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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, massive granite monoliths are strewn about a vast, barren steppe like they'd been scattered by some colossal hand, with frost-rimed cracks radiating from their shattered faces like veins. The air's crisp, with an undercurrent of dry, sweet frankincense carried on a low-pressure system, and a band of thin cirrus clouds divides the pale blue sky into two neat hemispheres, each mirroring a slightly different pattern of constellations. I see these wispy, silver threads stretching between the monoliths, gently oscillating with what seems to be... the harmonic tone of a shattered mercury thermometer somehow perpetually reconstituting itself within their cracks.