"Too late for what?" Xin asked.
The seven figures did not answer simultaneously this time. Six of them returned to chanting, eyes forward, fingers working at the seal overhead with mechanical patience. Only the one that had spoken remained looking at Xin.
It was a woman. Had been a woman. Tall, with the remnants of a Dragon Order uniform visible under three centuries of accumulated grime. Her face was wrong in a way that took Xin a moment to identify — too still. No micro-expressions. No unconscious movement. Like a painting of a face rather than a face.
"Too late to stop the release," she said. Her voice was improving as she used it, finding rhythm and texture it had lost. "We have been working the seal for two months. Tonight it breaks regardless."
"Breaks how?" Master Zhou said from
