Fireworks blazed across the night sky, filling the air with a fiery hue of red and orange. The once great city of Puerta Mibela had fallen and its rebuilding had only began. Workers took a break to celebrate the New Year and give thanks to all they had left. In the shadowy night, one man continued to work.
He wore faded military pants and boots. Light glistened from the sky and reflected off his dark skin. His ribs where held tightly together by bandages. Some wounds took longer to heal then others. The buzzing in his head was gone. As were his cloudy thoughts.
His hammer came down over and over.
Wiping the sweet from his brow he stepped back. The final wall of a small home was secured. The owner had been killed in the storm, leaving his wife and twin daughters homeless. Soon, they would be able to leave the shelter.
The man sat down for a moment, closing his eyes he got flashes of a time past. Things had already changed. His life was over. And as with any endings, there was only one thing to left to do; rebuild.
The man, now known only by the name Priest, went back to work. By morning he hoped to be finished. If not, he would continue to work until he was.
