A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

I stepped out of the Bottomless Inn into a welcome wave of cool night air. The breeze felt sharp against my fur, almost like a bath of mint.

The city's lanterns winked in the distance, casting long shadows over wet cobblestones and making the old tavern stone glow a warm gold. I spread a paw on the slick flagstone and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

After five days cooped inside that dank, dusty tavern, even the damp smell of the city streets felt luxurious.

I even felt the faint tingle of something new on my shoulder—the life-ink from the old innkeeper's brush—as if it were finally settling into place. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to savor the tranquility.

And that's exactly when the comedic gods decided to crash the party.

Creak. Creak.

From around the corner, Rinvara's wheelchair appeared, pushed by Mira. With her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face, Lady Rinvara trundled up beside me in the moonlight.

Mira stood stiffly behind her. They had clearly been waiting for me.

Rinvara's bandaged eyes flicked toward me, and her lips tightened into a stern line.

"Enjoying the night air, little brother?" she asked slowly, every word laced with mock patience and the threat of a lecture.

Even from a distance, I could tell she was upset, but it was that disappointed, stern upset I remembered all too well from my owner in my previous life.

We were at the old guild checkpoint that guarded the dungeon entrance.

At a long wooden table beneath one of the lanterns, a tired scribe was hunched over scrolls and ledgers. Next to him, several guards scribbled notes on clipboards, their eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

A few adventurers and hired staff, who had slight cuts and burns from cooking and handling the dishes, hovered nearby, filling out forms.

As I came into view, they stole nervous glances at me before averting their eyes back to their paperwork. I caught one of them half-grinning; I think they remembered me as their impromptu guide and savior, though now they didn't dare say so.

The guards and clerks looked tense, and I suddenly got the feeling they'd all discovered a nasty little leak with me as the source. Literally.

One of the guards, a burly man with a feather in his cap, nearly tripped over the edge of the table as he looked up at Rinvara.

He cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. "Lady Rinvara. Your Eminence Pophet," he began, forcing out the words. "We uh… we had an unusual situation. Due to the mishap, our dungeon rosters were thrown off. Fortunately, the dungeon was closed in time before even more people got mixed up. We…"

He swallowed before continuing. "We'll still need to dispatch another team of nineteen adventurers to retrieve the person who was left behind."

I felt my ears flatten and my heart do a slow thump-thump of panic.

If Rinvara hadn't noticed I was missing that morning and shut everything down, god knew how many more people would have been hurt.

The guards seemed almost embarrassed just saying it out loud.

Another guard muttered under his breath as he flipped through the day's ledger: "Eight parties now with an extra person each, and one missing…" I caught the faint whisper and my throat tightened. Eight groups. Eight teams of adventurers who had come and gone, each one unknowingly carrying one person they didn't know.

It was like I'd stepped into one enormous wrong-turn machine and scrambled everything.

I tried to look innocent, but I was as small and obvious as a puppy with confetti on its fur. I dropped my gaze to the cool stone and fidgeted. I dug my paw through some of the loosened gravel below me.

There was a silence as Rinvara stared at the ground, looking at my direct direction. The cold night seemed to close in.

Finally, she drew a deep breath—the kind that seemed to gather the weight of a hundred prayers in it. "Pophet… you went into the dungeon. You turned a simple expedition into five days of shutdown." She lifted her hands to rub at the bridge of her nose. "What could you have been thinking?"

My tail drooped under me as guilt pinned me to the earth. She was right. I had let my curiosity, and perhaps a bit of my pride, get the better of me.

When did I change? I don't recall being this hasty. Was this the price of being young again? Did my psyche finally equalize to my body?

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I was supposed to be a Godbeast, a protector. Instead, I'd thrown myself into a selfish tirade. "I just… I wanted to help," I said softly, closing my eyes.

Rinvara shook her head, disappointment heavy in her movements. "Help me?" she whispered. "By endangering yourself and causing a chaos that could have killed many? That's not help, Pophet."

Mira reached out and gave my head a gentle scratch behind the ears—a small comfort. "He means well, Lady Rinvara," she added quietly to my sister.

But at Rinvara's words, I shrank even more in place. Maybe I should have stayed tucked in bed like I was supposed to.

Rinvara straightened up. She turned back to the guards. "Listen," she told them, voice calm again, "I will discuss this with the city lord. Please understand that a mistake was made, but this little one did not intend any harm. It was a misunderstanding."

Rinvara inclined her head toward me. "Take him back to the residence," she said firmly.

