The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of a sprawling, ancient banyan tree have somehow wrapped themselves around a half-submerged, rusted lighthouse, pulling it into a precarious lean. Schools of iridescent fish are swimming up through the lighthouse's broken lantern room, pooling in a glittering, glassy lake that's formed on the uppermost branches of the tree. The air's heavy with the scent of damp earth and salt, and the faint, pulsing hum of a far-off chant is resonating through the still air... Like, it's midday, but the sun's nowhere to be seen.