“Come in,” Mercia said, and Jordan did so nervously.

While his Governess had led him into the palatial residence of the Freyhell Estate, the inexplicably angry cat-woman had opted to wait outside the room. Now Jordan found himself in a wide open room, filled with heraldry hanging on the walls, short bookshelves accented by maps and family trees, and an air of incense and perfumes. Walking along an elegant rug interwoven with endlessly intricate details, he approached the Brat’s mother.

She sat at a beautifully carved, light-colored wooden desk. Gold was engraved into the curves of the furniture and it had every bit of a rich appearance as the Brat's mother herself. The woman in question sat scribbling at some parchment, but she waved offhandedly for Jordan to sit in a chair set in front of her. As he did, he squinted at the light streaming in from the massive window behind the woman. The afternoon sun was vibrant, unhindered by any clouds that Jordan could see.

“So, ah, Kioko said you wanted to talk?” Jordan wasn’t sure why he was nervous, but up until this point the Brat’s mother had come to visit him whenever she needed something. Now in her ostentatious study, the simple message of ‘we need to talk’ seemed to have all the oppressive weight of a visit to the principal's office as he sat there fidgeting.

Setting down her pen, Mercia didn’t meet his eyes at first as she sighed. “Yes. We have a… problem that we need to discuss.” Finally looking up, Mercia met his gaze, but something was definitely wrong. Her face had the telltale signs of a stony resolve; the kind Jordan attributed to one’s guile being raised.

Has she ever started a conversation off like that? Jordan thought, but couldn’t recall. He licked his lips as he smoothed the non-existent wrinkles of his dress out.

“What kind of problems?” He asked.

Mercia steepled her fingers as she continued to stare into him. “Your appointment with the church, darling. You do recall that I said we needed to discuss it, yes? Did you forget that you still have a number of smuggled goods in your ring?”

Jordan paled and looked down at his hand. “Shi—er, I, ah, I… did forget that. Wait, what kind of problem is this going to make?”

“Well, for a start, Grand Justiciar Crito will almost certainly be asking you about the events that have transpired since your trial. I’m positive that a discussion as to the attempt on your life, and how you avoided it, will come up.”

Crap biscuits. Jordan was on the verge of panicking, but he held himself together. Mercia’s gaze was still a frozen mask, but oddly he drew some comfort from it. She didn’t just bring me in here to talk. She has to have a plan, I know it!

“Okay, so what’re we going to do about it?” He asked. The woman was terrifying, but he felt confident she’d do whatever it took to keep her daughter safe. I just hope it’s something that I can accept this time around.

“First, we need to actually deal with the contraband.” She said. “As I would like to limit the number of individuals involved, I’ve opted to utilize the Harlot for aid. While I summon her here, please focus on extracting the items from your ring. Feel free to place the delicate items on my desk, and keep anything questionable further to the side.”

She pointed towards the mostly empty space to their side. While nothing about it stood out to Jordan, it thankfully appeared large enough for what he needed. The Brat’s mother was probably going to be surprised by what came out, after all.

As Jordan cradled his hand and began the process of trying to reach out to his still slumbering artifact, Mercia opened one of her drawers and pulled out a sealed box. The finely carved features were inlaid with dark materials, most of which had a dull matte surface. It made it difficult for Jordan to identify what it was actually made of.

Running a finger along the side, the box opened along a previously invisible seam, revealing a spherical object roughly the size of an apple. It had the appearance of a smoothed gemstone, though it had intricate lines running along its surface. For some reason, it reminded Jordan a lot of how his own core looked in his CSSM.

“Override Summoning Restrictions. Harlot’s Horde, manifest at my location.” The sphere glowed and gave a hauntingly soft sigh as motes of energy whirled around it. In a flash, the Harlot appeared.

Standing next to them, however, the Harlot wasn’t dressed in her typical maid attire. She instead wore a fine ball gown made of intricate silken patterns, but marred by gashes and stains. Her small wings drooped at her lower back as her hair spilled out, draping across her horns in a mess. While she had an air of elegance, she seemed inexplicably disheveled. The expression on her face was also heartbreakingly sad as she turned to regard Jordan.

What the hell? Jordan thought, cringing in his seat. Why is she looking at me like that?

“Harlot," Mercia said, "fetch the containment materials I’ve prepared and ready yourself.”

The Harlot turned back towards Mercia and curtsied in response. She then quickly materialized half a dozen copies, each one of the traditional maid design. They scurried about, opening drawers and chests on the far side of the room to produce boxes, paper seals, or tools. One of them held a pair of tongs as she donned a translucent face shield, giving a thumbs up to the rest of the room.

“Are you having trouble darling?” Mercia asked, and Jordan jumped. He realized he’d been engrossed with the Harlot’s summoning and had forgotten his task. Begging the Brat’s mother off, he then doubled down on his ring.

