Five graveyard years, crystal black reborn, he listens. Up where gravity fades, zone of salvation, he listens and watches. For her. Through walls and ocean sprays, her warm flesh radiates across the world. He listens. And laments his choice.

"He said: You can print money, manufacture diamonds, and people are a dime a dozen, but they'll always need land. It's the one thing they're not making any more of."