Junior Engineer Charles Davvis watched his companion of the past two days stride off to draw maps for the strategic coordinators. Marshal Messenne was watching, too.

"How bad was it, Junior Engineer?" the Marshal asked, matter of factly.

Charles had difficulty answering. He hadn't expected such...informality. All he managed at first was, "Sir?"

"Your emergency landing. I saw your machine coming back down. It was a little lopsided. The spotters reported that it seemed to be held together with sticks and rope."

"Total loss of one repulsor pod, sir. We hit the ground nearly sideways, but I managed to get us slowed down enough not to break too much more." Charles tried not to notice that the Marshal's aide was still recording the conversation on his little pad of paper.

"This Hildesman. Did he know what he was doing when you were on the ground?"

"Seemed to, sir. I never had much skill in the forest, myself. It's very likely that I'm a poor judge of how skilled another is at it. But he was able to chase away a direwolf that attacked us while we were doing repairs. Or...I guess technically we both were."

Marshal Massenne merely nodded, and then was silent for a while. Charles wasn't sure if he was meant to be dismissed, so he just stood there waiting while Massenne looked out over the forest. The aide didn't do anything to move Charles along, so he assumed he was probably still needed.

"I trust the schematics and formulas for your remarkable prototype are on record with the Order, Brother Davvis?" The Marshal said, long after the silence had moved from awkward into painful.

"Yes, sir. I'd like to add some notes from this trip to the records, ideas of how to improve them for the future, but the current versions are all on record."

The Marshal turned to look directly at Charles. "In time. For now, I need you to follow me."

Charles fell into step behind the Marshal. A few short words sent the Marshal's aide scurrying off after some errand or another. Charles wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Wouldn't the aide need to take notes on his own debriefing, as he had for Mister Hildesman's?

As they entered the wall itself by means of a narrow stairwell, Charles finally spoke up. "Sir? May I ask where we're going?"

The Marshal didn't turn around to answer. "You may. I won't answer."

"Is it to do with my mission debrief?"

"We can't discuss it in the hallways, Brother Davvis. This way." The Marshal turned left at the bottom of the stairs. Charles didn't know the layout of the East Wall as well as he knew his own post maintaining the North, so he was grateful for the Marshal's direction. He would have assumed the offices were the other way.

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The path turned several more times after that, including at least two more flights of stairs until Charles was certain they were in the foundations of the wall. That couldn't possibly be right, though. Every wall had access into the foundations, of course. But for food storage, sometimes munitions. Nobody conducted business down there. Well, some chemists did, because the strength of the walls and the lack of anything resembling woodwork acted as a sort of firebreak. But not reports, or paperwork, or anything the Marshal should have a need to oversee directly.

They stopped halfway down a hall that could have accurately been described as a tunnel. Charles prided himself on being able to keep his sense of direction in the guts of the Order's walls. It was a big part of his job. This tunnel seemed to lead back into the city. The Order did have a couple administrative buildings near the East Wall. Perhaps they were heading towards one of those.

He considered asking, but decided against it when he looked up and saw the Marshal carefully watching up and down the tunnel they were in. Charles froze, midway through opening his mouth to speak. What was the Marshal doing?

He got his answer a moment later when the Marshal peeled back his left sleeve, revealing more of his tattoos, all glowing with the Tessenium charge contained within them. He had more than Charles did, of course. Ranking officers received tattoos that allowed them access to technology and locations that Charles likely wouldn't even hear about for another decade of service. One stood out as being unusual, however. Most Order tattoos followed a pattern. Intricate, fine lines, often intersecting or overlapping. It was similar to the power lines that ran to homes throughout the city, in both appearance and function. Specific arrangements could act as a sort of key, and technology could be designed to be a sort of lock.

One of the Marshal's tattoos was formed of rather simple shapes, instead of the constantly overlapping and interlocking fine power lines. A square, with four additional squares overlapping it at each corner. The lines were bolder than the tattoowork of the Order. It almost looked like a Mark. Charles knew that on occasion the Order recruited naturally-born Marked. Perhaps the Marshal had started his life as one of those unfortunate children?

His speculation was interrupted as the squares flared with light, drowning out the other patterns inked into the older man's skin. For a moment, that was all that happened, until Charles noticed something happening on the wall of the tunnel. An opening was forming there. An opening utterly unlike the secret panels and trick doors that Charles helped maintain on the North Wall. Instead, it seemed almost...organic. Like a stretch of well-fitted stone and mortar had decided it was going to yawn. The opening widened, completely silent, until it was large enough for a man to walk through, if he minded his head.

"In." The Marshal said. His tone offered no discussion.

"Sir?" Charles managed, weakly, after flapping his mouth open and closed several time.

In response, the Marshal took his shoulder and directed him towards the doorway. There were stairs behind it. Going down. A steady yellow light glowed somewhere beyond. How was that possible? The foundations were deep, but only the uppermost layers had supported tunnels and cellars. And besides, they should be under the city proper at this point.

The Marshal walked Charles half a step forward before Charles remembered what he had been instructed to do. He ducked under the short doorway and began to descend the stairs.

When a light flared behind him, he didn't hear anything, but somehow he knew that unnatural doorway was closing up again. When the light faded, the Marshal's own boots echoed off the staircase along with Charles's own.