Cyr￯s awoke with aches as the sun rose, signaling the end of his workday. He swept the temple floors, preparing for the evening’s prayers and meditation. Noticing his usual mouth glow was dim, he stretched and inspected the ornate silver meditation mirror, its surface shimmering. It suddenly glowed intensely, and he saw a small, soaking wet Anon. Concerned, he leaned over and softly asked, “Kh￤r tohnad￡, imor￪?” (Are you alright?).