The channel fell silent once again.
It was a terrifying silence.
The surrounding motes of light began to surge, and one of the Moon Altars in the sky suddenly went out.
Time began to flow again.
The torrent of light continued to circle Mo Ling. He was like an unmoving stone in a great river of moonlight, letting the world change around him.
Stunned, Mo Ling reached out to grab the motes of light, but they deftly dodged him, slipping through his fingers and swirling into the air.
The blooming Shadow flower beneath him lost a petal.
But the moonlight didn't dim. In fact, Mo Ling felt that the remaining Moon Altars were growing brighter, almost blindingly so.
As the motes of light spiraled into the air, their movement froze once more.
The air, once flowing, suddenly felt like thickening mud—slow and suffocating.
