A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

Moonlight filtered through the high arched windows of our guest quarters, painting silver light on the marble floor. We arrived in the largest city of Sunmire yesterday, Valden City.

But since we were busy with our accommodations and Rinvara was tired from the travel, I let her sleep in.

Currently, I was sitting by the balcony doors, eyes closed, trying something I hadn't done in ages: checking my skill window.

I inhaled slowly, focusing inward. At first, I felt nothing but the familiar rhythm of my breath and heartbeat.

Then, a subtle vibration pulsed in my chest.

A UI-like status readout blinking behind my eyelids.

〈Pophet, The Gentle Faith That Echoes〉

[Mana: 0 / 0]

[Skills: 2]

Skill: Breath of the Lazy Heavenly Beast

At last. Through rigorous lying down, you have unlocked a cultivation technique once whispered about by absolutely no one and practiced by even fewer. This questionably divine method draws in Qi, a subtle, ancient energy that almost nobody believes exists anymore, very slowly, almost reluctantly, during moments of complete stillness.

Level: 7/9 Foundation Building Stage

Skill: Thousand Fats Body Compression

A secret technique born from the ancient and mostly-forgotten ██████████████, this minor art was developed by low-ranking disciples who needed to evade both danger and responsibility with equal grace. By tightening the meridians and weaving Qi, the user may compress their physical vessel into a deceptively diminutive form.

Practitioners of this technique once used it to sneak past gatekeepers, hide beneath floorboards, or nap inside sacred urns to avoid morning drills. While compressed, power output is greatly reduced.

Legends say true masters could vanish into a teacup. You, however, are pug-shaped and still squishy.

A wry smile tugged at my jowls. Foundation Building.

As I recall in my past life's cultivation novels as per my librarian of an owner, I was basically at the bottom rung, the foundation tier—the "just happy to be here" stage of power.

All that blood, sweat, and… more blood, and I'd scraped my way to what amounted to maybe Level 8 out of 100.

'Outstanding,' I thought dryly.

I half expected a sarcastic little achievement badge to pop up in my mind: Congratulations, you're not completely inept!

I sighed and opened my eyes, rolling my neck until I felt a crack.

'No use whining, Pophet.'

I told myself.

Before I knew it, night had passed. I looked over at the bed and saw Rinvara waking, the morning sun catching in her silver-white hair.

The medic—our ever-dedicated nurse from the front lines—was already there, fussing over Rinvara's bandaged eyes with motherly care. I still didn't know the medic's name. For weeks she'd been tending to us and I'd just been calling her Medic like an NPC without a nametag.

I cleared my throat and ventured, "Hey… I just realized, I've never properly thanked you. Or, uh, asked your name. What do we call you?"

There was a short pause.

Rinvara turned her head toward me slowly, her face perfectly neutral. "You don't know?"

I froze. "…Should I?"

She sighed. The kind of sigh older sisters reserve for younger brothers who've just said something especially disappointing.

"Pophet. She's been by our side for weeks. Tending my wounds. And even bringing you food sometimes. And you never asked."

"I was very injured," I mumbled.

Rinvara turned her face forward again, cool as ice. "Her name is Mira."

The medic blinked, caught between amusement and offense.

"Mira," I repeated, ears drooping a little. "Right. Of course. That's… a lovely name."

Mira's cheeks colored at the praise. "Just doing what I'm meant to, my lady," she said warmly as she adjusted a shawl around Rinvara's shoulders.

"Rinvara, how are you feeling this morning?" I asked gently. "Up for a bit of fresh air?" I tried to sound casual, but I watched her closely. She was getting better each day, but there was still the mental aspect of her injuries.

I didn't want to push.

Rinvara tilted her head toward the sunlight, inhaling like she could drink it. "I feel… surprisingly well," she said. Her voice was soft and measured, the cadence almost formal. "Better than I have in a long time. And the air here—" She smiled faintly. "It smells safe."

