The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Frayed, crimson silks hang from shattered wooden frames, casting eerie patterns on a cracked stone floor within an ancient, ruined Buddhist monastery. Umm, air is thick with incense smoke and dampness, the scent of wet stone and must hanging heavy, as slow drips of rainwater echo through empty halls, creating an unsettling harmony with the creaks and groans of shifting wooden beams. A mass of iridescent lotus petals swirl in mid-air near a battered bronze statue of Mahakala, like they're caught in an invisible whirlpool, despite the complete stillness of the surrounding air.