In the sealed colony of Gravenholt, where the lights flicker and the distribution lines never end, Erich Vogel returns home a fallen man. Demoted from his post at the Union Coordination Bureau and haunted by the failure that put him there, he finds his childhood friend Annelose waiting on the platform—and a colony worn thin by rationing, failing machinery, and the quiet desperation of people pushed to the edge.
His father, the former chairman, greets him with silence and a question he cannot an
The Wanderings of the Righteous - The Salvation of the Wheat Field—A Reunion Where No Name Is Asked
The snow fell mixed with ash.
The sky was a single sheet of gray, the same color stretching as far as the eye could see. The wind that lashed against him didn't so much cut the skin as seep into the gaps between his bones, freezing him from the inside out.
Erich Vogel walked through snow that swallowed him to the knees.
No—walking wasn't the right word for it anymore. Push a foot forward, shift the weight, take the next step before you fall. That repetition had long since stopped being anything you could call walking.
His black hair clung to his face with snow and sweat. His gray eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, and the shadows beneath them had gone past discoloration—they were like wounds carved into the flesh. Only his habit of keeping his back straight seemed to survive even at the edge of death. But even that spine now bent heavily under the push of the wind.
How long had it been since the water ran out?
Longer still since the food did.
The back of his throat was parched dry, his tongue swollen hard, a foreign object sitting in his mouth. His lips were cracked, and every slight movement let the taste of blood seep through. His stomach had long since passed hunger, producing instead a dull ache, as though his organs were fusing to one another.
The sensation in his fingertips had vanished long ago.
His feet, too.
And still his body moved, driven by nothing but the thought that he must not die. No—even that thought was fading now. Only the animal instinct that stopping meant the end kept pushing his body forward.
(Casper.)
The name surfaced in a corner of his mind.
(You walked through this snow alone?)
No answer came.
(How did you survive?)
The wind blew harder than ever.
Grains of snow struck his face. Even the pain felt distant now. His vision clouded white, and he lost all distinction between earth and sky. Erich stopped, dropping to his knees.
Snow buried him to the belly.
Cold.
Even the sensation of cold faded quickly.
(So this is where it ends.)
That was when it happened.
At the edge of his vision, something moved.
Far off. Beyond the swirling snow, near the gray horizon, a black shape was moving toward him—slowly, but with certainty.
Four legs.
No—six, perhaps.
He had no leisure to count. There was no need to wonder what it was. He'd heard the rumors about the Outer Reaches. Contaminated beasts—creatures that had adapted to the Outer Reaches and been transformed. Or things that had once been human. Their appearance and danger varied wildly from one to the next, but everyone said the iron rule was to run the moment you encountered one.
He had to run.
He thought it.
But his body wouldn't move.
Terror froze him. No—it was the cold that froze him. The terror clamped down on his heart from somewhere deeper. Something hammered in his chest. His breathing grew shallow. His lungs sought the cold air with a thin, whistling rasp.
The shape drew closer.
Gliding over the snow.
(Move.)
He forced strength into his fingertips. Grabbed at the snow. But his arms wouldn't lift.
(Move. Move. Move.)
A scream that never became sound died in the back of his throat.
The shape stopped.
The distance was still over a hundred meters. But he could tell its eyes had found him. Beyond the snow haze, multiple eyes glimmered dully.
Erich collapsed onto the snow.
Half his face sank into it. Cold. His breath clouded white and vanished before his eyes.
His consciousness thinned.
In the distance, another sound came.
A bell.
A clear note, like metal scraping against metal. Carried on the wind, intermittent, drawing closer.
The shape paused for a moment.
Then it slowly retreated.
It dissolved into the swirling snow and was gone.
(So I was... saved?)
Erich turned his face to the side.
The bell drew steadily nearer. Soon he heard footsteps pressing into the snow. Several people. Then a low male voice.
"Found one."
Another voice answered.
"Is he alive?"
Erich tried to say something. But his lips wouldn't move. All that came from his throat was a crushed exhale.
A human shape stood before him.
A large man wrapped in a thick cold-weather coat. His face was hidden behind cloth. The man pressed his hand to Erich's neck and checked his pulse.
"...He's alive. Carry him."
Another man brought up a cart. A crude wooden thing. Together the two of them lifted Erich's body.
"Water..."
He didn't recognize it as his own voice. It was so hoarse it was barely leaking air. And yet his mouth had certainly shaped the words.
"Water. Please."
One of the patrolmen unhooked the canteen at his waist and brought it to Erich's lips.
"Little by little. Don't gulp it."
The water touched his lips.
It was lukewarm.
Even so, the water passing down his throat seemed to soak through his whole body. The back of his throat finally opened. His tongue began to regain feeling.
"...A little more."
"Later. First we get you back. Lie still."
The man put the canteen away and draped a blanket over the cart.
With no strength left to resist, Erich closed his eyes atop the cart.
The bell sounded again.
The cart began to move.
The sound of feet in snow. The sound of wind. And that bell.
Rocked by those sounds, his consciousness sank slowly into a dark depth.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a wooden ceiling.
Rough-grained planks laid side by side. Thin light seeped through the gaps between them.
Warm.
Something lay over his body. A blanket. Thick, but worn soft and fuzzy with use.
The air was different.
Not that freezing air outside. Air mixed with earth, and dust, and something sweet.
The smell of wheat.
Erich slowly sat up.
His whole body ached. His joints creaked, his muscles screamed. And yet his body moved. He wasn't dead.
The room was small.