Something in my chest unclenched to hear them now. "Maybe we could venture out into the city for a bit," I ventured. "Stretch your legs—I mean…" I flushed, realizing the phrase, "get you some sunshine and a change of scenery. If you're up for it."

Mira perked up immediately. "Actually, a short excursion could be good stimulation and exercise," she said. "As long as we're careful. Her Ladyship shouldn't over-exert, but some fresh air and seeing familiar sights—" She caught herself, wincing, making the same mistake as me. "Ah, I mean…"

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"It's alright," Rinvara chuckled lightly. She patted Mira's hand to show she took no offense. "Seeing in the figurative sense is still seeing. I'd like that very much." Despite the bandages covering where her eyes had been, I could tell she was brightening at the idea. "I want to hear a bustling city again, smell the market spices… perhaps even feel the cobblestones under my feet." She paused, then amended wryly, "Or rather, under my wheels, as it were."

I couldn't help a grin. That was the Rinvara I knew—ever hopeful. "A discreet outing then," I said. "No one will know who we are." My tail thumped once against the floor in anticipation.

I was already mentally planning the route: avoid the main plaza, stick to side streets. Early enough in the day that there was just a thin enough crowd not to have any inconveniences.

Mira went to gather a cloak and prepare Rinvara's wheelchair, leaving my sister and me momentarily alone. I hopped up onto the edge of the mattress and gently nosed her shoulder. "You sure you're feeling up to this?" I asked under my breath.

Up close, I could see the fine new scars tracing her once-smooth skin, a network of silvered lines where divine healing had begun its work. She still looked so fragile, wrapped in linens.

The protective part of me wanted to bundle her back up and keep the world away a bit longer.

Rinvara reached out and found my face with her hand, fingers tracing the curve of my jaw. Her touch was light but assured. "I'm alright, Pophet," she murmured. "Truly. Don't fret so much." Her tone was gentle, but something in it had changed, I realized.

She sounded… courtly, almost. The soft lilt of a noblewoman addressing a concern without actually answering it. It was subtle, yet unusual coming from her.

It made me study her for a second. Courtly? Rinvara?

My sister had always been gracious, but never affected or distant, especially not with me. Now there was a measured quality to her words, like she was choosing them with care, layering empathy into each syllable.

Actually, come to think of it, she'd been speaking that way with everyone even before Kareth's Gate. At first, I assumed it was just her slipping back into formal habits around bishops and administrators.

But even in private moments, I heard it—a gentle propriety, a diplomatic warmth. It reminded me of how Mother Aurelith used to address the faithful: kind, careful, a little detached.

Rinvara felt the silence of my pondering and tilted her head. "What is it?"

I hesitated, not wanting to offend. "It's just… you sound different," I said frankly. "More like… Mother Rinvara, I suppose. All refined and measured." I tried for a teasing note to soften it. "I was expecting my grumpy older sister who'd stare at me for not eating a healthy bun. Instead, I have this serene saint of a sister all of a sudden."

She gave a soft, musical laugh at that, shaking her head. "Oh dear. Am I truly so obvious?" A hint of pink colored her cheeks. "I didn't even notice. It's not intentional, I promise."

"Then what?" I asked gently. I hopped down to sit at her feet on the rug, looking up. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

Rinvara reached for my paw, and I lifted it into her hand. She held it as she composed her thoughts. "It's my mana-empathy," she said at last. "I've been relying on it more heavily since I lost my sight. To sense people around me, to read the room, so to speak. Emotions carry tone and cadence... even intent. I can feel the shape of someone's feelings when they speak, which helps me understand them without seeing their face."

I nodded, though she couldn't see it; an old habit. Mana-empathy was one of her gifts tied to her healing powers. She'd always been able to pick up on others' emotions in a room, almost like hearing a faint melody under their words. Now, with her vision gone, that gift had amplified to become her primary way of perceiving the world.

