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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dark, basalt columns rise from a rough-hewn, obsidian floor, partially submerged in a sea of motionless, black oil that's somehow holding an unbroken, glass-like surface. A faint scent of myrrh lingers in the still air, heavy with moisture, while umm, outside, I hear the faint sound of thunder crackling in the distance, even though it looks to be clear late afternoon. Schools of bioluminescent fish are etching intricate symbols from the Book of Enoch into the columns, seemingly synchronized with a soft, humming noise. Tiny, golden dust motes are visibly collecting into coherent geometric shapes within the oil's depths.