A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

We returned to our borrowed residence in Valden City laden with paper sacks of finger foods and a carefully boxed assortment of pastries.

The sun was dipping low, painting the marble foyer in honeyed light as Mira pushed Rinvara's wheelchair inside. Since we were finally inside, I trotted alongside them while still in my tiny form, my little nails clicking on the polished floor.

The outing had been a success by all measures: fresh air, smiles, and a scandalous amount of baked goods acquired.

Once indoors, Mira excused herself to tend to something in the kitchen, leaving me and Rinvara by the settee in the sitting room. I hopped up lightly into Rinvara's lap.

She chuckled and stroked behind my ears, the gauzy sleeves of her dress brushing against my nose. I may have accidentally sniffed for crumbs; one cannot be too thorough when pastries are involved.

"You've been awfully quiet, Pophet," Rinvara mused, sensing my thoughtful mood. She broke off a piece of a flaky butter croissant and held it out. I accepted it with a delicate chomp. "Tired?"

"Mm, just thinking," I said between chews. My voice in this form was a bit yappy if I spoke loudly, so I kept it soft.

Truthfully, I was feeling restless. After spending so long cooped up in the Great Basilica back home, being free to wander a bustling city was downright intoxicating.

I quite always like long walks, but I've never really thought about it once I got old in my previous life.

Rinvara smiled knowingly. "Thinking, are we? About anything in particular?"

I swallowed the croissant bit and licked a stray crumb from my snout.

"Nothing important," I fibbed. "Maybe I'll step out for a little while, get some more air."

Her fingers paused their motion on my back.

"Out? Alone?" she asked. Ever the big sister, her tone was light but I caught the protective edge beneath.

I bobbed my head. "Just around the block. I won't go far, promise. And I'll stay like this." I did a quick pirouette on her lap, showcasing my unimposing, utterly-innocent pug self.

Who could possibly fear or harm such an adorable creature?

Rinvara's lips twitched. "I'm not sure whether to be amused or worried that my brother's strategy for freedom is turning into a pocket-sized rascal." She relented with a soft sigh. "Alright. Just be careful."

I nudged her hand with my nose. "Always. I'll be back soon."

She lifted me gently and placed me on the floor. "Have fun," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. Mira had re-entered just in time to catch this exchange, but she held her tongue, merely dipping her head in acknowledgement.

As Rinvara's attendant, Mira knew her station, and she wasn't about to question either of us on where we went or why—at least not out loud.

Elsewhere in Valden City, a young woman sat at a corner table of a cozy open-air cafe, idly stirring the remains of her iced coffee. The place was situated on a broad avenue not far from the city's dungeon guild and, not coincidentally, within sight of the imposing stone arch that marked the entrance to Valden's famed dungeon.

She wore a simple yet elegant dress of deep blue linen—nothing fancy enough to draw attention, but far removed from the oil-stained uniform she'd been sporting on a train the last time a certain Godbeast saw her.

At her feet rested several shopping bags brimming with branded clothing boxes, a few hats, and a pair of stylish gloves peeking out the top.

On the chair back hung a light shawl. With her relaxed posture and the slight smile on her lips as she browsed the evening paper, she looked for all the world like a traveler enjoying a leisurely shopping day.

But appearances could deceive. Keen instincts, honed by years of fieldwork, pricked at her senses. Something was… off.

A prickle at the nape of her neck made her pause, mid-sip, as a feeling of being watched washed over her.

The woman set her coffee down, eyes flicking casually to the reflections in the cafe window. The street behind was busy with pedestrians, yet none seemed to be paying her any mind. Still, she trusted this instinct. It had saved her skin more than once.

Slowly, she folded her newspaper, ears attuned for any unusual sound.

A sudden rustle and clatter from beneath her table made her jolt. Wham!

In an instant, one of her shopping bags toppled over, something small and dark having hurled itself straight into it. The bags rustled and one slid across the tiled floor. The woman half-rose, heart pounding.

'What in the world—?'

Her coffee cup trembled. The remaining ice cubes clinked softly as the liquid began to ripple of its own accord. The woman's pulse quickened, and not just from surprise.

Calm, she urged herself, forcing a slow exhale.

The trembling coffee was a tell—her tell. Water obeyed her moods more than most. Whoever or whatever had just dived into her belongings had triggered her subconscious defense.

