Ding... Ding Ding...
That is the sound of a god bearing history, carving sand with a stone chisel in the burned-out pages of history.
The giant sat on the ground, seemingly unresponsive to the approaching uninvited guest, still with the appearance remembered by Fenna—aged, towering, his face etched with the vicissitudes of history like grooves carved by ax and chisel, his hair and beard unruly, and his eyes hollow.
But compared to Fenna's memory, he seemed even more aged, more stooped, and on his tattered robe, one could still see a flickering dark red glow, as if embers were still burning on his body, occasionally sending off tiny sparks with his movements, which fell on the desert, emitting brief and blurry illusions.
