“This doesn’t taste bad at all,” Soldier said approvingly, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.


The hot bite stalled his thoughts for a moment.Surprisingly, the food tasted… normal. Or at least, like his idea of what normal used to be.


With his mouth full, he nodded toward Civilian.

“You got any idea what this actually is?”


Civilian poked at his portion with a fork, studying it briefly, then shrugged.

“Who knows? Labels never survive, so it’s hard to tell.”


Soldier froze for a second, eyeing his plate with fresh suspicion. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.


“Could be dog food. Maybe cat,” Civilian continued casually, taking another bite.

“But who cares?”


He shook his head, leaned back more comfortably into a worn pillow on the couch, and gave a faint smile.

“As long as it’s hot and kills the hunger.”


Soldier blinked.His gaze drifted around the room, the wooden walls, a dusty painting of mountains hanging on the far side. The place was oddly cozy. More than he would have expected out here. Then something caught his eye: a small glass jar on the table. Inside, a fine powder shimmered faintly, catching the last light of day. It glowed with a soft, bluish tint.


“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing with his fork.


Civilian didn’t bother to turn.

“Ash.”


Soldier frowned.

“Ash doesn’t glow.”


Civilian finally looked at him and gave a wry grin.

“Yeah, the old kind doesn’t. But this... this is something else.”


Soldier leaned closer.

“What does it do?”


Civilian reached out, scooped a pinch of the powder, and let it trickle slowly back into the jar.

“We use it in lamps. In filters. For trade…”


“Glowing ash as currency? You’re kidding.”


“I’m dead serious.”


Civilian wiped his hand on his pants and picked up a water bottle.

“We learned to use everything we can here.”


Soldier stared at the faintly glowing specks. It was both fascinating and unsettling. What the hell was it?


“Where do you get it?”


Civilian smiled and winked.

“You’re asking too much. Eat. Don’t ruin the moment.”


Soldier frowned.

“Seriously?”


“Yeah.”


Civilian took the last bite, chewed slowly, then added,

“We use everything. Even dried crap, if it comes to it. But I probably shouldn’t explain that while you’re eating.”


Soldier inhaled sharply, then just shook his head. He was the outsider here. It wasn’t his place to judge what people lived on.


“Alright, I get it. You make your own fuel,” he muttered.

“What else? What else have you had to change?”


Civilian licked his fingers and reached for his water bottle.

“Everything, man. Food, energy, trade… even the rules.”


He leaned back against the seat and looked at Soldier a bit differently now.


“But there’s one thing we haven’t changed. People still watch the sunset. They still sing when they think no one’s listening. And they still keep things they’ll never use again, just because they remind them of something that was.”


Soldier glanced back at the mountain painting. Now he noticed the old postcard tucked into the frame. Who had put it there? Why keep it?


Civilian stood and stretched.

“Done? ‘Cause if you are, I’m crashing. Tomorrow’s gonna be long.”


Soldier wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded.

“Yeah. Good idea.”