I sank against the cold stone wall, letting my weight settle, muscles trembling from exertion and exhaustion. Sparks still danced faintly across my fingertips, remnants of Best Welder's energy flickering like distant stars. My chest heaved in time with Rhythm, each heartbeat a slow, deliberate drum, steadying thought and focus. The metallic tang lingered faintly in the air, a ghost of the dungeon's pulse, biting at the back of my throat.
"Integration complete," Notice murmured, voice calm but insistent. "Reflect, adapt, internalize."
I closed my eyes, letting the adrenaline bleed away in waves. Each choice, each strike, each moral decision played back in my mind like a rhythm I couldn't escape but didn't want to. The guardian, the shadows, the innocents I had protected—they were all still there, in memory, and in lessons etched into muscle and bone.
Pain throbbed, sure, but it was no longer punishment. It was data. Feedback. Each ache, each sting of heat or strain, a reminder that I had pushed, learned, and survived. I flexed my fingers experimentally; sparks arced briefly, a soft reminder that even in rest, potential pulsed beneath my skin.
Minutes—or perhaps hours—passed. Time became a blur of sensation, reflection, and rhythm. I allowed myself to feel pride, tempered with caution. The dungeon had been conquered, but I knew that survival was never a one-time event. It was a constant dance, a continuous test of body, mind, and conscience.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but pausing, learning, mastering myself.