San lets out a long sigh into the morning air. It is already warm, and the smell of the air tells him that the day is going to be scorching. He tosses his jacket to one side, the ceremonial golden thread glinting in the sunlight.

The pavilion in which he stands is twined with vines whose flowers in the prime of their sunburst lives, much like him.

These are the days worth living for, when the world is beautiful and holds promise.

He starts when he hears a clearing of a throat behind him, but when he turns and sees it's you, he relaxes.

"Good morning," he says, smiling warmly.