The labyrinth was no longer merely a maze—it had transformed into something darker, something far more sinister. The flickering glow of fractured reflections pulsed across the jagged walls, casting surreal, twisted images that distorted reality itself. Shadows warped and elongated, stretching like living nightmares attempting to engulf the fleeing remnants of the party. The air grew thick with an uncanny silence, punctuated only by the faint, distant echoes of screams and clashing steel—ghostly remnants of battles past and present.
Mwana paused, his battered wings fluttering hesitantly as he gazed into the shimmering mirror surfaces that lined the chamber. Instead of simple reflections, these surfaces rippled unnaturally, distorting his image into grotesque caricatures. The sense of certainty that once grounded him was slipping away—what was real, what was illusion? Here, the boundaries between the physical and the spectral had blurred into a maddening, endless fractal nightmare.
