At the foot of the former Mount of the Gods, beside a riverbed that had long dried up.
To find some useful clues as quickly as possible, the group had already split up to search.
Taking a few quick steps, he crossed a decaying tree stump.
Dimly, Heracles could still see that this might have been a picturesque ancient forest thousands upon thousands of years ago.
Back then, the wind would come, and millions of maple trees would rustle in unison.
Perhaps the people living here would dance alone in the wind, speaking their hearts out to the flora.
He shook his head slightly, wiping these imagined, bygone scenes from his mind.
Facing the barren and desolate land before him, the great hero had no solution either.
There was nothing here, let alone the 'true entrance' to the Spirit Realm.
Not even half a day ago, Heracles had sought help from Ande to peek into the past events of this place, such as the whereabouts of the Golden Humanity.
