The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A decrepit, abandoned church steeple somehow juts out of the center of a crystal-clear iceberg, surrounded by nothing but open, frigid Arctic waters. The air is biting and dry, with a hint of salt and diesel fuel, like the scent of a nearby ship is carried on the crisp wind. Uh, perfectly intact, shrink-wrapped packs of "NFT Fuel" energy drinks are reconstituting themselves from scattered cans lodged in the ice, syncing up with the sound of cracking ice sheets and distant whalesong. The Stake post projected onto the steeple's facade reads "VESTA INU FORGE".