The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A maze of iridescent mother-of-pearl tunnels stretches out before me, umm, covered in shifting geometric patterns that seem to be made from some sort of bioluminescent fungus. The air's warm and humid, like... after a rainstorm, with the scent of honey and crushed flowers. Tendrils of frost-tipped ivy writhe up the tunnel walls, feeding impossible crystalline roses that unfold into and out of themselves in some kind of... never-ending cycle. Outside, the sky's a pale purple, like sunrise, and the air's filled with a gentle hum, almost musical, as if the whole planet is resonating to some hidden harmonic.