A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

I woke to the sterile bite of antiseptic and the low murmur of voices. My entire body ached, but far less than it should have.

They'd patched me up sometime after I collapsed. Bandages swaddled my flank and shoulder, and a splint hugged my left foreleg. Even so, I could feel my wounds knitting beneath the dressings already.

This was a perk of those who had Godbeast blood, what might cripple a man for months would barely scar me in weeks.

A young medic noticed my eyes opening and rushed over. He looked terrified and awestruck all at once, as if unsure whether to bow or flee.

I recognized the Sunmire sunburst on his uniform; he must have been stationed at this forward outpost. I tried to push myself upright and the cot beneath me groaned protest.

Immediately, two medics darted in to help, one at each side of my enormous bulk. I waved them off with a gentle grunt and managed to sit up on my haunches.

Memory flooded back in a sickening rush: the rescue.

Rinvara. Where was she?

I scrambled off the cot. The medics yelped as I lurched forward, but I ignored the flare of pain along my ribcage. A sudden dizziness hit me; I'd lost blood, probably a lot of it.

My vision blurred, and for a moment, I listed sideways. Multiple hands braced against my fur to steady me.

"Easy, your reverence," someone said nervously. "Please, you shouldn't be moving yet—"

"Where is she?" My voice came out as a growl. The room fell silent. Three medics exchanged glances.

"She's in the private room," one finally answered. "We… the High Cleric said she needed privacy."

I took off before he finished, a limping, lurching gait still covered ground faster than any of them could on two legs. The makeshift infirmary at this outpost was little more than multiple long tents adjoining a half-dug bunker, they also had a proper medical hut prepared for the critically injured.

I nearly tore through the canvas flaps in my haste. Nurses and orderlies flattened themselves against walls as I passed.

I could smell the scent of blood and her. Faint, but there.

I rounded a corner of sandbags and almost barreled into two people standing outside a closed wooden door. One was The Mortician. The other wore a High Cleric's robes, marked with the golden sigil of Sunmire's healing order.

They blocked the doorway like sentries.

The Mortician lifted a gloved hand to halt me, but his eyes were sympathetic behind those tiny spectacles. "She's stable, Pophet," he said quietly. "Unconscious, but stable."

My chest deflated in relief. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I looked between him and the cleric. "I want to see her."

The base's cleric—a gaunt woman with silver braids—cleared her throat. "We're doing all we can for now, Venerable," she said. "She needs rest more than anything."

There was a careful gentleness to her tone.

I peered past them at the closed door. Only a thin wall separated me from my sister. Every fiber of me wanted to crash through it, to be at her side, but… The Mortician's hand rested on my shoulder, keeping me grounded.

"Give the clerics a moment to finish, and they'll let you in," he assured.

I sank to my haunches right there in the corridor, unwilling to go anywhere else. My tail thumped once against the floor in acknowledgement. I'd wait.

The cleric offered a tight smile and slipped back into the room. Through the door, I caught muffled snippets: low prayers, the soft hum of healing magic being applied.

The Mortician stayed outside with me.

Only now did I notice how quiet this outpost was. Unlike Fort Kessan, where distant artillery training and shouted orders were the norm, here, I heard mostly the flap of canvas in the breeze and the crackle of a few radios.

This forward position was a small scouting garrison, twenty souls at most.

It hadn't seen the brunt of Ferron's wrath like Kessan had.

Perhaps that's why the medics here had time to fuss over me. Perhaps why they looked so bewildered now, unsure what to do in the presence of a Godbeast and a living legend of the Alchemical Corps.

A pair of nurses were whispering further up the hall, casting furtive glances toward Rinvara's room. I heard one murmur, "Who is she? They're placing so much importance on her..."

The Mortician's head snapped up. In two strides he was on them. "Mind your duties," he said in a low, icy voice. The kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to terrify.

Both nurses stiffened.

"And keep what you've seen to yourselves. Understand?"

They nodded frantically. "Y-Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."

He adjusted his spectacles and turned back. The nurses scattered.

Satisfied, The Mortician came to sit on the bench beside me.

