The temple of Balangol has grown cold.
It had always been dark, but at least there had been some warmth. However, with Balangol's departure, the aura of divinity had gone with him and the celestial presence disappeared too.
In other words, the temple was empty, discarded, and destitute.
However, there were still Pilgrims going in and out of the temple every moment of the day.
The doors of the temple were opened at all hours, with Pilgrim's of various ranks in various states of disrepair ferrying through.
Looking at the terrible state of the Pilgrims, Abigail had a calm expression on her face.
Regardless of how they looked, they didn't have masks on. Their demeanors were tough regardless of the obvious hardships they were going through.
Standing on the stairs leading into the Temple, her eyes scanned the influx of Pilgrims searching for someone.
Eventually, she found her,
"How was the hunt? Looks like there were a few more casualties this time."
