri pushes for the clearing half-seen past fallen timber. Yui throws a rock from behind, startling a crow into the ash-black air. “New bird. Doesn’t count. Keep going.” They move uneasy, hearts leaping thin from ribs.
Something moves at their feet—just wind, they tell themselves. But a lone child crouches watching amid the wood edge, skin and hair bleached pale as sheet ghosts. His coat claws around too thin shoulders. He stares, unblinking, clutching something grey.
Eri breaks from the line and says, gentle, “Want to walk with us?” The orchard groans a reply only heard in bone.
Turns out the boy lost words but carries scraps—a drawing of the orchard, red fruit with small faces, next to a mark that almost matches Yui’s old pendant. Eri’s hope locks on this. “Someone else was here. He saw them. We can…” She trails off, unsure what can be done at all.
Night flight moves in. Their chosen camp circles a fireless pit. They check bagged scraps. The static radio coughs to life for a moment: a voice crackles, not quite in any known tongue, then dies. Soma jolts. Did anyone else catch it? “Stay awake tonight.” No one dares sleep at once. How would you keep safe in their shoes, trusting nothing?
Dawn rips the shadow. Eri wakes to find the strange kid gone. Near the orchard stands a childlike scarecrow, face bright with an ink grin, wearing the boy’s grey coat, hands full of red fruit impossible in this dust-world. A folded map is stitched to its wrist—markings no one’s seen before.
Soma clutches the map. “We’re close. Someone wants us to find something here.” Is help close, or does someone else move the pieces from far away? Eri’s chest feels heavy, but hope cracks through the dust. They agree to enter the orchard’s heart tomorrow.
But just off-camp, a branch shatters as something stalks between old fruit shadows. None of them sleep easy now.
The radio flickers again. The episode ends as a single word comes from the static. None dare call what they hear by name.
