Mo Xing stepped forward, his youthful features hardened with rare seriousness. The chamber's twisted space seemed to bend around him, responding to the barely contained power that rippled beneath his usual easy grace. "Old Tang, if you know where they are—"
"Knowledge has its own price," Old Tang interrupted, his form seeming to blur like watercolors in rain. Something ancient and knowing flickered in the depths of his otherworldly eyes. "And time... time is not what you think it is. The Failed Candidate has already begun preparing the ritual circles. Even now, your brothers' cores are being slowly drained to power the preliminary formations."