The following record has been altered for mortal consumption.

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  Sol stirred from his apathetic trance when he felt felt a tingle. He felt the wave of will radiate through the astral ocean, focused... towards him?

  The source was a human girl, nearly 600 light years away. As she lay, dying, he winced. It was warm and refreshing. Like a sunrise, he supposed. He wanted to help. But he couldn't violate the Accords. If he so much as twitched his will, apostles from across the galaxy would lock down the quarantine zone, like he was a disease. Even from his distant perch, Sol felt the desperate urge to take action radiating, her slowly dwindling potentia nearly burning with density and determination. Sadly, her sheer willpower couldn't prevent her death, no matter how hard she tried. She wasn't that powerful. Yet.

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  He was being selfish. He wasn't a disease. He wasn't worthless. It was their stupid rules. They didn't make anyone safe, they just served to keep people in their place. So the Council could keep things the way they were.

  For the first time in his 4.57 billion year long life, Sol reached out his will. If he was going to do this, he wasn't going to follow their rules. He was going to do it his own way, and he was going to do it right. The way it should be, and the way the ancient empires did it.

  He reached across the astral sea and whispered into her ear.

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