The stoic initiate sat cross-legged in the hushed adobe chamber, willfully rippling the air with silent psionic currents until—with a final breath—a small yellow rubber duck blinked into being. He opened his eyes, trembling only as he reached out to cradle the childhood keepsake he’d carried from orphanage to orphanage, a single relic of comfort now reborn by the purity of his mind. Monks lining the colonnade exchanged soft smiles, but the grand master alone nodded in solemn approval. The mind, he’d taught, gave form to what it cherished most.