Once, the square in front of the destroyed Temple in the center of the Old City was a gathering place for survivors. In the first years after the catastrophe, they came here in families and singly. And it happened like whole gangs. And no one touched each other, because it was here, under the walls of the destroyed Temple, that the Preacher lived in those years.
He did not make loud speeches from the podium, but quietly moved from one fire to another, and for each traveler he had a kind word. And the ashes again became coals, and in the eyes of the people who heard him life was lit.
It is not known what became of the Preacher, but for several years now, as the area of the Old City was depopulated. The ruins of the Temple were overgrown with weeds, and the narrow streets of the city became the site of incessant battles of bandit clans and raiders of the wasteland.