"Each reflection is a ghost of its former self, fleeting and yet perennial... " The mirrors whisper, questioning the reality we drink like nectar, fleeting yet eternal.

Continue through the whispered lanes

Now the maze, a consumable illusion, betrays paths already walked in absent forms. Reality shimmers, recall a face, a name—elusively familiar.

Retrace echoes of Here

Are we not prisoners of our own facsimile halls, beliefs built upon reflections, beyond the tangible reach?

Dare to realize the labyrinth contract