私たちの最後の3にはまだチャンスはありますか？
Last of Usシリーズのファンは、Neil Druckmannの最近の声明から、希望の光が現れたときに新しいゲームが地平線上にないかもしれないことを示唆しています。インサイダーのダニエル・リッチマンは、次の分割払いが開発中だけでなく、すでに俳優をキャストしていると主張することで興奮を引き起こしました。
画像：reddit.com
Druckmannの以前のコメントのやや曖昧な性質を考えると、これらの噂にはある程度の重みがあるかもしれません。 Druckmannが「次の最後の私たち」はないと言ったとき、彼はすでに開発中の続編をほのめかしていたかもしれません。パートIIの発表直前に、ドラックマンが過去に同様の声明を出したことは注目に値します。ただし、リッチマンの漏れは、不正確さの歴史があるため、注意して慎重にアプローチすることが重要です。
それにもかかわらず、新しい分割払いの概念が存在することが確認されています。公式の発表やさらなるニュースに関しては、Naughty Dogは、今後の新しいIP、 Intergalactic：The Heretic Prophetにスポットライトを当てるために抑制している可能性があります。
最新記事
Two Embers – Part 1
By [Your Name]
The wind howled across the shattered plains of Eldryth, carrying with it the scent of ash and forgotten prayers. Once, this land had bloomed beneath twin suns—golden and silver—cradled in the arms of the sky. Now, only two embers remained: one buried deep in the heart of the Obsidian Spire, the other flickering faintly in the chest of a girl who did not know her name.
She awoke beneath a sky split in two.
One half burned crimson, the other wept silver mist. The earth cracked like old parchment, and from the fissures rose whispers—voices not of men, nor beasts, but of memory itself. Her fingers curled around a shard of obsidian, warm to the touch, humming with a rhythm that matched her pulse.
She didn’t remember how she got here. She remembered nothing—not her mother’s lullaby, not the sound of her first breath, not even the shape of her face in the still pools of long-dead lakes.
Only the ember.
And the dream.
“When the twins fall, the world will wake,” the dream whispered. “But not as it was. Not as it should be.”
She sat up. The shard pulsed. Her reflection shimmered within it—not a face, but a storm: a woman with hair like flame and eyes like dying stars.
“You’re not real,” she said, voice cracked from disuse.
But the reflection smiled.
And spoke.
“I am you. I am what was lost. I am what was never meant to be found.”
She stumbled to her feet, wind tearing at her tattered cloak—the color of dust and midnight. Around her, ruins of a cathedral rose from the earth, its spires fused with bone and blackened iron. The name carved into its fallen arch read: Aetherion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the stone. A vision tore through her:
A war not of swords, but of light.
Two beings—twin stars forged in fire—clashing in the sky. One wore the face of a god, the other… a child.
She gasped.
And the ember screamed.
From the east, a sound like a thousand bells made of glass. A procession of shadows moved across the horizon—hooded figures with eyes of ash, marching in silence. Their chants were not in any tongue, but in absence. In silence.
She turned to flee—then stopped.
Because behind her, in the west, a new light rose.
Not silver. Not gold.
Blue.
And from it stepped a man—tall, scarred, wearing armor of woven wind and memory. In his hand, a sword without a blade. Its hilt bore the same mark as the shard in her palm.
“Eira,” he said, voice like wind over graves. “You’ve come at last.”
She stepped back. “Who are you?”
He looked at her, and for the first time, his face cracked—just slightly.
“I was your father,” he said. “And I thought I’d buried you with the world.”
The ground trembled. The sky split again.
And from the ember in her hand, a voice rose—not hers, not his.
“The first ember dies. The second awakens. The war begins.”
To Be Continued in Part 2: "The Blood of the Twin Suns"
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