The Wandering Notes

In a corner forgotten by the world, a dusty temple stands in this lonely wasteland. The stars in the sky were dim and seemed so far away. Huge abandoned stones are scattered around, and withered yellow weeds sway in the wind in the gaps. It seems that this place has never been visited. Perhaps the glory sung in the temple was written only by him. Already mottled walls, broken altars, statues of blood and tears. Silently telling what kind of lost memory, lost glory and wandering sighs.