The hard and cold granite floor, huge granite pillars supporting the magnificent dome, long hand-woven carpets extending to the entrance of the palace, a mountain of dazzling jewels, oil candles burning in copper lamps, the smell of spices filling the air, and the faint sound of people's devout prayers.
The feminine statue of Bastian stood upright, solemn and sacred.
Everything around him was extremely familiar. It was the Bastet's Holy Palace.
Fina looked at the furnishings around indifferently. It was obviously impossible to say that there was no trace of nostalgia and touch in her heart, but she knew that these were all fake. The real Bastet's Holy Palace had long been destroyed by the hands of the foreign races, and only ruins were left.
It had stepped into that place and witnessed it with its own eyes.
