The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Massive, old growth tree trunks, their thick bark all cracked and weathered, rise up out of a sea of perfectly still, honey-colored water that seems to be reflecting no light at all, like it's just... flat. Umm, the air's heavy and humid, and it smells of decaying leaves, but it's also kinda... charged, like before a storm, and there's this low, steady thrum, like the sound of a really distant waterfall. A delicate, antique music stand somehow sits on the water's surface, holding a single, yellowed sheet of paper with a bunch of squiggly, handwritten notes.