‘Nothring. Pssst! Hey, I need you to wake up.’ He did his best to will his thoughts through the connection of their Pattern. At first, he got the customary grumbles and growling he’d heard the last few days. This time, however, he pushed and was awarded by a blast of dark irritation flooding his mind.

‘What does Master want? Nothring does not wish to exist right now. Please allow me to stop-exist for a while longer.’ The ring spoke. While Jordan was happy to see the ring’s ability to speak had improved, it also seemed just as oddly phrased as before. Confused, is almost more like it, Jordan mused.

‘I need you to empty out, okay?’ He projected. ‘We can’t keep the stuff from the City.’

At first, the feeling he got from the ring was almost one of shock. The dark emanations from it, almost like a dull pulse in the back of his mind, paused. After a tense moment, they picked back up with a sense of surety.

‘No.’

‘What do you mean no?’ He’d just known this damn ring was going to give him trouble. This was why he’d let it sleep instead of deal with it!

’No!’ It affirmed. ‘If I do that then Nothring will have nothing, and will be like nothing. Nothring must exist so I must have more existing inside!’

Ugh, this thing is killing me, Jordan thought.

‘How about I replace the stuff later, okay?’ He responded. ‘I mean, we could go and get you a nice, ah, hill to eat. Sound good?’

‘Hill? As in mound of dirt?’ It intoned with a hint of confusion.

‘Exactly! Tasty, tasty dirt!’

‘How much Essence does dirt gen-rate? Nothring is filled with items that are sources. I don’t want not have.’

“Oh come on…” Jordan breathed out. Is she feeding from those broken artifacts like a Ritual would? It seemed the best explanation in his mind.

“What’s the issue, Aureliana?" Mercia asked. "Are you able to access the items or not?”

“Er, well I think my ring is… feeding off of some of the items it stored. It doesn’t want to give them up.”

Mercia raised an eyebrow. “Are you not the Artifact’s Master?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I am. It’s just not listening to me…” Jordan grumbled.

Mercia reached up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. “Aureliana, we don’t exactly have time for this. If your Artifact won’t listen, simply command it.”

“I can do that?” Jordan asked, blinking widely at her.

“Yes, darling, of course you can.” She said, sighing slightly as she shook her head. “Still, I wouldn’t recommend relying on doing so too often, of course. Not if you value strengthening your connection to your Artifact. But right now we have little option, so please focus.”

Grimacing at her clearly impatient tone, Jordan turned back to his ring. While before he’d simply asked—this time he gave a firm command to release its contents. The dark emanations of the ring took on a petulant air, but gave way quickly.

After a moment, he began to feel the Patterns held within the ring. They were mostly murky, and difficult to judge, but he was fairly certain that with a bit of practice he’d be able to fix that. For now, he didn’t want to waste any more time, so he began to bring the contents out.

First, a large table and its chairs plopped out—if for no other reason than they were easiest for Jordan to discern. Then, in an almost picture-perfect recreation, everything that Nothring had stored from on top of it back in the City, were laid out. The steak was the only thing missing.

Alongside the giant chest, the broken artifacts, and the potions, was also a noticeable pile of broken wood from the building’s torn-out materials. They quickly dissolved into motes of energy as the Harlot’s clones zipped about storing the miscellaneous items into magical boxes and rings of their own.

They had a hell of a time when Nothring got to the damn trees it had taken. The foliage only fit because of the giant proportions of the room, and Jordan had to wave away some of the Harlots in a corner when he dropped the fully-intact Trolly. He flushed in embarrassment, remembering the guilt he’d had for accidently jettisoning the poor Sunflower-God into a Pulsar.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Oh by the Princes,” Mercia intoned as the damn Trolly brought some the fire it’d been on with it. She stood up and waved at Jordan to duck. He did so, though he gawked at her in confusion up until she tsked at the Trolly. The absurd force of her voice scooted the Trolly back several inches as the fire was extinguished. Sadly, the beautiful carpet it rested on didn’t survive.

“Please tell me—” Mercia began to say as she sat back down, only to be interrupted by several large boulders and a stream of sand that appeared.

“That it’s—” Clothes fluttered into the room, sprinkling from the ceiling down like rain. Several of the Harlots were swamped, however, when the tide of clothes picked up, taking them down like a tsunami. One managed to evade, only to be bludgeoned by an errant spacesuit in the end.

“…almost done?” Jordan offered apologetically. “I think so—”

He winced as a giant plate of translucent metal fell, clattering loudly as it smacked into the window. Surprisingly, the glass held.

The two of them sat there in silence for several seconds. Paused, as it were, wondering if the damn ring had anything else. Jordan’s patience was rewarded when Nothring began to glow.