She continued softly, "The catch is, when I attune that closely, I sometimes mirror what I sense. It's not conscious. If someone is formal and respectful toward me, I naturally respond in kind. If they're frightened, I lower my voice to calm them… It's as if my speech is adjusting on its own to ease whatever I'm feeling from them."

She grimaced, a rare crack in her placid veneer. "It must seem like I'm playing at being a duchess or something. I don't mean to. I just… slip into others' rhythms."

I felt a swell of relief at her explanation. "That's nothing to apologize for. I find it fascinating."

I gave her hand a reassuring lick. "You've always been empathetic, sis. Well, it could be worse. At least you haven't started referring to yourself in third person."

Right now, we were just two siblings teasing each other on a sunny morning.

Mira returned pushing the wheelchair, and we composed ourselves.

With practiced efficiency, Mira helped ease Rinvara from bed into the wheelchair. My sister could manage a few steps if pressed, but we weren't taking chances on those trembling legs just yet.

Once seated, Rinvara donned a plain veil around her head, one that draped down to her shoulders. For added measure, we tucked a light blanket over her lap. To the casual eye, she'd look like an invalid young woman being taken out for air, nothing remarkable.

Mira donned a simple brown traveling cloak herself. In place of her Sunmire medic's garb, she had changed into the everyday attire of a lower-city nurse or companion.

It suited her, she could blend into any crowd as just a kindly helper. The only thing that might give away her identity were her sturdy military boots, but half the women in this city wore similar boots these days, with the war-efforts on.

I trotted alongside them as we headed for the door, but paused when I caught sight of our reflections in a tall mirror by the exit.

A hulking, nearing seven-foot-tall Godbeast wearing ceremonial Sunmire garb would hardly be inconspicuous on the city streets.

Right.

I had to address the obvious. "There's a problem," I said. "Me."

Mira pursed her lips, thinking. "We could try covering you with a tarp and passing you off as a very large statue delivery?" she quipped.

I snorted. "Ha, ha."

Rinvara tapped her chin. "Perhaps…Pophet, do you think you could manage walking on all fours, head down, and pretend to be an ordinary beast of burden? Some sort of tamed Behemoth escort? People might not look closely…"

"That could work if folks don't get too close," Mira said, though she sounded doubtful. "But any halfway observant citizen will notice your intelligent eyes if they just stare a bit. And if you accidentally talk…"

"Too risky." I frowned at my reflection. If only I could make myself smaller.

Smaller…

A moment ago during my check, I'd seen something else.

How had I missed it?

My eyes snapped open. "I… might have an idea," I said slowly. Rinvara and Mira both turned toward the sound of my voice. I stepped back from the mirror, shaking out my paws. "Give me a little space. And… don't panic, okay?"

That earned me two very similar looks of concern. "Pophet, what are you going to do?"

Rinvara asked warily. I realized she could probably sense a swirl of uncertainty from me.

"Testing a hunch," I replied.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again, using this weird technique from deep within me. The name was apt; I visualized strands of energy wrapping around my bones and muscles like tight coils of string.

Here went nothing.

At first, nothing happened. But then, I suddenly scrunched up my face in concentration and pushed harder, urging the energy inward, tighter.

Compress, compress…

A tingling prickle shot through my entire body. Suddenly, a series of uncomfortable pops and cracks rolled through me. It didn't hurt exactly, but it sure didn't tickle either.

I felt my spine contract.

My vertebrae shifting.

My vision wobbled as the room seemed to expand around me. Or rather, as I shrank.

"Pophet!" Mira yelped, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Brother?!" Rinvara's voice rose in alarm. She couldn't see what was happening, but she could certainly hear the crackle of reconfiguring bones and my stifled groan.

I cracked one eye open. The mirror across from me now loomed like a great portrait on the wall.

In it, I saw… a small pug. A regular, run-of-the-mill pug about ankle-high on a human, with black fur, a curly tail, and a very bewildered expression.

I looked like I'd just escaped someone's handbag.

"Holy—" I started, but stopped at the sound of my own voice: a higher-pitched yip instead of my usual rumbling baritone.