There is no evening glow here. Looking up, the sky remains a clear blue, without a single cloud.
At the foot of the mountain, there are people engaged in worship. Their movements repeat, their foreheads bruised, their knees scraped, yet they press forward with unwavering devotion—toward the faith before them, toward the faith within their hearts.
Far removed from the clamor of the world, it is serene and tranquil.
Jack Stewart has been here for a month.
During this month, he saw people coming in pairs, and people arriving alone—young and old alike.
The youth, vibrant in their prime, are awed by the sights before them, as though prepared to entrust even their souls here. They wish to capture all the beauty, needing only a backpack to embark on journeys that stretch far and wide.
When they grow tired, they sleep, and wake the next morning brimming with boundless energy.
They bring life and vitality.
