Tikalo's expression turned somber. He pressed his lips tightly together, clenching his teeth, still unable to quell the fear and sorrow in his heart for that era. These were emotions mentioned cryptically by ancestors, written in the epic of heritage, yet impossible to erase. After a moment, Tikalo sighed softly.
"The rainforest has reclaimed the farmlands, flocks of birds nest on the temple's rooftop. The observatory is covered in cobwebs, wild rabbits inhabit the grand ball court... What was once a densely populated central basin has abruptly turned into a green desert. The remaining tribes, as if fleeing in panic, fearfully distanced themselves, no longer willing to linger in the dying city-state. The Maya Golden Age has ended! Following this was the great migration of the dark ages from south to north."
