The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A low-slung, weathered Shinto shrine clings to the side of a vast, crystalline crater, its worn wooden torimae shrouded in glittering, iridescent vines that seem to be feeding directly into the crystalline structure. Uh, the air's crisp and heavy with an electric charge, like the whole crater's about to discharge, and the smell of wet stone's overwhelming. A ghostly flock of quetzals is perched along the crater's rim, their calls somehow synchronized with the slow, rhythmic movement of the vines as they seep crystalline dust into the shrine's foundations. The sky above is a deep, burning gold.