DX01: SINGULARITY 08327

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, a bunch of worn, wooden wheels are scattered around a cluttered, rural watermill, the thatched roof partially overgrown with wildflowers and vines. The air's thick with the scent of damp wood and musty grain, and the sound of rushing water fills the air as a few ducks swim in the millpond. Like, the millstones are somehow grinding grain into flour on their own, the massive stones turning with a slow, creaking sound despite being completely unpowered. A faint mist rises from the millpond, carrying the sweet smell of freshly milled flour into the crisp afternoon air.