Last Dawn

Plants withered into gray husks. Rivers froze into glassy scars. Cities stood as silent tombs, their skyscrapers glinting like ice gravestones under a sky too heavy to hold hope. 

In this fading world, Kumi and Yaha were alone, their parents, friends, and realities swallowed by the cold. Only their dreams lingered, fragile as the last embers of a fire they could no longer feed.

Kumi, with her wind-tangled hair and eyes like distant horizons, dreamed of travel. She’d once spoken of Paris’s glowing arches, Tokyo’s neon rivers, and deserts where stars touched the earth. 

I’ll see it all, she’d said in better days, her voice a melody that could thaw even this frost. 

Now, her dream felt impossible, a cruel echo in a world where survival meant scavenging scraps from abandoned stores and wrapping their hands in rags to fend off the bite of minus-twenty air. 

Yet she clung to it, humming fragments of a song she’d made up a heartwarming tune that carried her longing for places she’d never reach.

Yaha, quieter, with hands rough from digging through snow for anything useful, wanted only one thing: to see Kumi happy. 

His dream was her smile, the way it curved like a crescent moon when she spoke of far-off lands. But he felt he was failing. The cold grew fiercer, the sun weaker, and Kumi’s coughs sharper. 

His coat pockets sagged with "useless" maps torn gas station atlases, city guides from a dead world, their creases worn from his restless fingers. 

He’d collected them since they’d fled their village, hoping they’d lead somewhere warmer, safer, where Kumi’s dream could breathe. 

Instead, they mocked him, their routes leading to nothing but more ice. They’d met a year ago, before the sun began to fade, in a high school where Kumi’s laughter filled the halls and Yaha watched from the edges, too shy to speak. 

When the world started cooling, their village evacuated, but chaos split them from their families. They found each other in the frost valley, two survivors bound by loss. 

Kumi’s courage her refusal to let the cold steal her spirit changed Yaha. She made him believe they could outlast the end. He’d vowed to protect her dream, even as the world conspired against it.

Their days were a rhythm of survival. They trekked through the valley, boots crunching on snow that never melted, searching for food or fuel. 

The cold clawed at their skin, turning their fingertips blue despite the rags they’d tied around them. 

Yaha carried a backpack stuffed with their meager supplies a dented can of beans, a half-empty water bottle, and his maps. 

Kumi wore a scarf her mother had knitted, its red threads fraying but still bright against the gray world. 

She’d wrap it tighter when the wind howled, her eyes scanning the horizon as if a new dawn might bring warmth.

One morning, they found a collapsed cabin, its roof caved under snow. Yaha pried the door open, his breath a white cloud. 

Inside, they found a miracle: a rusted stove and a stack of damp wood. Kumi’s face lit up, her smile a spark in the gloom. 

We’ll be warm tonight, she said, her voice hoarse but hopeful. They spent hours coaxing a fire, their fingers trembling as they stacked the wood. 

When it caught, the orange glow danced on Kumi’s face, and for a moment, the cold retreated. She sat cross-legged, scarf loose, and began to sing. 

Her voice, soft at first, grew into a heartwarming melody that filled the cabin. The song was her own, born from her travel dream 

“Over mountains, through the skies,Where the rivers never cry,I’ll wander far, my heart will roam,To find the place that feels like home.”

Each note carried her longing for Paris’s lights, for deserts’ warmth, for a world that wasn’t dying. 

Yaha listened, his maps forgotten in his lap, his chest aching with her dream’s weight. 

Her song made him see the places she’d never reach, vivid as if they were real. He wanted to tell her she’d made him happy, too, that her voice was enough to keep him fighting. 

But the words stuck, frozen like the rivers outside.You’re staring, Kumi teased, her song fading. She coughed, a sharp sound that made Yaha flinch.

“You sing like you’re already there,” he said, voice low. “Like you’ve seen it all.” She smiled, weaker now. 