“Oh crap! There could be leftover Pulsar in here!” Jordan shouted, and Mercia nodded—seemingly understanding exactly what he meant. She pointed at the face shield harlot who dropped her tongs and pulled out a literal tower shield from one of the boxes, before standing in front of Jordan. He wasn’t sure how he felt about potentially splattering the poor maid, but he pointed his ring at her regardless. Please forgive me, he thought as his ring shook with a violent warning.

Moments later, steam came puffing out of the ring with an anticlimactic stream. It hissed awkwardly for several seconds, before his arm shook so hard his entire body began to tremble. Then, a pained pulse of dark emanation from Nothring hit him as something thumped onto the ground.

A beautiful black stone sat on the floor in front of Jordan. It shined with an otherworldly dark light, but as it settled he felt Nothring go cold. He looked at his ring in worry, as he suddenly felt that its Pattern had drained significantly. He projected thoughts into the ring, causing Nothring to stir slightly, but it seemed unable to respond. He was glad it had reacted at least, but he wasn’t sure what the actual state of the artifact was.

“What is that?” Mercia said, beating Jordan to the punch. He shrugged when she looked back at him, and stood up. Walking over to the stone, she bent down cautiously as she waved a hand over it.

“The energy feels like… no, that’s… impossible.” She muttered, and snatched the gem up. Straightening, she held the gem aloft as she peered into its depths.

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t on the table?” Jordan said, trying to remember. “Maybe it was in the ring before I got it?”

Mercia seemed to take his words in, as she gazed about at the collection of potions and artifacts on the table. She circled around, poking briefly at the chest Rahm had originally housed his ‘stash’ in. Frowning, she moved on, stopping only when she saw a potion she must have liked. The container was made of solid sapphire, with an azure metal wrapping around it. The sloshing liquid inside appeared to be thick and viscous, even as its bright glow dully pierced through. She nodded to herself, and sat back at her desk as she set both items down.

“Do you know what that, ah, stone thing is?” Jordan asked.

Mercia looked up at him, pausing to think—though Jordan could barely tell through her guile. She then stood back up and walked around to his side of the desk. Leaning against it, she half sat on it as she looked at him.

“I suppose it won’t matter if I tell you,” she said. “That, darling, is a Keystone. One that until moments ago I, like any sane person in the world, never thought existed.”

Jordan scratched at his chin, trying to think if any of the new books he’d read had covered a topic about ‘keystones.’ But he came up blank.

Mercia saw his blank look and said, “You wouldn’t know about them dear. Their existence is kept secret to all, save those in power.”

“Oookay, then is it any good?”

“An odd question.” She said. Jordan stared at her, confused how his words could have been odd, but she waved a hand to quell his indignity.

“Darling, I… very well.” She sighed. “In the world, there are many Dungeons. However, while they all have their own Ranks and themes, and can be bound or manipulated, there are a… certain few that do more. They are more. The [S] Rank Dungeons were created by the Deva themselves after the First Incursion. It brought an end to the turmoil, but it was ultimately done to replace the functions of the Sacred Guardians that were killed by the Demon King’s rebellion.”

“Ahhhh….” Jordan felt he was going to need a damn history book to parse any of that. Before he could ask questions, however, she raised a hand to cut him off. Lifting the gem, letting the light spill through it, she shined an unnaturally dark shadow across the room.

“These Dungeons each have their own Spiritual Guardians. In addition, they were all given their own Sacred Relics. Items that are to Artifacts, what Artifacts are to Magic items. Lastly, they each have a stone. Without it, it's impossible to reach the Dungeon’s Core. So this, darling, is a key. A powerful key that could allow its holder to draw on the Dungeon remotely as a source of unlimited Essence, or unlock peerless Talents from the Dungeon itself.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. He didn’t need a history lesson to know that sounded pretty useful.

“Through time, of course, not all the [S] Rank Dungeons kept their Relics. While the Guardians reconstitute themselves on the regular, there are a number of families that have added their weight as additional defenders to these sacred areas. They use those Relics to do so, or simply to guard the locations that have already lost them. They do this, because if someone were to gain access to the Core of an [S] Rank Dungeon, they’d be able to directly interface with that Dungeon’s aspect of the world itself. It’s common belief that such an occurrence is what led to the Second Incursion.”

“I thought that was all handled with that dumb Celestial City place?”

Mercia shook her head. “You misunderstand, darling. The Celestial City governs the flow of Essence in the world, which flows from the Solarius Realm. The energy still passes through these Dungeons, which act like the Meridians binding our entire universe together.”

“O-oh,” Jordan said. “So do these families use these stones too, or do they just sit inside the Dungeons?”

“No, Aureliana, they don’t simply sit there—the High King kept all of them after the war. Sit there though?” She scoffed. “Honestly, now. Ever since you destroyed our lives you’ve been so dull on top of it all. I miss my brilliant child. So creative. So… determined. I wish I’d never pushed you so hard. I’d just held out hope we’d find a solution, and I wanted to ensure you'd be ready to start your life when we did.”

