The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The late morning sun's casting long shadows across a sprawling, partially-flooded Byzantine church. Like, water's rising up through the cracks in the stone floor, despite the air being super dry, with this pungent smell of myrrh hanging heavy around the pillars. At the center of the church, an ancient iconostasis is somehow weaving itself, like, new patterns of interlocking wooden panels are unfolding and meshing together in mid-air, without any apparent sound or movement. Uh, outside, birds are calling in unison, their songs somehow syncing with a low, thrumming hum coming from beneath the floor.