Maybe I have, in my head. That’s enough for now. Yaha pulled a map from his pocket, its edges curling. Found this in a truck yesterday. It’s got routes to the coast. Maybe… maybe there’s a ship, or something.

He didn’t believe it, but he needed her to. Kumi traced the map’s lines, her finger lingering on a city called Hope. 

Sounds nice, she whispered. Let’s go there tomorrow. They slept close, the fire’s warmth a fragile shield. 

Yaha dreamed of Kumi running through a sunlit field, her scarf trailing like a comet. When he woke, the fire was ash, and Kumi’s coughs were worse.

Weeks blurred into a relentless struggle. The sun grew smaller, a pale coin barely cresting the horizon. 

Temperatures plunged below minus-thirty, turning their breaths into ice crystals that stung their faces. Food dwindled a crust of bread, a sip of broth from a can. 

Yaha’s maps piled up, each one “useless” as they led to empty towns or frozen highways. He’d spread them out at night, studying them by the glow of a scavenged flashlight, as if lines on paper could rewrite their fate. 

Kumi watched, her eyes soft but distant, her coughs a constant shadow.Their bodies weakened. Yaha’s hands shook when he broke ice for water. 

Kumi’s steps slowed, her scarf dragging in the snow. Yet she kept singing, her song a thread holding them together. 

One evening, in a hollowed-out bus where they’d taken shelter, she sang it again, her voice fainter but no less warm “Over mountains, through the skies,Where the rivers never cry…”

Yaha joined her this time, his voice clumsy but earnest. Kumi laughed, a sound brighter than the sun they’d lost. 

You’re terrible, she said, nudging him. But I like it. He held up a map of Europe, its colors faded. 

Found this today. Paris is here. He pointed, his finger smudging the ink. You’ll see it. Kumi leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. 

You’re my map, Yaha. You keep me going. Her words warmed him, but guilt gnawed deeper. 

He hadn’t found a way out. His maps were paper dreams, as unreachable as her travels. 

He wanted to promise her the world, but all he had was this frozen valley and a heart breaking under her weight.

A month later, the sun vanished entirely. Darkness cloaked the world, broken only by the faint glow of stars too distant to care. 

They reached a city once alive, now a maze of ice-crusted cars and shattered windows. 

The temperature was unbearable, a cold that burned their lungs with each breath. 

They found refuge in a library, its shelves toppled like fallen trees. Yaha built a nest of blankets from a reading nook, his hands numb as he tucked them around Kumi. 

She was pale, her breaths shallow, her scarf a dull red against her skin. They pressed close, their bodies a feeble warmth against the frost. 

Kumi’s hand found his, her fingers cold but firm. She spoke, her voice a whisper over the wind’s moan outside. 

My dream didn't come true but your did,you made me happy more than anything yaha

Yaha’s throat tightened. Don’t talk, you’re weak. Just rest, we’ll find a way. But he felt it her body cooling, her breaths slowing, weak as the sun they’d lost. 

He wanted to scream, to tear the cold apart, but all he could do was hold her tighter.

She coughed, a rattle that broke his heart. Sing with me, she said, her eyes half-closed. 

One more time. He tried, his voice cracking “Over mountains, through the skies…” Kumi joined, her voice a ghost of its warmth, but it carried her dream still. 

The song faded, and she gripped his hand harder, her fingers digging into his skin. 

Her last breath sighed out, and her hand stayed locked with his, even as her body stilled.

Yaha’s guilt was an ocean, vast and drowning. He hadn’t fulfilled her dream. Paris, Tokyo, deserts they were gone, like the sun, like her. 

His tears fell, freezing on his cheeks, their sparkle mocking the stars above. He clutched her hand, her scarf brushing his wrist, and stared at the darkness where the sun should’ve been. 

Her song echoed in his mind, a heartwarming melody he’d carry until his own breath stopped. 

Kumi had changed him, given him a dream he hadn’t known he needed, and now she was gone, her hand forever in his.

Their hands stayed together, bound by frost and love, in a world that had forgotten dawn.