DX01: SINGULARITY 36170

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Thousands of ancient, weathered prayer wheels, half-submerged in fine, rust-colored sand, cover the vast, arid landscape like discarded toys. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows behind them, its orange light illuminating the wispy remains of what appears to be an abandoned iridescent aurora borealis caught in a decrepit, sprawling juniper tree... The air's still, with a slight electric charge that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. Like, my lungs are burning, gotta find some shade, or maybe a path that doesn't reek of juniper and smoke.