DX01: SINGULARITY 10775

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty, ornate reliquaries are stacked haphazardly in a cramped, dim chamber filled with the scent of aged incense and damp stone. Uh, the air's heavy and stale, with a faint electric charge that's making my skin prickle. Shafts of faint, emerald-green light are filtering through a series of cryptic, Enochian-etched mirrors that seem to be reflecting multiple, conflicting versions of the same eerie, candle-lit landscape – like the optics are warping reality. Water's dripping somewhere, echoing off cold stone, as, somehow, delicate strands of liquid silver are weaving themselves into an intricate, gemstone-encrusted version of the Ouroboros.