Taking another breath, she loosened her rigidness and peered down into the nearest bag.

Two shiny black eyes stared back from amid the tangle of tissue paper and new dresses. A small black head popped up, wearing what could only be described as a doggy grin.

"It's you!" the creature declared triumphantly, tiny pink tongue lolling.

The woman blinked, utterly bewildered. For a moment, she could only stand there, half-out of her chair, wondering if someone had spiked her drink.

Stolen novel; please report.

She thought she recognized this little creature—or at least, she wasn't sure she did. The wrinkled muzzle, those expressive ears... It looked just like the giant Godbeast she'd spent two days accompanying on a train, only miniaturized, a different color, and far more animated.

But that Godbeast—Pophet, the Sixth—was massive, noble. This cheeky creature in her shopping bag was… well, adorable. And it was speaking in an excited chirpy voice.

Finally, she managed to find her voice. "W-what in the Light…?" she muttered, lowering back into her seat. Her gray eyes narrowed in suspicion, but there was a spark of recognition there.

The pug scrambled free of the bag, knocking another onto its side in the process. A designer sunhat tumbled out and landed on top of him, covering him whole.

He shook it off and hopped onto the table.

"How've you been since the train?" he yipped, confirming his identity as plainly as possible.

The woman's mouth fell open slightly. It was him—there was no mistaking it now. She quickly looked left and right; a couple at a far table glanced over, amused at the sight of a small, cute beast apparently joining a lady for coffee.

But thankfully no one seemed alarmed that the beast had spoken. The city was loud enough, and the Godbeast's voice small enough that it hadn't caused a scene.

She leaned in, keeping her voice low. "Pophet… how? You're the size of a muffin!"

"I know, right? Neat trick." Pophet—well, I, wagged my tail proudly. Up close I could see the astonishment soften into relief and genuine delight on her face.

The last time we'd seen each other, our parting had been abrupt. I had wondered if I'd ever meet this brash woman again. Yet here she was, in civilian clothes and enjoying her daily life.

Her initial shock melted into a grin. She reached over and, with the back of a finger, gently rubbed the top of my head in greeting.

"Hah! Of all the cafes in the city…" she murmured. "I thought I'd never see you again, big guy—er, little guy?"

"You've been well?" I asked, cocking my head.

"Also," I said more softly, "thanks for looking out for me on the journey. I never got your name, by the way."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It was nothing. I was just following—" She caught herself, then chuckled, brushing a stray auburn lock behind her ear. "Well, if you insist: it's Aephelia."

I raised one fuzzy brow. "Aephelia?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like my mother was a romantic who liked the plainness of life, yes." There was a hint of a blush on her cheeks now. It seemed thanking her directly made her a bit bashful.

"Aephelia," I repeated. "Pretty. Suits you.'"

We spent a few minutes catching up. I told her about arriving in Sunmire's capital and how someone I helped was recovering well. She nodded, genuinely pleased by that news.

I kept it light, omitting the darker bits. Meanwhile, Aephelia mentioned she was on a short leave and decided to indulge in some shopping.

She lifted a bag to display her spoils: "Apparently I clean up alright when I'm not dressed like a soot gremlin," she quipped.

"You look nice," I said, I didn't really know about human clothing, but the books I read said it was a good idea to compliment a lady.

"Though I can't believe you spent your free time right next to a dungeon. Couldn't stay away from excitement?" I nudged my snout toward the stone archway visible down the street.

Aephelia gave a little shrug and took a final sip of her coffee. "It's not that. I'm actually waiting for someone."

My ears perked. "Oh?"

"A friend," she clarified. "He's… hm, how to put it? We'll say an acquaintance, actually. He was part of a group that entered the dungeon a few days ago. They're scheduled to finish and come out sometime this evening, if all went well."

I tilted my head. "You came all the way out here just to meet him after? Must be a good friend."

She paused, then admitted, "I owe him one. He helped me out a while back. Figured the least I can do is be there to buy him a victory drink. Assuming he has all his limbs intact and an appetite."

That last part wasn't exactly a joke—her wry tone couldn't mask genuine concern. It made me frown. "Is the dungeon really that dangerous? I see people going in and out daily like it's an amusement ride."

