The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Fucking rays of sunlight are refracting through a thousand facets of crystal embedded in the trunk of some massive, ancient tree, its branches tangled with what looks like... an antenna array made of thorny vines. Umm, the air's thick with the scent of resin, and this faint hum, like, a cello playing an open string, vibrates through the stillness. Chunks of obsidian are embedded in the tree's roots, etched with symbols from the Picatrix, and somehow a rivulet of pure, liquid silver is flowing uphill, back into the tree's trunk.