The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A sprawling, abandoned amphitheater stretches out beneath a sky that's this deep, burnt orange, with sunlight peeking through the crumbling arches. Umm, the air's heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, and it's eerily still, like there's no wind at all. The stone seats seem to be... shifting, rearranging themselves in a slow, perpetual motion, as if they're being reshuffled by some invisible force. The silence is broken only by the faint, mournful sound of a solitary, unseen flute playing a haunting melody that seems to be weaving itself into the fabric of the atmosphere.