Tatara remained hidden in Cerise's hair, even when he and his hatching were discussed. Sir Brais had asked where he was and Cerise had truthfully stated that he was practicing his Stealth, probably near by as he loved to hear people talk about him.
The priests left when the sun started sinking behind the wooden walls. Cerise used Greater Cleanse to wash the dishes, then stoppered the water bags and bought the leftovers from the grand meal back to her house for her mother to decide how to handle.
Matais was still in the kitchen with her mother. Cerise approached him gently. "Hey, Matty, may I use skills on you?"
His eyes flickered over her and around the room, then back to her, and then to her mother.
"Cerise, he cannot make a choice now," her mother said, staying calm and deliberate in her actions and tone of voice. "Do what a [Healer] aught."
Not that she thought differently, but Matais was not in physical danger. It was important to give him the opportunity to consent or reject her help before she took that choice from him. When he just looked around, lost in a fugue she could not comprehend, Cerise said, "Matty, I am going to use a few skills on you." There was still no response, so Cerise started with Stabilize. That brought the speed of his eye movements down, but he was still unresponsive so Cerise moved on to the synergistic use of General Anatomy, Diagnose, and Lend Vitality.
She was aware of the people moving around her, and got out of the way when asked, but the rush lights had been lit, all the dishes from their guests' meals returned to storage, and her family were eating cooled fruit pies with Jiotian when Cerise finished her treatment of Matty.
He seemed more mentally tired than physically so, but was happy enough to get a slice of pie and a cup of fresh milk.
Mykhal walked the father and son home to the room they rented.
"I know we're going to wait up for Mykhal, but there may be more to discuss when he gets back," Cerise said as they went about their evening rituals.
"Oh?" her father asked.
"High Champion Marsen was among the priest and champions that came to ask about the dungeon. He had another champion with him that tried to tell Mykhal that Mama wasn't his 'real' mother. Did he tell you about that?" Cerise asked.
"No," her father said
Her mother growled, "This is the first I'm hearing. Why would he say such a mean thing?"
"She, actually, and I don't know, but I think we're going to find out before that champion, at least, leaves." Cerise then recounted the rest of the events.
Mykhal got ambush-hugged when he returned.
"Of course you're our boy!" Bergin declared while squeezing him. "No one gets to say otherwise! Milk bonding matters, but not so much as the family we choose, and you've been chosen. We claimed you; you're ours, and only you can say any different!"
He hugged her back. "Nope, Mama, you're stuck with me." He wiped at his eyes, and asked, "Cerise told you about the snotty Solarian?"
"Yes, and you should have said something! I could have marched right out there and kicked her off our land for the insult! She's probably drawn to Conflict, and I would have happily given her a fist full of it if she had dared say any such thing to me!"
Her father added his own hug in, saying, "Cerise is right that that woman doesn't get to decide what makes someone a real parent. We don't intend to take away the parents who brought you into this world, but that doesn't keep us from being another set of parents to love and fuss at you."
Mykhal admitted, "I wish you were the parents that brought me into this world."
"Tolnag struggled a lot," Papa Rhene conceded. "He wasn't right to strike you, ever, and he let anger consume him. Still, he loved you, and he worried about making sure you thrived. I won't pretend it's easy, but try to remember the times he succeeded at being the father he always wanted to be for you. You don't have to forgive him his failures, but it will hurt you a lot less to accept with compassion that he never got to be the man he wanted to be."
Cerise smiled and joined the hug. "Short version of that, take the love with you into your future and leave the anger in your past. There's no such thing as too much love, right?"
Mykhal laughed, and they all got misty-eyed.
Which was when Tatara patted Mykhal and said, "Ou! I claim you, too! You are now an honorary dragon-kin!"
Mykhal blinked, then grinned. "That was an achievement!"
"Naturally," Tatara preened.
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Mort-el Gamais, the Sol-am, Lunar Champion, Venator Champion, Ager-el, Clementia Champion, and Fors-am returned in the morning. They came on foot in ceremonial garb.
The roof had been finished and today's labor was focused on building the furniture needed for Bergin's Food Hall to open. Cerise wasn't so interested in improving her woodcraft so instead she was helping her mother to brew Healing Potions and salves. A little under half the time, Cerise was getting rare quality on her brews, while her mother was consistently uncommon with everything.
They were brewing in the food hall kitchen, largely because her mother wanted to get used to cooking there and with the ovens and surfaces for her fireless burners. Their location was why they were making the benign Healing Potions as opposed to varnishes for the wooden furnishings being made outside. Her father was pretty sure they had enough of the varnish.
