DX01: SINGULARITY 19037

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A perfectly spherical chunk of obsidian is sitting on the worn, stone floor of this old, ruined temple, surrounded by scattered, wet palm fronds, and somehow the air around it is causing the leaves to turn into dry, brittle stone that crumbles to dust as more water trickles onto them from a cracked, stone statue above. Like, it's got this intense, earthy smell in here, but the air's crisp, like after a storm. Umm, the sound of the water's the only thing you can hear, except for the distant rumble of what feels like a low-magnitude earthquake. The sun's filtering in, casting a warm glow over everything.