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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's pooling at the base of an ancient, weathered Omphalos, partially buried in a dune of fine, shifting sand that stretches out into a vast, empty desert. The air's crisp, with a dry stillness that's somehow almost palpable... like it's got weight to it, or texture. A pale, late morning sun beats down from a perfectly cloudless sky, casting an intense glare over the tiny, concentric patterns etched into the Omphalos' surface - which somehow seem to be reflecting the image of a star field that isn't this one. The scent of myrrh lingers over everything.