The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, massive granite boulders are piled haphazardly around a fully intact, ancient Norse stave church that's somehow merged with a gargantuan, uprooted sequoia, its branches twisted and tangled in the church's wooden framing. The air's crisp, with a faint scent of woodsmoke, and there's a light dusting of snow on everything. It's early morning, and the sun's just starting to rise over the horizon, casting long shadows across the rocks. The stave church's door is creaking slowly, like it's being pulled by some invisible force, even though there's not a breath of wind.