"Last thing we need is gossip," he muttered. "This news must be managed properly." He glanced at the door to Rinvara's room, and his perpetual scowl softened by a fraction. "She'll live, Pophet. You made it in time."

She'll live.

The tension in my muscles unwound another degree. I lowered my head, muzzle almost touching the ground, and exhaled a long breath.

"I'll be heading back to Fort Kessan soon," The Mortician said matter-of-factly. "Plenty of work to be done there still. But I'll check on her when I can." A pause. "And on you."

I didn't know what to say to that. The Mortician wasn't exactly the nurturing type. But I guess dragging a delirious pug out from enemy lines forged a certain… camaraderie.

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He cleared his throat and added awkwardly, "Don't hover too close when you do see her. She'll need calm, not excitement."

I gave a low grunt.

At that, The Mortician managed a very small smile. "Good. Now, I'll make arrangements to ensure her identity is kept anonymous here. Command will decide who needs to know beyond that."

The door was opening. The cleric emerged, weary lines etched deep around her eyes. She murmured something to The Mortician about having done her best.

Then she looked to me and inclined her head. "You can see her now. But please, short and gentle. She's still unconscious."

I was on my paws before she finished the last word. Carefully, I pushed into the room.

It was dim inside, just a single lantern casting a soft glow. The space was cramped: a private cot surrounded by a hodgepodge of equipment likely scavenged from Fort Kessan's overflow—IV stands, a stack of warm blankets.

The smell of blood lingered, but layered now with healing salves and incense.

Rinvara lay small and still beneath a light sheet. Human-sized, frail.

In the amber lamplight, I could see her condition a little better than in that nightmare cellar.

Fresh bandages swathed her wrists, her ankles, her fingertips. A thick wrapping was secured around her eyes and head; they'd changed out the soiled makeshift bandage for clean linen, but already tiny blooms of red had seeped through over each empty socket.

I had to close my eyes for a moment to quell the rage that threatened to surge up again.

Not now. She needs calm.

Her breathing was shallow but steady. Someone had cleaned her off somewhat; her skin, while bruised and sallow, no longer carried streaks of grime and dried blood.

Her hair had been gently combed and tucked behind her ears. Without the gore and restraints, she looked less like a corpse and more like… my sister.

Hurt beyond reason, but undeniably her.

I approached slowly and lowered my head to gently nudge my nose against her uninjured hand where it lay atop the sheet.

"I'm here," I whispered, voice catching. My throat felt tight. "We got you out, Rinvara. You're safe."

She didn't move. Of course not. The clerics had likely given her something to keep the pain at bay.

Still, I'd like to think on some level she knew I was here.

I stayed until my legs threatened to give out from exhaustion. Eventually, an orderly coughed from the doorway to get my attention. "Sir, we've prepared a space for you to rest as well… if you'll follow me?"

I realized dimly that I'd left a trail of smeared blood and muddy pawprints from the door to her bedside. My own bandages were leaking through.

I gave her hand one last careful lick—tasting antiseptic and bitter herbal salve—and forced myself to leave her side.

Outside, The Mortician was gone. Likely off to bully some radio operator into secrecy or commandeer transport back to Kessan.

Fine. I'd thank him later, somehow.

The orderly led me to a tent adjacent to the infirmary. They'd hastily cleared out a storage space and laid down extra blankets to make a sort of me-sized bed in the corner.

It wasn't much, but it was appreciated. Frankly, I think I fell asleep before my body even fully settled onto the padding.

The next few days passed in a blur of recovery and watchfulness. I was healing fast—fast enough that by the second day, I could shuffle around without reopening every wound.

The medics were astonished by my recuperative powers. I caught them shooting incredulous looks when a gash that had required eight stitches was already closing on its own.

Every waking moment not spent letting my own body knit, I spent outside Rinvara's room. I became a permanent fixture in the hallway, a hulking guardian that refused to budge. The nurses eventually stopped trying to usher me to my "bed" and instead started bringing meals to me.

Sometimes I poked my head into her room just to listen to her breathing. Other times I'd doze right on the floor outside, ears attuned to any change.

The slightest sound—a nurse adjusting her sheets, a monitor beeping—had me instantly alert.

