Trapped on a Terrifying Island, This Good-for-Nothing Just Wants to Survive

In the silent town, everything felt oppressively quiet, as if time itself had ceased its relentless march. The air seemed frozen, and although the harsh winds of autumn and winter whistled through the deep valleys, leaving echoes in their wake, these sounds were quickly smothered by the snow, leaving behind a deathly silence.

Perhaps “dead silence” is a more fitting description for this place? Even the cicadas, which should be noisy during the hot summer days, remained silent here.

“Why don’t the cicadas here chirp?”

One day, as a young child, I closed my science book and naively asked this question, looking up with curiosity.

They laughed, as if the silence of cicadas was a normal occurrence on this island, nothing out of the ordinary.

“Silly child, I’ve lived most of my life and never heard a cicada here.”

“Fuyuki, the cicadas here just don’t chirp.”

“Maybe there are no cicadas here at all.”

“Is that so…”

Indeed, we never heard the deafening trill of cicadas, just like the name of the town suggested — Cicada Hidden Town.

Yet, I had seen cicadas, or rather, their empty shells clinging to the underside of leaves. These shells, once homes to these small creatures, bore witness to their metamorphosis, but the life they once encased was long gone, leaving behind only these hollow bodies, steadfastly clinging to the swaying branches.

“Holding on with such tenacity, do they become earthbound spirits?”

I carefully picked the leaf, fearing my clumsiness might damage this unique relic. The translucent cicada shell cast a gentle glow in the sunlight, as if to proclaim its former occupant’s existence. As I cradled it in my palm, sometimes I’d get the illusion of the cicada preparing to chirp.

Touching it, the shell felt warm and supple, and if not for its hollow eyes, I might have thought, “You’re still alive, right?”

But it didn’t respond. Perhaps it wanted to, but couldn’t make a sound.

A lifeless thing.

A shell without a pulse, without a soul.

Just like this town, like its people.

My enthusiasm and stubbornness slowly eroded in the face of unspoken responses, eventually fading away. I forgot the days spent doggedly searching for that answer, no longer digging deeper.

Of course, there was no need to dig deeper anymore. No one could give me the right answer, so I accepted the notion that “Cicada Hidden Town’s cicadas don’t chirp because there are none.”

Gradually, I became as silent as Cicada Hidden Town — the place that nurtured me. But it wasn’t just me who changed.

2.

“Good morning, God Incarnate.”

People greeted me respectfully, their forced smiles making me uncomfortable.

I wondered if their behavior was genuine. Out of courtesy, I returned their greetings coolly. Just out of courtesy.

I missed the days when friends would wave at me excitedly, their faces naturally smiling.

“Fuyuki, good morning!”

The childish voice of my childhood friend Sasara echoed in my ears, but these memories only added to my sorrow.

“Love has always wanted to know why Cicada Hidden Town’s cicadas don’t chirp, right?”

I had always longed for the day the answer would be revealed, but I never expected its arrival to be shrouded in such a heavy, somber color.

I sat quietly beside my biological father—the High Priest’s—deathbed, bowing my head and closing my eyes, respectfully listening to his last will.

His weak and hoarse voice was heartbreaking, despite my hatred for him.

“Love… Silence is meant to comfort the dead, to let their souls rest in peace. The cicadas are silent because this town is buried under too many tragedies. This silence has spread to the living. Love, will you find a way to make the cicadas of Cicada Hidden Town chirp again?”

“Cicada Hidden Town needs our protection, dad can’t do it anymore, if only Love was a child of a normal family.”

Shocked.

I opened my eyes, letting tears flow freely.

“Chirp again…?”

I never believed in the myths of Cicada Hidden Town, nor did I ever consider myself a god incarnate.

Cicada Hidden Town once had cicadas, but they fell silent after being massively exterminated by humans.

3.

Deceived by “silence” for over a decade, I finally regained the courage to seek answers.

But everyone and everything around me refused any change, whether it was mine, others’, or the entire Cicada Hidden Town’s.

Trapped in a vast web of despair, like a caged animal, I pondered ways to regain freedom, only to find that reality mercilessly crushed all my efforts.

“Can someone tell me the truth? I’ll accept any information.”

No one dared to

heed my request, replaced instead by panic-stricken faces.

Perhaps they all assumed I was joking—being worshipped like a deity, yet wanting to step down from the pedestal.

The taste of being born a god incarnate is bitter, but I couldn’t even rightfully appear as one.

Confused, lonely.

Admired and watched, yet also forgotten and isolated.

Once upon a time, the cicada chirps here must have been as loud and vibrant as described in books. Suddenly one day, they fell silent. Were they like me, silencing themselves out of weariness, or like everyone else, afraid of something?

This self-defeating attitude lasted a long time, until I met him.

4.

He, like me, was 16 years old.

He lost his mother and grandparents at a young age. My mother died early, and my father sent me away to be raised by others. Later, I was called into the shrine, forced to leave my foster parents and siblings. Then, my father and brother died, leaving me alone in the family.

He suffered from school bullying, had few friends, was shy and not good at socializing. I was also bullied at school for ethnic reasons, thankfully Sasara helped me. But after turning 12, Sasara and I gradually drifted apart and even had a falling out.

What intrigued me more was that he was Professor Suzu’s son.

Since being called to the shrine, I rarely went to school, only begging scholars who had fled to North Yaba to teach me. Some of them secretly kept books, a few of which were Professor Suzu’s works.

After reading them, I was deeply shocked and couldn’t sleep for days. But I couldn’t find anything about Cicada Hidden Town in those books.

The town’s schools didn’t emphasize historical education, and only limited information was available online. The library also had scarce relevant materials.

The truth about history seemed deliberately hidden or altered, replaced by absurd ghost stories.

As a god incarnate, our family was never blessed by gods. How could we believe in their existence?

Ah, it seemed he didn’t believe in ghosts and gods either. The record showed: his grandparents were superstitious about a new religion, refusing medical treatment and wasting money on a so-called “god,” leading him to hate those who play god.

This record was suspiciously detailed. I thought I should protect him.