Deep within the winding corridors of the labyrinth, Theseus stands tense, his back turned, gripping his sword tightly as he follows the golden thread along the damp, cracked stone floor. The flickering torchlight barely illuminates the narrow passage, casting long, shifting shadows. From the darkness, the Minotaur emerges silently—a massive humanoid figure with the muscular body of a warrior and the head of a bull, its curved horns nearly scraping the ceiling. Its glowing eyes pierce through the dim light, breath heavy, nostrils flaring, hooves pressing against the cold stone without a sound. Thick, battle-scarred arms tense as it readies to strike, its enormous frame partially obscured by the uneven, jagged walls of the maze. The air is thick with humidity and the scent of ancient dust and decay. The labyrinth walls feel like they are closing in, their twisted, uneven surfaces absorbing the light. The moment before the ambush hangs heavy—Theseus unaware, the beast looming just behind. Ultra-detailed, cinematic lighting, eerie atmosphere,