Pride.
I stumbled into something ancient today. My crew and I were working, as we do any other day, and the world fell away from me. All of the details, all of the color, all of the houses and roads and trees and snow and light just... dropped away. There was a clean darkness over a blank horizon. And standing before me, there were souls who were shining.
It wasn't because they HAD to work. Every one needs to do some sort of work in order to survive until tomorrow. But what I saw were souls who were engaged. They were reveling in what they were doing. The task before them was a challenge, something to test their physicality, their intellect, and their will. I watched the shining of their souls as they stood against the face of Oblivion, and they defied it. My team. My fellows. Our work.
Our names are woven into every small thing we do. Our history lies within the dusty remnants of the careful attention we paid out at the time. Peel away the layers of what we build, and you will unearth the simplest truth about who we are, and why we did what we did.
Because we could.
Because it worked.
Because it had meaning.
"He who works with his hands is a laborer. He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman. He who works with his hands, his head, and his heart... is an artist."
- Vajra -