The cultivator sighed.
His fingers began moving slowly in front of him, quietly calculating something. Invisible patterns traced through the air as if he were counting threads only he could see.
His movements suddenly stopped.
A deep frown formed on his face.
Without hesitation, he stood up.
The motion was simple.
Yet it caused the entire prison to stir.
Every gaze turned toward him.
Even the ancient monsters who had been silently minding their own business for ages slowly looked in his direction.
Since the First Epoch, when they had first been sealed here nearly two to three hundred thousand years ago, this was the first time the cultivator had risen from his lotus position.
The movement alone felt unnatural.
He raised his hands calmly and clasped them together in a respectful bow.
"Fellow daoists," he said politely, "this Zhang apologizes for disturbing you all. However, our situation has changed."
His eyes swept across the gathered prisoners.
