The town is quiet now—too quiet. Wind moves through the bones of buildings like a whisper that’s forgotten how to speak. He lives among the remnants: a man made of routine and silence, tending to the empty rituals of a life that ended long ago.
Then come the two—chained, bruised, and strangely unbroken. He doesn’t want to know their names. But names have a way of rooting themselves, just like memories, just like guilt. One watches him with eyes like smoke. The other dares him to remember he still has blood in his veins.
As distant thunder builds and old orders decay, the ground underfoot begins to tremble—not from war, but from something older and more dangerous: choice. In a place where forgetting is easier than feeling, can anything still be salvaged?
Not a love story. Not a war story. A story about the space between the two—where something fragile might still begin.
