The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A worn, old-fashioned keyhole seems to be growing organically out of the trunk of a massive, living cedar tree, its ridges and grooves shifting like the tree's bark as the sun catches it. The air's crisp and still, smelling of damp earth and tree sap, and it's early morning judging by the sun's position low in the sky. The cedar tree sits at the center of a serene, moss-covered forest glade, the silence broken only by the distant sound of gently flowing water. A faint hum, like the vibration of a harp string, seems to emanate from the keyhole itself.