After the funeral, the True Believers were leaving from here.
No matter what, they had to head to the Holy Land, towards the majestic mountains glowing with brilliance.
They embarked on the journey once again, fully aware that disaster still pursued them relentlessly.
But what else could they do?
All they could do was struggle with all their might, support each other's shoulders, continue moving forward, and pray.
Veldor, dragging his crippled right leg, walked at the very end.
His Godfather, at the forefront of the group, led everyone to continue on this arduous path.
A somber atmosphere hovered over the Sects, unimaginable to anyone what the Sects had undergone in just a few days.
Veldor occasionally looked up at his father at the very front; since that argument, they hadn't spoken again, yet the young man felt that their souls had never been closer.
As if they truly were father and son, understanding each other's thoughts without speaking.
