Passing through the narrow gate, a street scene of the Holy City, similar to her memories, unfolded before the Hero.
But unlike the once bustling and lively scenery with crowds all around, the streets of the Holy City before her now were deserted, worn out and shattered, like a faded painting.
The shop windows by the roadside were covered in a thick layer of dust from lack of cleaning, signs had fallen off due to disrepair, and the once neat stone road was now overrun by wild weeds, entangled with trash and unrecognizable scraps of fabric.
The air no longer carried the occasional enticing aroma of food or the scent of flowers, only a musty, dry smell of decay, brushing across the cheeks with the silent wind.
The girl lightly tapped her toes, gently leapt, and flew to the top of a clock tower nearby. The large bell, which once rang out with clear tones, was now rusty.
