"Whizz!"
A meteorite descended from the sky, drawing a slender tail, and fell straight into the valley.
"Plop."
Shortly after, a light footstep sounded from afar.
A stealthy figure approached from a distance, seemingly having heard some commotion, trying to scavenge something.
In the apocalypse, the biggest issue is not clothing or shelter, but food to fill the stomach. Those without skills, or perhaps their so-called skills, have become unimportant in the apocalypse. Lacking the strength to build or the appearance to amuse the upper echelon, they have only their able hands left, merely scavenging food for survival.
Stone, looking as if he is thirty, but his real age is merely nineteen, his skin ravaged by the harsh environment.
The older generation believes that a humble name lives longer, that a humble name avoids the gaze of misfortune, allowing the child to live longer.
