Shadows dance across masonry, the ignited chemical fire held within Samuel’s lantern a secondary beacon of flame alongside the glowing barrel of the sibling’s weapon.

Following closely behind, both Madeline McCormik and Alto Carrin attempt to keep pace, their rear echelon covered by Judge John Murphy.

The One leads the way.

Footsteps echoing into the depths of long dried aqueducts from empires long forgotten, abandoned by humanity for reasons uncountable.

There is evidence of some habitation from the city's most forgotten dregs. Unwashed cloth shelters and sleeping bags, personal belongings scattered across the dust by long removed inhabitants.

“I keep forgetting that people actually live down in sewers.” Madeline comments under her breath. “Not the type of people we should be interacting with… ”

“You’re a criminal.” Judge Murphy coldly informs her. “What difference does it make?”

The woman scoffs at the assumption, an offense taken at the lumping of her type in with the rest of them. “Hey there’s scum like the Bermuda Gang and there’s us. We try our best to keep it friendly, and at least hold ourselves to a standard of living instead of sleeping in the muck.”

His reply is straightforward with the evidence. “You take hostages and rob banks.”

“And you kill bystanders and cause massive collateral damage, but I didn’t say that.” The woman replies, taking a pause as she decreases her pace slightly. No hostility, just simple words. “I know you’re gonna arrest me Judge the moment we finish this, and for the record I won’t resist. But I’m not going back to Centralis in chains.”

“You’ll be charged and sentenced in the district you’re detained in.” Judge Murphy informs from cold criminal codes.

She just smiles at the response, a hidden expression as she follows the rest. “Oh well in that case I won’t resist at all. If it's a fair jury trial it’s gonna be…”

“Halt.” Samuel orders.

A fork in the path, a separation into four spaces. A pipeline split as a distribution node is detected, the subtle downward elevation of the system reaching into distant cisterns beyond reproach.

Three unmarked, only one with a single red X painted over its arching entrance.

Alongside a small notice by a transient population, preserved by dry air and darkness:

DEATH FALL AHEAD.

The childlike form takes the step towards certain death; a warning considered, processed, and analyzed. Eventually ignored as quantum states determine a nonsignificant issue within.

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“Wait wait…” Madeline stops. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Samantha turns to the coward. “What is the issue?”

“Can you read?” The woman points out. “Do you know what that says?”

“I can read!” The girl just stares at the lettering, hands upon her hip as she confidently gives her answer. “I means ‘destiny ahead!’”

Betrayed by the linguistic drift of the deep desert and a general lack of education, a readership of federation standard failing upon one soul from across an ocean of sand. Madeline just stares at the stubborn girl, a diplomatic response given by Alto Carrin from behind her. “Almost correct. It's two words, so not ‘desfor’ but instead death-fall. You were close!”

Egotistical pride only slightly scratched, a compliment enough to rectify the correction. A foreign expression played upon her face, lips only allowing for a slight smile as Samantha processes the statement.

“And we’re still going in.” Madeline points out the obvious with a concerned sigh. “I wanna go back up now please…”

The sound of cracking plastic tubes, Judge John Murphy removing a marker from within his chest holster. A small shape drawn upon the wall in the form of a directional arrow; invisible to the human range of perception caught by the augmented eyes of the young mage.

Samuel informs him of his own abilities, a waste of resources for an inferior type of indicator. “Usage of ultraviolet reflecting markers is not necessary, I have memorized the route we have taken.”

“Just in case.” The old man informs as he recaps the writing utensil.

“Is nobody going to question the giant warning written here?!!!” Madeline interrupts again, pointing towards it for extra dramatic effect. “Seriously?!”

“As long as we’re careful, we shouldn’t be in danger.” Alto Carrin lies to the rest of the group.

“You have two bullets.” Madeline narrows her eyes at the similarly aged man. “If we run into bad people down here or even an automaton you’re gonna be relying on us.”

“Do not be distracted.” Samuel insists impatiently, turning back towards the still walking childlike Being slowly evaporating into the distant darkness.

A short silence as Madeline turns to Alto, a genuine question asked towards the faith within the soul. “Whaddya you think about this?”

He lies to her. “We have a chance at saving this world.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

It becomes more treacherous, as prophesied. Well crafted stone bricks fading into poorly maintained, haphazardly carved granite. The obvious incisions of nitroglycerin based explosive blasts create an unstable, sharp surface of eroded rock and differing surface elevations.

Dancing colors from chemical flames ignite the geological foundations of March, the crushed forms of long cooled silicate stone and oxidized matter placed here by creator gods now as a solid, geologically stable mass.

Ar finds it amongst the scrap and ruins of his framework.

There is a memory there, not of his own but shared by his kind in an eon long past. This very mountain range at the heart of a forgotten debate, a creation process creating a logistical nightmare between minds within the still growing Garden.

A twin purpose of aesthetics and defense, geographical features held above the primary structure.

They stop at the edge.

A puddle of water reaching forth into utter darkness, the sound of dripping liquids resounding in shallow echoes into the tunnels beyond. Through cracks along the walls of the granite the droplets fall, a miracle of this world rediscovered by humanity.