DX01: SINGULARITY 03597

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Crystalline spires pierce the sky like shards of glass on a barren, crimson-hued mountain range. Umm, the air's dry and cold, with this faint scent of frankincense and a weird, pungent metallic tang that's making my nose itch. A thin layer of iridescent, crystalline dust coats every surface, reflecting the pale light of twin suns that seem to be locked in a perpetual solar eclipse. The rocks themselves are unfolding and refolding into different geometric patterns, as if the entire mountain range is a living, sentient expression of the Metatron's Cube.