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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Ancient, cyclopean masonry etched with cryptic sigils from the Cultes des Goules stretches across the facade of a massive, forgotten cathedral... umm, half-submerged in the syrupy, golden waters of a sprawling, iridescent salt flat. The air's heavy with an expectant stillness, electrically charged, as wisps of gossamer-thin, crystal spires refract pale, crescent moonlight into shattered spectral bands that dance across the masonry. As I glance upwards, the cathedral's crumbling spires appear to be extruding dark, pulsing tendrils that effortlessly lift a nearby mountain range, like an inverted stalactite, into the night sky.