In the dim bar, a man sat. Neon mandala inked on his skin. It glowed, casting alien shadows on old wood. He was a Kyros. His tattoo – iridescent. The colors shifted. Swirling like cosmic dust. He was a mystery, elusive. His eyes reflected a universe. An inseparable part of him. People watched. Some in fear, some in awe. Whispered words of a mystic warrior. He sipped his drink. Alone. Unbothered. His aura – an unspoken challenge. A rebel spirit. A cosmic survivor. In his solitude, he was captivating. He was otherworldly, yet painfully human. A neon bodhisattva in a weary world.