The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rain pours down on the cracked surface of a half-submerged Atlantis-style temple, the waterlogged entrance guarded by a pair of massive, bronze automatons shaped like winged lions. Uh, inside the air's heavy with the smell of damp minerals and something faintly sweet, and the sound of the rain creates this weird harmonics with a series of crystalline cylinders suspended from the vaulted ceiling, reflecting images of burning stars and black holes that seem to shift and change as I... watch them. The sky above the entrance is a sickly shade of chartreuse.