Under the lash of a bone-chilling wind, Derek—once a scavenger, now a guardsman of Cinder Town—shivered like a startled quail. Tonight was his turn to stand watch on the city wall, a six-hour stretch from 2 a.m. to 8 a.m. His duty was to sweep a beam of light from the searchlight across the desolate expanse before him, alerting the others via the walkie-talkie on his shoulder if he spotted any movement.
He had known this shift would be miserable. Every morning, the unlucky souls who had manned the wall came off duty half-frozen, stumbling like drunkards, their faces blue with cold. To prepare, Derek had layered every piece of clothing he owned under his camouflage jacket, stuffing the gaps with rags—a trick he'd learned in his scavenging days, when dry grass sufficed if rags were scarce. Anything to trap a sliver of warmth against the wind. He had also piled coal and wood into the brazier at his feet, hoping the flames would ward off the chill.
But his survival instincts were no match for the elements. The wall offered no shelter: the guard post was a flimsy shack with a roof barely thick enough to keep the radioactive snow off, and the north-facing wall was missing entirely—exposed to the full force of the gale. To block the wind would mean blocking the searchlight's view, a risk no one was willing to take.
Derek stamped his feet, the cold so intense that his toes felt numb. His hands, wrapped in rags to avoid sticking to the metal searchlight (a fate he'd seen befall too many), moved mechanically, sweeping the beam across the darkness. To his right, the greenhouse loomed—Harry Potter's miracle, a place where crops could grow even in winter. For now, it was empty, save for a few scavengers in hazmat suits patrolling with flashlights, clearing snow from the plastic roof to keep the hope alive. To his left, a row of burrows stretched into the earth, like giant rat holes. Those were the new arrivals—scavengers who had flocked to Cinder Town after hearing of Harry Potter's recruitment drive. Unable to afford tents or shacks, they had dug into the ground, covering the entrances with tarps. Derek envied them: down there, a charcoal fire burned, keeping the burrows warm.
These burrows housed over a thousand people—ten to a hole, a number that had swelled in just a few days. Add to that the two hundred sent to the coal mine the day before, and the town was bursting. Derek knew the influx would only grow: as the weather worsened, even the strongest scavengers—those with combat aura who had once lived comfortably—would flock to Cinder Town, seeking shelter from the cold.
He didn't know why Harry Potter was recruiting so many people—wasting precious grain on strangers—but it wasn't his place to question. His job was to stay alert, to make sure none of these new arrivals harbored ambitions of storming the city.
A sound cut through the wind: footsteps on the left. Derek's hand flew to the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, the barrel aimed at the shadowy figures. "Halt! Password!" he barked.
"Pancake! Retreat password!" a voice growled.
"Green onion!" Derek replied, recognizing the code. Relief washed over him—it was John, the minotaur, checking in. But as the figures drew closer, he saw Harry Potter among them. The Lord of Cinder Town, here in this frozen hell.
Before Derek could process the shock, Harry was at his side. "Tell me, my loyal guardsman—are you cold?"
Derek's teeth chattered. "A little… but I can manage."
"Your sacrifice won't go unrewarded," Harry said gravely.
Moments later, Derek found himself wearing a helmet identical to Harry's, a thick greatcoat over his shoulders, and a proper raincoat replacing the plastic sheet he'd used as a shield. Even his rubber boots had been swapped for fur-lined rain boots. The warmth rushed to his extremities, and he felt his frozen toes thaw.
But the real gift came as Harry turned to leave. He pressed a small bottle into Derek's hand—two hundred milliliters of clear liquid. Derek unscrewed the cap, and the scent of alcohol hit him like a punch. He took a sip, and his body erupted in a wave of heat.
This winter would be long and cruel, but Derek knew—with the warmth of the coats, the rain boots, and the liquor—they would get through it. They would have a mild winter, after all.