I dream of the snowy field again.
On the land forsaken by the gods, finding even a single flower was difficult. Only coniferous forests standing like barriers blocking humanity and rough-textured moss were widely distributed.
It was a place where beings with warmth had to hold their breath.
The extreme cold was a disaster in itself. In the land of death where one inevitably lost body heat bit by bit between inhales and exhales, I was filling a cup.
Trickle, as the cup filled, a thick aroma of liquor spread. It wasn’t particularly expensive, so it wasn’t a good smell.
“Are you from the Academy?”
It was a ridiculous sight.
Tonight too, several who couldn’t overcome the cold would lose their lives. At the front lines, victims were emerging every second, and in this time when no way to stop the world heading toward destruction was visible.
Relying on the shadow of the fire, sharing cups of liquor.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but bring up this question. Not only because academic ties were effective in breaking the ice for conversation, but also because the image of the woman remaining in my memories was…