After rescuing the innocents, the dungeon shifted—walls rotated, corridors lengthened, and a vast chamber opened. Light fractured across the stone floor from crystalline structures embedded in the ceiling. Patterns shifted constantly, creating both paths and traps.
Notice spoke calmly: "Spatial reasoning. Timing. Rhythm. Adaptation to environmental hazards is as crucial as combat."
I inhaled, letting Rhythm sync with the flickering light. Enhanced Perception guided me through dangerous beams, sensing which crystals emitted lethal pulses and which were safe.
Every step became a calculation, every leap a balance between instinct and precision. Sparks from my welding occasionally illuminated new hazards, giving me split-second opportunities to adjust mid-motion.
I advanced deliberately, unhurried but focused, treating each movement as a note in the complex rhythm of survival. Mistakes were costly—but each taught me more about timing, perception, and controlled risk.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but navigating, calculating, mastering hazard and rhythm alike.