DX01: SINGULARITY 11065
The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Fog swirls through an empty Tibetan temple courtyard, mist clinging to intricate, mandala-patterned tiles. Umm, the air's crisp, mountain-fresh, with this weird tang of incense that seems to be emanating from a series of smoking stone basins arranged around a massive, still-operational prayer wheel, its leather straps creaking as it turns itself with no apparent force or power source. A steady beam of morning sunlight, coming from outside the mist-shrouded courtyard, somehow threads directly through a hole in a damaged, turquoise-glazed stupa, landing on a frozen pond, where the reflection is writing ancient, reversed Bodhicaryavatara verses in Sanskrit into the frost.
