We walk north. Away from the crater. Away from the ash.

Bukh doesn't complain. For once. He just drinks. Sera walks ahead. Corvin walks last.

We reach the old watchtower by nightfall. Corvin pushes the iron door open. Steps inside. And stops.

"Someone's been here."

We file in. The fire pit is cold. The chairs are empty. But in the corner — copper pipes. A barrel. A fire. The smell of strong alcohol.

"What the... is that..." Bukh sniffs. "Holy shit. Someone built a still."

He steps closer. Dips a finger. Tastes it.

"This isn't just moonshine. This is good moonshine."

"Who built it?" Sera asks. "Someone who thought they were alone," Corvin says. "And someone who set traps." I look down. The floor is covered in old rope and wire.

"Traps?"

"Tripwires. Snares. Basic stuff. — Corvin pokes a wire with his poker. — He's been here a while. Thought the world ended. Turned this place into a fortress."

Bukh takes another sip of the moonshine.

"Good taste, — hic —" he says. "But where is he?"

A noise. From above. A heavy, metallic clank.

We look up. The ceiling is half-gone. But there's a loft. Dark. Silent.

"Hey!" Bukh yells. "We don't bite! Come down!"

Silence.

Then — a voice. Old. Paranoid.

"Go away! I have a ballista! And I'm not afraid to use it!"

Sera sighs. "Great. Another old man. But this one built a siege weapon."

I step forward. Hands up.

"We're not here to take your tower," I say. "We just need shelter. The port is gone. The sky fell." Silence. The wood creaks. "The sky fell?" The voice is skeptical. "You think I don't know that? I felt the blast! That's why I built the ballista! And the still! If the world ends, I'm not doing it sober and unarmed!" Bukh raises his flask. "I respect that." The heavy wooden arms of the ballista shift in the shadows, pointing directly at us. "You're not mutants?" the voice asks. "No," I say. "You're not soldiers? Not from the war?" "No." "Then what are you? — His voice cracks. — You're not... you're not ghosts, are you? Spirits? Because I'm not going down there!