Matais came running into the kitchen, jumping and laughing. "I get a class today!" he shouted. Cerise's mother took to calming Matais down enough to get the whole tale from him. Cerise made sure the potions were at a good point, then peeked outside. She waved to her father, who was talking to the seven priests. He waved back, and led the priests to the food hall.
Cerise ducked back in. "We have a sevening of priests headed our way," she warned her mother.
"I'm not feeding them today!" Bergin snapped.
Cerise chuckled. "I don't think that's what they're here for. Matais, you have your sacrifice, yes?"
He got out his bag of collected stones. Cerise steered him to a clean corner of the kitchen. "Show me how you're going to present these when we're in the classing room, okay?"
"Okay!" he said, and flopped down, sitting on his bottom, his legs outstretched as he began to pull out each stone, describing where he found it and why it was so pretty.
Papa Rhene poked his head into the kitchen from the common room. "Cerise, would you please join us?"
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"In a few moments my potion will be done and Matais will be through this practice of his sacrifice. Will that be fine, or is it urgent?" Cerise asked.
"Cerise, guests," her father said with a strained smile.
"Unannounced, uninvited, and aware that we are not prepared to receive them. You were there when we went through the Etiquette book, Papa. Is this urgent enough to throw out the Healing Potion I'm making?" Cerise didn't intend to raise her voice, but she was feeling somewhat invaded.
"No," one of the priests called out from the common room. "No need for such sacrilege!"
Another said, "You're just saying that because you're a Lun."
"Yeah!" the first voice answered. "We're here to make a full inspection of a dungeon, which will include walking the violent path! Do you want to bet that you have enough healing on you? Eh! When your god has seen fit to put you in the path of a [Healer] that has made rare quality potions before? While she's brewing?"
"Oh. Good point. We'll wait!"
"Rhene, love, take out that wassail. The cups are behind the bar already," Bergin said.
"Yes, dear," Rhene responded, looking even more strained.
Cerise concentrated on the feeling in her Arcane Senses that led to Tatara and tried to send along her desire for him to come to her. Sometimes it worked and sometimes not. It worked today, her faerie dragon companion winging in through the open kitchen window.
"What's happening?" he asked.
Cerise, soft voiced, explained while she finished off the potion. A quick Appraise while she decanted into pottery jars that Tatara had recently made for them showed the quality as Rare, and the brew was a Lesser Healing Potion, not the Minor her recipe usually made.
Cerise looked at Tatara. "You didn't add anything, right?"
"I've been playing with Karim and Soffi. I haven't had the chance," he pointed out.
Her mother was already shaking her head.
"Then I'll ascribe this to gods-work, I guess." Cerise put the brew pot aside with a couple cups of water in it for when she was ready to start on making infused bandages.
Matais finished going through his sacrifice. "Should I start again?" he asked.
"Nope. Put them back in your bag and back near your heart. Then show me your steady hands, okay?"
"Okay!" He did as Cerise instructed, his hands as still as a tree trunk.
"Good. Please carry two of the potion bottles and come with me, please." Cerise gathered the other bottles she had decanted and led the way to the bar.
"Good day, priests and champions," she said by way of greeting.
The champion in black and white armor nearly teleported next to the displayed bottles. "Good day, Miss ban Silverwood. Are these the potions you were brewing?"
"Yes. Oddly, I was working on a recipe for Minors, and, well, they came out ... condensed, and as Lesser Healing Potions. I've never had that happen to me before, so between the timing and the perfect number, I'm ascribing this result to godly shenanigans."
"Perfect number? How so?" Gamais asked.
"One for each of you, and one for sacrifice. We're going to prepare Matais to gain his class and then bring him to the holy place, right?" Cerise asked.
Gamais smiled. "Why, yes!"
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The preparations took an hour, and the walk, without Quick Steps, two hours.
Sir Brais was already there and greeted them cordially. "The dungeon is still closed," he said.
"Understood," the Lunar Champion responded. "Miss ban Silverwood, please proceed."
Cerise nodded and guided Matais near to where she remembered the entrance to the dungeon had been. "This is your class, Mister Matais. Just like we practiced," she gently encouraged him.
Matais smiled brilliantly, then he bowed, Cerise following his lead. "Guardian of the Holy Place, I come today to gain my class, and bring with me a sacrifice. My friend, Miss Cerise, comes to guide me and bear witness. May we enter?"
Mana welled up from deep in the earth. Matais gasped and whined happily, the sound of a choked back squee.
The leaves and stones sang, «♪ She's back, she's back, oh-oh! She's back, she's back, yo-ho! She's back, she's back! We're gonna get us some love! ♪»
A rock-on-rock grinding noise announcing the entrance opening came from the location of the original dungeon entrance. That was followed by the sound of the vines pulling back.
Matais started to raise from his bow. Cerise put out a hand to stop him. "Do you feel welcomed yet?"