Aephelia snorted. "Amusement ride? Hardly." She leaned forward, lowering her voice.

"It's true this dungeon's been cleared thousands of times. But don't let that fool you. It's killed plenty of adventurers who got careless. They publish guidebooks, survival rates, heck there's even a betting pool in some circles on who will chicken out first. But end of the day, it's still a dungeon. And dungeons don't play favorites."

My pug brain did a backflip at the word guidebooks. If I had fluffy eyebrows, they'd be raised. "There's a guidebook?" I echoed.

"Multiple, actually," Aephelia said. She fished into one of her shopping bags and pulled out a slim booklet wedged between her new clothes. The cover depicted a cartoonish tavern with spooky eyes peering from its windows.

Bold letters proclaimed: [Surviving The Bottomless Inn - Valden City Dungeon Guide, 11th Ed.]

She handed it to me with a half-smile. "Figured I should skim this while waiting, so I know what kind of shape my friend might be in when he comes out."

I pawed through the booklet eagerly, flattening it against the tabletop. The pages were filled with diagrams and bullet-point advice. It struck me as a cross between a travel brochure and a military field manual, with a dash of gallows humor thrown in.

"So this dungeon's called The Bottomless Inn," I murmured, scanning an introductory paragraph. "Clever."

Aephelia nodded. "One of Sunmire's few repeatable dungeons. It doesn't collapse after completion like the legendary one-and-done types. Instead, it resets for new challengers every time. Convenient for the guilds, seeing as it spits out its reward endlessly. Inconvenient for anyone who underestimates it."

As I skimmed further, my eyes widened. The gist was clear: challengers who entered found themselves working in a tavern for five days straight, and not a normal tavern either. The place was filled with unpredictable "customers," some not even human.

The challengers had to cook, clean, serve drinks—essentially run the inn—and survive whatever weirdness ensued. They couldn't leave until it was over. Magic was nullified inside, weapons were confiscated the moment they enter. And the kicker: out of every group that went in, an average of 18 would walk out.

"Eighteen may leave…" I muttered, tapping the line with a claw.

Aephelia pursed her lips. "A run is 20 people. On average, two don't make it. It's an approximate, of course. Sometimes everyone gets out alive, those are the lucky runs. Sometimes… no one does." Her voice dropped on that last part. "Rumor has it if the group fails certain ahem 'special requests', the dungeon has no qualms keeping all their souls."

I sat back on my haunches, absorbing that. Thousands of runs, an 90% survival rate. Those were still deadly odds, when you considered how many tried their luck. Yet people kept coming, lured by the promise of treasure.

The guidebook had a whole section on the reward, and I flipped to it eagerly.

"Successful completion yields a... tattoo?" I blinked. Indeed, printed under 'reward' was an explanation that upon exiting, survivors received a magical tattoo on their body—drawn with an inkbrush by the tavern's ghostly innkeeper as a final parting gift.

Each tattoo granted an affinity of the challenger's choice. The examples listed ranged from elemental affinities like fire or water, to more abstract things like steel, or even healing.

A footnote warned that overly broad or esoteric affinities might result in a dud mark with no effect.

Aephelia watched my face as I read. A knowing glint appeared in her eye. "Tempting, isn't it?" she said quietly.

I realized I was practically drooling on the guidebook. I straightened up, trying to play it cool. "I-I mean, it's a decent prize. If you're into that sort of thing."

She laughed, seeing right through me. "Pophet, you're a bad liar. Your tail's wagging."

I stilled my traitorous tail at once, but I couldn't quite tamp down the spark of excitement in my chest. An affinity of my choosing... The possibility was tantalizing. If I survived those five days, I could ask for, say, Fire Affinity and maybe finally harness mana like a proper mage. Or Earth Affinity to bolster my durability. Or heck, something unique like Light Affinity—imagine me slinging holy magic around instead of just mauling people!

My mind raced ahead, dreaming up scenario after scenario, until I caught Aephelia giving me a strange look.

"What?" I asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head with a smile. "Nothing. You just… reminded me of a kid in a candy store for a second."

I coughed and tried to assume a dignified posture, which is hard when you're nine inches tall and sitting on your haunches atop a chair. "I was merely considering the strategic implications, of course."

"Of course," she echoed, lips twitching.

We chatted a bit longer.