DX01: SINGULARITY 10957

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, rust-red rock formations tower above me, partially obscuring a pale, salmon-colored sky. Uh, wispy strands of cirrus cloud seem to be... unravelling, like threads pulled from a sweater, releasing tiny, iridescent spores that drift lazily on the breeze. The air's dry, with a metallic tang, and the stillness is oppressive, like a physical weight – it's around noon, judging by the sun's position, but its light feels... flattened, somehow. Meanwhile, a low, rumbling growl seems to be emanating from a series of ancient, cryptic glyphs etched into the rocky outcroppings.