More than once, medics who smelled slightly different perhaps due to the herbs they were using that day, entering to check on her nearly jumped out of their skins to find me looming in the doorway, watching their every move.

I didn't care if I made them uncomfortable. I trusted them… but I wasn't taking chances.

Every night I dreamed of Ferron soldiers creeping in to steal her away again. And every time I'd jerk awake with a start, a growl already rising in my throat, only to find the corridor quiet and Rinvara safe behind that wooden door.

It got to the point where even very distant artillery booms or the crack of gunfire on some far-off ridge made me bristle and pace until I was sure the threat wasn't aimed at us.

This outpost hadn't been attacked in over a week, but I remained coiled like a spring, ready for the fight I dreaded and craved in equal measure.

On the fourth day, a message arrived through the communicator with news: a High Cleric of the inner sanctum was en route, dispatched under urgent orders from the Capital. Relief swept through the camp; a healer of that caliber could work miracles beyond the basics these field medics managed.

The High Cleric arrived two days later. He wasted no time; after a brief consultation with the local med staff, he sealed himself in Rinvara's room with every healing implement and holy conduit he'd brought.

I waited outside, practically carving grooves in the dirt floor with my restless pacing. The Mortician happened to be visiting that day as well—true to his word, he'd popped in every so often to monitor Rinvara's status.

Now he leaned against a wall, arms folded, watching me wear a path. He said nothing, for which I was grateful. I think my face must have been a portrait of miserable anticipation.

After what felt like hours, the door finally opened. The High Cleric stepped out, mopping sweat from his brow. He looked utterly spent.

"How is she?" I demanded immediately.

The High Cleric managed a tired smile. "Much better." He held up a hand before I could barrel past him inside.

"She's still asleep. I've mended what injuries I can. Internal bleeding and fractures are taken care of." He hesitated, eyes downcast. "However, there are wounds beyond my skill. Her eyes and limbs… I'm sorry. Too much time passed, and the damage was…" He trailed off, not needing to elaborate.

I felt cold all over despite having expected that possibility.

"And the artifact?" The Mortician cut in, his voice clinical but tense. "Did you remove it?"

The High Cleric shook his head. "It's as your mage friend suspected. A polymorphic anchor, deeply fused. Attempts to extract it may well kill her. We'll need specialists back at the Basilica for that. Perhaps a full ritual."

His lips pressed thin. "For now, I've sealed it with a suppression sigil to ensure it does not seep any further into her body. But it will still keep her locked into her human form."

Locked in a fragile human body, blind and maimed… I closed my eyes and drew a slow breath.

We'd get her home, and the best minds in Sunmire would do the rest. They had to.

"Thank you," I rumbled to the cleric. My voice came out low, nearly a whisper. I meant it sincerely. He had done all he could; the exhaustion on his face told me even a miracle-worker had limits.

He inclined his head. "I'll take my leave on the morrow. There are other wounded along the front. But know that the entire Council is behind her recovery, Sir Pophet. None of you are alone in this." With that, he departed, The Mortician escorting him out to arrange whatever formalities High Clerics required.

I turned and eased the door open to slip back into Rinvara's room. Lantern light bathed the interior in a gentle glow as before. Rinvara looked better, indeed.

Some color had returned to her cheeks, banishing that deathly pallor. The angry red wounds at her wrists and ankles were now clean. Even the dark bruises on her body, arms, and face had faded to a sickly yellow-green—ugly, but healing.

Beneath the bandages, I imagined her empty eye sockets were at least closed wounds now, no longer weeping blood.

She lay on her side rather than flat on her back, propped by pillows. Someone had swapped the thin sheet for a plush quilt and tucked it snugly around her. It made her look less small somehow.

Carefully, I settled my bulk at the bedside. The cot was low, so even lying down my head was level with hers. I watched the rise and fall of her breathing, steady and a touch stronger than before.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, a light touch stroked the top of my head.

I blinked awake.

Dawn light was filtering through the canvas window flap. I hadn't meant to sleep, but I'd been so mentally tired.

Before I knew it, her hand was weakly scratching behind my ear.