The corridor widened, opening into a vast chamber. Torches—or some faint simulacrum of them—cast flickering shadows that danced along jagged walls. The metallic tang was thicker here, almost clinging to the tongue.
I flexed my fingers. Best Welder thrummed faintly. Rhythm pulsed, a steady drum beneath my chest. Enhanced Perception highlighted subtle shifts: a distant movement, a vibration in the floor, a whisper of wind where there should have been none.
"Preparation enhances success," Notice reminded. "Evaluate environment, assess readiness. Anticipate escalation."
I surveyed the chamber. Multiple pathways led deeper, each twisting, dark, uncertain. I mapped them in my mind, projecting enemy patterns, trap possibilities, escape routes. Every movement I imagined pulsed with rhythm, welded with instinct and focus.
Time passed in silence, thick and tense. My body ached from the last battles, muscles taut, joints stiff, but my mind sharpened. I was ready to strike, ready to protect, ready to survive.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but anticipating, preparing, mastering.