“The sun kept him breathing. Photons packaged with nutrients and vital liquid, a cornucopia of light and protein, wine and figs delivered to the skin, absorbed, like frogs no one remembered. As long as Axsylene was a citizen of the Wyrld, and in this he had no choice, his sins were appropriated by the All, and he received the sun’s bounty at no cost. Idol and celebrity, demiurge of engineers and urban planners, godhead of the manic artist, candle on the desk of every bureaucrat, the sun spoke rays of rhetoric that shouted: Forget your soul's desire to ensure future freedom! Silence is the antithesis of service!”