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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty, early morning sunlight casts long shadows across a vast, abandoned observatory, umm, like... the air's stale and musty with a hint of old grease. A series of cryptic symbols from the Picatrix are etched into the lenses of the massive, old telescopes, somehow being rewritten in a continuous cycle, despite the complete stillness of the air. Water's slowly dripping from the ceiling, falling onto a thick layer of dust coating a massive, ancient orrery that's still perfectly synchronized with the current positions of the celestial bodies outside.