The stability following the destruction of the temporal node was a welcome, if brief, reprieve. Andrew took a moment to breathe, the dull throb in his head slowly subsiding. The corridor ahead was, for now, linear and predictable, but the eerie silence of the Chrono-Labyrinth still hummed with unseen menace.
"Do not mistake temporary stillness for safety," Marrow warned, his voice cutting through the quiet. "The Labyrinth adapts. It learns your weaknesses. Expect the next phase to be more aggressive, less subtle."
Andrew nodded, adjusting his grip on the Nyxian Dagger. His four shadow Specters glided ahead, silent scouts in the oppressive gloom. The six rogue shadows followed close behind, their forms a stark contrast to the spectral translucence of Andrew's own constructs. He felt a peculiar blend of apprehension and readiness.
He was no longer just running; he had tools, and a growing, if strange, sense of purpose.