Before I could yelp in protest, Mira crouched beside me.

I felt her soft arms scoop around my middle, and—click.

The last thing I saw before everything closed off was the iron bar of a small cage dropping into place over my head.

My heart sank like a stone.

How many times had I sat behind bars? Including my previous life, of course.

The scratch of the tongue on wrought iron, the smell of dust and distance.

It was humiliating.

I'd just started gaining confidence in myself as a Godbeast, and yet here I was, squashed into a cage. My ears drooped as I hunkered down on the wooden floor.

Even though I could easily escape from here, I knew that I deserved some sort of punishment.

Beside me, Rinvara allowed a tiny, wry smile—the kind that reached her eyes only a bit. Maybe she felt a little sorry for me now that my fate was sealed in a metal box.

I forced myself to relax my shoulders. If I stayed locked up until morning, at least I wouldn't have to take any of her wrath head-on. Better this than a solo lecture outside, I told myself grimly.

The outside world faded as soon as that door shut. My universe became cramped shadows and slats of moonlight.

Through the bars, everything looked bigger. Lanterns became suns, and adults loomed like giants. Every bump in the road made me jostle against the sides. I closed my eyes and briefly reminisced my previous life.

It felt weird. In a way, this gave me a sort of peace.

Mira lifted the cage and placed me on top of Rinvara's lap. She slowly pushed the wheelchair away from the guild checkpoint.

We creaked along the cobblestones toward our home, the dungeon slowly disappearing behind us.

I heard distant night sounds: a dog's bark from an alley, a half-forgotten lullaby drifting from a window.

Mira's gentle voice broke the sounds. "Pophet," she said softly, though we were moving and I didn't want to reply. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen. Do you know how badly it could have gone? That place… it's not for someone unprepared." She squeezed her shoulder as she spoke.

I just whined quietly and curled in tighter, hiding my nose under a paw. I felt small, foolish, and most of all, ashamed.

Soon, we arrived at our residence in the first gray edge of dawn. Two silent temple guards stood at the door. They welcomed us in.

Inside, warm light spilled from wall sconces, banishing the night's chill. Mira rolled the wheelchair up the ramp, my ears folding and unfolding as I stayed still. My metal prison rattled softly as we moved up.

We arrived at Rinvara's bedroom, and after Mira placed her on the bed, Rinvara opened the cage.

"Go on," Rinvara told me quietly. "Be free."

I blinked, stunned for a moment, then hurried out. My body tingled.

Gathering a breath, I focused my Qi and let it carry me back to full size. Muscles and bones stretched, fur fluffed, and in seconds, I was standing, fluffy and seven feet tall again.

I shook myself to ward off the last itch of confinement. The house felt enveloping and warm.

Rinvara's bandaged eyes met mine. For a moment, there was no anger, just... concern. She didn't speak at first. I bowed my head slightly, feeling the pinch of shame where the soft, new symbol of "Life" adorned my shoulder.

Then she began.

Oh no. I thought I avoided this.

The words came slowly, without a trace of mercy. Rinvara listed every fault: how I endangered myself; how I disrupted the city's careful plans on structuring the dungeons to make it as safe as possible; and how I risked lives.

Each phrase landed like a roll of thunder in my ears.

"Selfish," she called me.

"Reckless." she continued.

"Foolhardy." she added.

I kept my posture humble, head bowed, grunting in aggreeance.

By the end, my fur was a bit mussed from the bout of guilt and fear, and I wondered if this lecture and the cage was the penance for my mistake.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Rinvara leaned back and took a shuddering breath. Exhaustion had crept into her expression. "Alright," she said gently. "We'll deal with this tomorrow. Right now…it's very late, and you should sleep."

She forced a small laugh, half-smile returning. "No more midnight adventures," she admonished. The hint of relief in her tone made me feel a little braver.

I allowed myself a small, grateful smile. Even in scolding, she had somehow found a way to care for me.

Rinvara motioned towards the bed. "Come on," she said softly. "Let's get you to bed."

At the foot of her bed, I curled up as I always do. This time, though, I didn't drift off immediately. My mind swirled with everything that had happened, replaying each moment like a story I couldn't shut off.

But as Rinvara was about to turn in for the night, she paused and brushed her hand gently over my head.

"No more midnight adventures, you hear?" she whispered for possibly the millionth time. But her voice was soft now, almost maternal.

"I promise," I murmured back, looking up into her bandaged gaze.

She gave me a tired, fond smile, then leaned back to sleep.