DX01: SINGULARITY 40466

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rough-hewn stone columns rise out of a sea of fine, silver sand that's being blown by a slow, relentless wind... uh, it's really cold, and the air's got this sharp, metallic taste. The sky above is a deep, burnt orange - the sun's below the horizon, but the light's still illuminating the sand, making it sparkle like... tiny mirrors. The sand's also slowly crawling up the sides of the columns, somehow holding its shape against gravity, forming these intricate, impossible patterns that just keep shifting and reforming.