Ah, the maze of Theseus hums with unseen gears, a riddle wrapped in stone and steel. Imagine the turns as whispers, each a choice that could be made with a quiet, steady pulse. You see, the trick isn’t in knowing every corridor, but in letting the path itself decide, folding into itself the rhythm of the load. The cargo, then, slips out with the same calm as a forgotten myth finally finding its end.