Nico Di Angelo stood alone at his station, eyeing the delicate sugar disk with the star etched into it. His hands, though steady, betrayed a hint of tremor. "Alright, Nico," he murmured to himself, "just take it slow. You’ve faced worse than this." As he picked up the needle, he tried to focus on the task at hand, but his thoughts began to drift.

Each precise motion of the needle stirred memories he had tried to bury—memories of the Underworld and the countless battles he had fought, of the shadows that clung to his past. "Remember the Labyrinth," he whispered, trying to ground himself. "This is just another challenge, another puzzle to solve." The familiar weight of his father's legacy and the ghosts of his past seemed to press down on him, mingling with the pressure of the game.

His breathing grew shallow as the star's edges started to reveal themselves, the tension heightening with every careful stroke. "Focus," he told himself. "You’re stronger than this. You survived Tartarus. You can get through this too."