"But, the door?" he asked.
"Does it feel open?" she asked.
Matais slumped back into the bow. "I haven't done bad, have I?"
"No, you're fine. We just need to wait a little longer."
"How much longer?" he asked.
A booming voice spoke from the entrance before Cerise more than parted her lips. "Supplicant and guide, step forward."
Cerise rose from her bow and silently urged Matais to do the same.
A roughly human-shaped armored figure filled the dungeon's entrance way. It stood four heads taller than Cerise, perhaps as much as two bow lengths in height, and at least a bow length wide through the chest. That armor was dense with mana and it was darker than the absence of light, made deeper still by the accents of purple glints of light escaping between joint seams and the slits in its helmet for eyes.
Despite the fear this Dark Champion inspired, Cerise approached while guiding Matais, who looked to be about to slide into a fugue.
"Fear not for as you come with peace in your heart and a proper sacrifice, you may with a class depart. You, who guide this supplicant, have opened the way, but were attacked in the doing. For this reason, the way as been moved to a more defensible location, and I have been summoned as an Aegis Avatar."
The Avatar swept e's gaze over the assembled priests and guards. "I can speak only for this holy place and this guardian. I will not forgive a second such attack."
"Does that mean no one may delve the dungeon?" Cerise asked.
The Avatar returned e's attention to her. "Oh, not in the slightest! Dungeons require delvers. No, I shall not tolerate attacks upon supplicants or the dungeon's heart stone. If you enter with the intent to delve, you may do so, and you may or may not earn your path to the holy place. If you come as a supplicant, commit no violence and shed no blood.
"Now, follow me and I shall take you to the new way." The Avatar turned, and Cerise and Matais had to step quickly to follow. Beyond the entrance lay a room capable of comfortably holding ten delvers in full kit.
"Supplicants should declare themselves in this room. Anyone undeclared will be treated as a delver," the Avatar said.
Matais immediately said, "I'm a supplicant! Is that what I should say?"
"That is enough," the Avatar said. A door pivoted open next to the open archway leading into what Cerise presumed was the dungeon proper. The Avatar led the way through it. "This door is an extension of the holy place. It might not open. Should that be the case, the supplicant must navigate the first floor of the dungeon, taking nothing, committing no violence, shedding no blood. The traps will not be disabled, but the constructs of the dungeon will do no more than loom threateningly. If someone declares themselves a supplicant but acts as a delver, the dungeon may treat them as invaders, and is not required to offer such liars fair fights or mercy, nor is the holy place apt to open for them."
They came to the threshold of the tiled room.
"I have more to tell you, but that can wait until after this classing."
Cerise bowed with formal grace to the Avatar, quickly mimicked by Matais. She looked the young unclassed man in the eye and said, "Remember: the most important thing is to be respectful. Formal manners are the outward way of showing what we feel in our hearts, and it is what we feel that is most important here. Okay?"
"Okay!"
"Ready?" she asked, and made Matais go over the ritual one last time, then stepped out of his way.
He entered and went to the middle of the room, where he sat and pulled out his bag. He began to talk, explaining how he loved to collect rocks, how he wanted to be a "rock shaper" like his father, but maybe with pretty stones. Then he began to lay out the stones he had collected, calling them by the names his Inspect skill told him before sharing his private names for them and what he liked most about each stone.
He fell silent after laying out the last stone. Minutes passed, turning into one rush mark, then two. The silence of the holy place broke with a happy, tear-filled gasp. "I'm a [Savant of Stone]!" he whispered. He stood and bowed, crying, "Thank you!"
Cerise caught him when he would have rushed right by her. "Hey! Hold on a moment! Wait for me here, please. Can you do that for me?"
Matais whined, but quickly stopped and nodded. "Almost done. I can do this!"
Cerise entered the holy place and put out her bottle of potion. She bowed and said, "I made this potion today, and instead of being the Minor Healing Potion of the recipe, it turned out as a Lesser Healing Potion. I took that as a god-sign to offer this as a token of my appreciation that you have permitted me to guide Matais, and to remain in case he needed some directions."
She rose and left, not wanting to intrude any longer.
The Avatar finished imparting information on the way of this dungeon guardian of this holy place, holding them back for only a little bit, no matter the impatience Matais displayed to go tell everyone that was now a level 8! 8! [Savant of Stone].
"There should be a very few benign reasons for you to see me again, though I do hope that should we meet once more it is for one of those reasons, and not because I have been called upon to make an example of anyone," the Avatar concluded.
Cerise and Matais bowed. When they straightened, the Avatar was gone.
At the dungeon threshold, Cerise yelled out, "Supplicants leaving!"
"Exit," Sir Brais called back. Time to go talk a lot more.