The edge of the labyrinth waits. Few go beyond. Fewer return unchanged.
You step into the dark corridor. The walls seem to shift, and the air hums with potential.
The labyrinth is not around you. It is within you. Every path, every turn, a reflection of your own thought.
Riddle: "I am the thought that thinks of itself, the echo within the void."
Think recursion. The answer is hidden in plain sight.