Volume 3 – Chapter 7: The City That Forgot How to Dream

[August 8 – 53 Days Left]

Strange are the cities that now moved.

It was not an issue of the increased scarceness of people moving around streets, or even the flattening of noise into a more or less muted kind of hum. It was more profound than that; it was something in the atmosphere itself, in those strange, almost hunched postures of passing people. A slow erosion of spirit. The city that had once been so crying loud with ambition and routine was now folded within itself into a dazed kind of quiet, as if it had forgotten how to dream.

Kaito and Rika walked side by side down a half-empty boulevard, the soles of their shoes clicking against pavement that hadn’t seen cleaning in weeks. Time-worn billboards still lofted above them, bright ads worn and cracked and hollow. A frozen smile selling futures that would never arrive.

They didn't talk as they walked, not at first. Fingers entangled, their shadows stretched out before them in the low morning sun. Around them, stores stood half-open, some boarded up completely. A café had its door ajar, but inside was empty of life. One man sat behind the counter, staring blankly at a balanced TV.

"He didn't even look at us," said Rika finally; low and quiet, as if not to disturb the stillness.

"Maybe he just doesn't see us," replied Kaito. "Maybe people have started disappearing in different ways."

They passed a park where children once used to play-he remembered their noise, their laughter, parents seated on benches sipping coffee. Today a lonely girl hung suspended by the swing. Not swinging either. Just seated. Gazing down.

A few steps ahead they had stopped. In front of them a crowd of people had collected-not in protest, not in merriment. Just... standing. At a mural on a brick wall. The mural was new; paint still dripped fresh near the bottom. It depicted a city that had been split in two. One half burning, the other half blooming.

Underneath the mural scrawled in black spray paint was:

"What will we become before we end?"

Rika stared at it long. "I think persons are beginning to ask the right questions."

Kaito nodded. "Maybe it's too late for answers."

"Or maybe the answers are finally becoming clear."

They continued on their way, this time through an area once alive with life-bookshelves and cinemas, food stalls and buskers, and now nothing more than an echo. They passed a small group of people sitting in a circle on the pavement, eyes closed, hands clasped. An unassuming chant spilled from their mouths. Something about forgiveness. Something about beginning again.

"Religion is making a comeback real fast," said Kaito in the exact same tone as his companion.

"Not just religion," Rika said. "People are looking for anything bigger than them." Hope. Meaning. Redemption.

She paused beside the steps leading into an old library. The doors were ajar. A few people inside were seated in silence, engrossed in their reading. There were no conversations and not even the faintest sound of whispering.

 The only noise was that of pages being turned occasionally. Some were reading ancient philosophy books, others were grasping survival guides, while a boy in the corner silently cried over a picture book.

Kaito stood watching them from the entrance. "Maybe this is what the world looks like while struggling with grief."

"Not just grief," Rika murmured. "Reckoning."

They stood there for some time in the entrance without going in. The light streaming through the windows was soft and golden, like time had come to a halt in there. As if learning mattered in the last days, no matter how dusty or abstract that learning was.

And maybe it did.

Later that night, they found Haruto busy on some work on the balcony in the apartment. Papers had been spread out: notes, maps, timelines.

"What are you doing?" Kaito inquired.

"I am trying to predict what happens next," Haruto said while still looking down. "Or perhaps I am just trying to feel useful."

Rika leaned on the doorframe. "You think you will find anything?"

"Maybe not," Haruto said. "But every minute I spend doing this is one minute I am not panicking."

Soon after, Aya joined them with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. "I met a man today," she said, voice low. "He was giving everything away. Said he did not want to die owning anything."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Would you?" Rika asked. "Want to let go of everything?"

Aya shrugged. "I think we're all already doing it, just slower. Bits at a time."

That night, Kaito stared at the ceiling as Rika traced circles on his chest with her finger in bed.

"You think we'll still be us by then?" she asked quietly.

"We'll be something," he said. "Just not the same."

She nodded into his shoulder. "Just don't let me forget how to hope."

He kissed her hair. "Not a chance."

Far out in the distance, deep in the city, a strange sound arose: faint, but definitely not right. There was no mention of it among them. Not yet.

But something was on the move.

And the city was stirring.