The woman stared off as she spoke, Jordan gaping openly at her words. “That’s… a bit rude, don’t you think?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Still… you’re right that I shouldn’t say such things. Even considering what’s about to transpire.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jordan said, narrowing his eyes.

“I told you when you came in, Aureliana. The Justiciar will question you about the ring and the assassination.”

“But we got rid of the stuff?”

“And what will you do when he asks you about them? Hmm? Tell him you ‘got rid’ of it? The church exists to enforce the will of the Deva. The moment the Justiciars find out you violated the Immortal Pact, willingly or not—you’ll never leave that building. You know the position you’re in, and at best you’d be given to a Convent. Imprisoned for the rest of your life.”

The Brat’s mother was bristling at him, and Jordan couldn’t even tell why she was so mad at him. He hadn’t meant for any of this! Why did everyone always blame him? It wasn’t fair!

“Well, I don’t know.” He said. “I didn’t think—”

“Of course you didn’t think!” She yelled. “You hardly stopped to think before and you’ve hardly improved on that front. I—” She bit onto her tongue, her slightly glowing forehead dimming notably. “I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. I’m sorry. I’m… so sorry.”

She pinched her brow again, and Jordan just shook his head in barely stifled anger. Even if she was apologizing, this was too much. He didn’t know what had gotten her worked up, but he didn’t have to put up with this crap! But he swallowed his retort unexpectedly when he suddenly saw that Mercia… was crying.

“What’s… wrong?” He asked.

“I just wanted to be… a good mother. To have the perfect family. Why was that so much to ask for? What did I do wrong?”

Jordan stared at her silently, watching as she trembled. “I…” He tried to say.

“Harlot. Hold my daughter steady.” She said.

Hands shot out around Jordan, as a dozen Harlots grabbed onto him, holding him to the chair. Each one had the same sorrowful look on their face.

“What the hell?” He snapped, thrashing against their hold to no avail. “What the fuck are you all doing!?”

“To be honest," Mercia responded, "I didn’t know what I was going to do when you came in. I hoped I could come up with a solution. Come up with something I could do to protect you. Anything but this.”

She held up the stone once more, looking into it with a faraway gaze. “I know the old man can scheme, but locating and extracting the stone of the Oblivion Dungeon? No one even knew for sure if it really existed. He must have known what a position it would put me in. That fucking… Monster.”

She picked up a box one of the Harlots had set nearby, and set the stone within it. Setting it aside, she then picked up the potion she’d grabbed earlier. Jordan, for his part, kicked and snarled at the Maids. He accomplished nothing for his efforts except an extra pair holding his feet.

“And this feels almost like an insult.” Mercia said. “Did he mean for this to happen as well? Or was this just a happy coincidence. He knew I was low, so why not stick a damn Mana potion in with the other goods?”

“Will you just fucking answer me!?” Jordan screamed, and Mercia finally turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I wish there were a way I could truly make you know that. Something real, something meaningful. Anything more than what I’m about to do.”

Jordan screamed out profanities, but was ignored as Mercia popped open the bottle. Pouring back the contents, she slammed the empty tincture back onto her desk.

“I can fabricate a claim on that ring. I can explain away the assassination. I can hide the truth, but the things you know… will get you killed. And you…” Mercia lowered her head. Gazing down at her hands, she whispered. “You won’t be able to hide them. Not unless… I do it for you.”

She wiped at the tears running down her face, the perfect mask she’d worn throughout, breaking. As her brows furrowed, she stood in front of Jordan meeting his gaze. He froze, not understanding what she meant to do until too late.

“One day I will make this whole world pay for what it's done to my family. For what it’s done… to me. Until then… I will do anything I have to. To protect you, Aureliana. Anything.”

She bent down in front of Jordan grabbing his chin, and fixed his gaze.

“[Memory Reweav—"

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“Is it done?” Kioko asked, sniffling softly as Jordan walked out the door with his mother.

Mercia nodded.

“Take her to the church.” She said. “Best for her to get that out of the way now.” His mother smiled, though it seemed pained, so he grabbed her hand and gave her a [Perfect Smile].

“Was it worth it?” Kioko snapped, but Jordan’s mother only glared back in response.

“Was what worth it?” Jordan asked.

“Pay it no mind, Aureliana.” His mother said quietly, and Jordan paid it no mind.

He was still worried about how anxious everyone looked about what must have been the upcoming church appointment, so he gave his free arm a flex. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this!” He said.

Mercia gave a half-hearted laugh, but bent down and gave him a hug. She held him tightly, and Jordan was happy for the support she’d given him. He was confident he’d be able to comport himself appropriately for the Family now.

He just wished he knew why both women looked so angry and… guilty? Church wasn’t that bad.

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