The walls were earthen, straw mixed in here and there. A single window. Clouded glass set in a wooden frame. Light from outside poured through it, illuminating the dust motes floating in the room.
He'd been laid on a simple wooden platform. Straw spread beneath him, blankets piled on top—a crude bed and nothing more.
"You're awake."
A voice.
From the doorway.
Erich turned his head, and a man stood there.
Unkempt brown hair, sun-browned and bleached pale in places. Amber eyes, calm, looking straight at him. Thick calluses of field work on his palms. The kind of face that grew deep creases at the corners of his eyes when he smiled—it had always been that kind of face.
It was Casper Brandt.
Erich's breath stopped.
His heart pulsed heavily in his chest.
(Casper.)
The man before him looked at Erich's face and tilted his head slightly.
"Your color's better than yesterday. Fever seems to have gone down, too."
Yesterday—the word told Erich how long he'd slept.
Casper set the bowl he was holding on a small stand beside the bed. Steam rose from it. He smelled vegetables.
"Can you eat? If not, later's fine too."
Erich felt he had to say something. But his throat stuck, and no words came.
He had to thank him.
He thought it, but no voice came.
Casper, showing no sign of minding Erich's silence, held out the bowl.
"Well, even one bite's fine. If you don't get something in your belly, your body won't come back."
Erich took the bowl with trembling hands.
Inside was a thin vegetable soup. Carrots, and potatoes, and a few grains of barley floating in it.
He scooped with the spoon and brought it to his mouth.
Warm.
It passed down his throat. It settled in his stomach.
From deep inside his body, warmth spread slowly outward.
"...It's good."
That single word was all he could manage.
Casper smiled, creases gathering at the corners of his eyes.
"Good. Seems it suits your taste."
Erich couldn't look that smile in the face.
(This man—I had him exiled.)
The hand scooping the soup trembled.
(I stood by and let the exile happen.)
Casper was watching Erich's face closely.
"...Where did you come from?"
His heart jumped.
"No—you don't have to force yourself to talk. Collapsing out in the Outer Reaches is enough for me. I won't ask your name, either. Knowing it wouldn't change anything."
Casper said it with a light wave of his hand.
"While you're here, rest easy. Once you can work, just lend a hand. There's never enough manpower to go around."
Erich couldn't say anything.
His name wasn't asked.
His background wasn't asked.
He'd simply been saved because he'd collapsed.
Why should something so simple tighten his chest this much?
"...I'm sorry."
He forced it out.
Casper shook his head.
"There's nothing to apologize for. Out in the Outer Reaches, everyone collapses sooner or later. Picking up the ones who fall—that's just how it is."
Just how it is.
Those words drove deep into Erich's chest.
(The thing that's just how it is—I didn't do it.)
He gripped the soup bowl with both hands.
The warmth seeped through his palms.
That warmth was painful.
The farm was larger than he'd expected.
When Erich stepped out of the hut where he'd been laid, the first thing he saw was a snow-covered field. No—perhaps it was better called the place where a field had been.
The wheat had already been harvested.
Short, evenly cut stubble lined up in orderly rows beneath the snow. The rows stretched to the edge of sight. The area looked to be roughly two hectares, perhaps.
It was nothing like the wheat fields he'd seen in the colony's indoor cultivation blocks.
This was outdoors.
Wheat was being grown on the contaminated soil of the Outer Reaches.
"Surprised?"
Casper, standing beside him, said it while surveying the field.
"You've got the face of a man wondering how anything grows out here."
Erich nodded honestly.
"Yes. I'd heard the soil of the Outer Reaches was contaminated, that crops wouldn't grow."
"Not all of it. The soil tells you. Where to plant what. How deep to sow the seeds. It took years, but little by little I selected wheat that suits this land."
Casper crouched and brushed the snow away with his hand.
Black soil appeared beneath.
"See, this soil. The Outer Reaches are contaminated, sure. But not all of it. Depending on the spot, there are places where the contamination runs thin. I spent years finding those places, swapping out the soil, mixing in lime. That's how I got here."
He scooped up a handful of soil and showed it to Erich.
It was black, damp, rich soil.
"This soil is alive. Even contaminated, it isn't dead. Give it time, and it answers you properly."
Erich simply stared at that soil.
(This man—after he was exiled from the colony, he faced this soil and lived.)
Something stirred in his chest.
"...It's a fine field."
It was an honest word.
Casper smiled, a little embarrassed.
"Well, it's still a long way off. Last year, more than half failed. This year I managed to bring in this much, at least."
With that, Casper stood and pointed toward the back of the field.
"There's a storage cellar over there. Want to see it? If you're going to work here, you'd better learn the layout."
Erich nodded silently.
The storage was a cellar dug into the ground.
Its entrance was hidden by a wooden lid set in a corner of the field. When Casper lifted the lid, a staircase leading down appeared.
"Watch your step."
The two descended the dark stairs.
The underground was cool. Not the cold of outside—the cold of earth. The air was dry and dusty.
Casper lit the lantern hanging on the wall.
Orange light illuminated the underground space.
Erich caught his breath.
No—he nearly caught it, and stopped himself.
What was there was wheat.
Sacks of wheat packed along the wall, stacked nearly to the ceiling. The number of sacks, at a glance, was well past several dozen.
"This is..."
"Last year's harvest and the year before's. The seed grain's over there."
Casper pointed to a corner at the back.
Wooden boxes stood in rows. Inside them, seed grain wrapped in cloth was stored with obvious care.
"Seed grain is always kept separate from food. How
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