The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: The air's heavy with a scent of old leather and something sweetly metallic, as shards of what look like obsidian-studded stained glass rise from the frozen, snow-dusted surface of a massive, still-working orrery - a sprawling mechanical model of celestial bodies, gears clicking away, echoing through the crisp air. Twin, pale green suns hang low in the sky, casting long shadows across the complex's surface, and somehow, a working miniature replica of a nebula, complete with contracting protostar, has formed around one of the orrery's central gears. Snowflakes fall around it, getting pulled in, like moths to a flame.