The morning after the disaster, Pine City awoke to an eerie calm. The storm that had ravaged the city had passed, but it left behind a tension that clung to the air like a heavy mist. The sky was a muted gray, and a light rain continued to fall, more a persistent drizzle than the torrential downpour of the previous night. The rain was a blessing and a curse—it washed away the dust and soot from the shattered buildings, but it also mixed with the blood that had soaked into the streets, turning the stagnant water in the gutters a deep, unsettling red.
Despite the somber atmosphere, there was a sense of relief among the survivors. The storm had passed, and they were still alive. The rain, though tainted with the memory of lost lives, also seemed to cleanse the spirit of the people, as if washing away the fear and despair that had gripped them so tightly. It was a bittersweet cleansing, the kind that left a hollow feeling in the chest but also a flicker of hope.