The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Sunlight's illuminating a massive, sprawling library... not of books, but antique clockwork mechanisms, intricately arranged on towering shelves like they're some kind of mechanical puzzle. The air's got this thick, heavy scent of machine oil, and it's almost deafeningly quiet, like the whole room is holding its breath. Uh, a chunk of what looks like actual starry night sky is somehow embedded in the far wall, its stars shifting slowly like it's still connected to the universe outside. The mechanisms are all slowly, silently turning, like they're waiting for something to kick them into gear.