A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

The moment we stepped off the train and into Lumineth's main station, I could feel it: the weight of eyes.

At first, I thought it was my imagination, the usual curious glances reserved for strangers, but it didn't stop.

It grew. Conversations faltered. Scholars moving across the marble floor began slowing mid-step, their gazes pulling toward us. A few paused entirely, books clutched tightly to their chests.

Brother Maevin didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. He walked ahead with his usual unhurried pace, one hand gripping the worn leather strap of his satchel, the other holding the small trunk that contained his manuscripts.

The stares didn't bother me at first. I was used to them in Sunmire, though they were usually tempered by some level of restraint. This was different. Murmurs began to rise, soft and disjointed at first, and then faster and plentier.

"Is that the Sixth Heir?"

"It's him, right? The one who defeated the Mountain."

My ears twitched as the whispers grew louder.

Then one girl, a scholar draped in an oversized coat with ink smudges on her fingers, broke away from her group. She approached slowly, her face pale with nerves but her eyes wide with determination.

"E-excuse me," she stammered. "Are you… Pophet? The Sixth Heir?"

I blinked. "Yes?"

The words left my mouth before I had the good sense to lie.

She gasped like I'd just handed her the keys to heaven. "I knew it!" she cried, and in a blur of motion, she fished into her satchel and pulled out a massive ink pad and a parchment large enough to fit a small table. "Please, can I have your pawprint? Just once? It's for my thesis!"

I froze. "…You want my what?"

"Your autograph!" she said brightly. "Please! Just press your paw here—oh, and there's room for a dedication too if you want to write something!"

Brother Maevin slowed, glancing back over his shoulder with faint surprise.

Before I could answer, she laid the parchment on the floor and held out the ink pad expectantly.

"Please!" she urged.

Unsure what else to do, I lifted a paw, pressed it lightly into the ink, and then onto the parchment.

The moment I pulled away, she let out a shriek so loud it startled a few pigeon-like birds from the rafters. "I GOT IT!" she shouted, clutching the parchment to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. "I ACTUALLY GOT HIS PAWPRINT!"

She bolted back toward her friends, still screaming.

That was the moment it all fell apart.

Dozens of scholars surged forward in her wake, their voices rising into a chaotic den.

"Sixth Heir, please! Just one paw stamp!"

"Can I get a luminograph with you?"

"Please, Pophet, my thesis depends on this, just let me engrave a quick sketch—"

Ink pads and enchanted devices were thrust toward me from every direction, flashes of light bursting from lenses as a dozen luminographs went off in rapid succession. Dozens of parchments were being unfurled.

Someone even offered me a quill as if I had the dexterity to sign my name like a court scribe.

I hadn't even been this popular in my last life. Back then, it was a few admirers here and there, quite manageable. This? This was a siege.

Brother Maevin's eyes widened slightly as he stepped closer to me, his gaze flicked to the growing crowd. "This might be a problem."

"Now you notice?"

Before another ink pad could be shoved in my face, I glanced up at Brother Maevin.

"Do you know a light spell? Something bright enough to blind them for a second?" I asked in a low voice.

His eyes flicked toward me, calm as ever despite the ruckus around us. "Of course," he said, adjusting his glasses. "You're planning something."

"Yes. Distract them."

Maevin exhaled faintly, then raised one hand. A small rune flared to life on his palm, and with a soft snap of his fingers, a blinding flash of white light exploded across the station. Scholars shrieked, dropping their scrolls and covering their faces.

Before the light had even faded, I did the only sensible thing I could think of.

I shrank.

My body compressed in a sudden ripple of black fur and muscle until I was the size of a puppy. My paws, now tiny and delicate, pressed against the polished marble floor.

Brother Maevin stopped mid-step, his brows lifting in sharp surprise as he watched me scurry forward and scramble up his trouser leg.

"…You can do that?" he asked, his voice perfectly calm except for the faint note of curiosity threading through it.

"Yes," I muttered, my voice small and muffled as I wriggled into the crook of his coat.

"I see." He adjusted his grip on the satchel and shifted his trunk to his other arm. "And the black fur is intentional?"

"No."

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"Interesting."

Outside the coat, the crowd's voices were still rising.

"Where did he go?"

"He vanished!"

"He polymorphed! Quick, interrogate everyone! Find him!"

I curled tighter against the inner lining of Maevin's coat and tried to pretend I didn't exist.

Brother Maevin sighed faintly, like a man already regretting taking me along for his vacation. "I suppose we'd better move quickly before they think to search me."

"Yes," I said, as small as my body now felt. "Let's."

We didn't stop moving once we left the station. He quickly found a carriage and once he got in, still with me in his coat, he instructed the driver to head to the Conservatory.

Brother Maevin sat with one hand resting lightly on the worn leather strap of his satchel while the other steadied the small trunk wedged between his knees. I popped my head out of his coat pocket, looking outside the window.

Lumineth wasn't quiet. The city thrummed with energy, steam hissing from vent pipes that were everywhere.

The faint clang of iron on stone echoed in the distance, and every so often, the carriage wheels creaked as we crossed a cracked stretch of cobblestones. I thought we'd left the worst of it behind at the station, but as we neared the university gates, I realized how wrong I was.

The crowd there was thicker than I expected. Students in neatly pressed robes clustered by the iron bars, their eyes darting to every passing carriage.

Priests and scholars stood nearby in smaller knots, murmuring low to one another as they scanned the streets.

A few luminographs hummed faintly in their hands, enchanted glass lenses glowing with runes ready to spark at a moment's notice.

"Where do you think he's hiding?"

"He's bound to come here. His sister's an assistant here, isn't she?"

"Maybe he went to the church first?"

"We're all waiting for him. We'll see him eventually."

The driver slowed as we approached, but Brother Maevin reached up and tapped the driver's shoulder twice, instructing him to go somewhere else. "Take us to Sol's 7th, instead."

The horses turned smoothly at the next crossroad, their hooves clicking softly on the stones as we veered away from the university.

I didn't ask where we were going. It was already pretty clear I had to let the noise die down a bit before I could finally visit Eline.

The carriage rattled onward, away from the sprawl of the university district.

The air smelled different here—warmer somehow, tinged with the scent of fresh bread and faint incense smoke curling from small shrines wedged into the corners of narrow streets.

The buildings were older, softened by age and ivy climbing across their weathered facades. The further we went, the quieter it became.

The noisy crowds had been replaced by the soft rattle of carriage wheels and the distant chiming of bells signaling the hour.

By the time the carriage rolled to a stop, the sun had sunk low enough to signal the evening.

I saw a large, aged building right where we were. Its stone walls bore the faint marks of weathering, but the windows were polished clean and the curtains moved faintly as many curious faces peeked out from behind them.

The driver opened his mouth to speak, but Maevin had already stepped down from the carriage, leaving the payment in a small pouch by the driver. The man closed the door with a faint, respectful nod before clicking the reins to turn the carriage away.

As Maevin straightened, the front door of the building swung open with a wooden groan, and the sound of quick, light footsteps followed.

"Brother Maevin!"

"You're back!"

"You promised you'd visit sooner this time!"

"Where's my present?"

A tide of small figures came pouring out of the doorway and into the front yard—children in plain but well-kept clothes, their eyes lighting up as they rushed to him. Tiny hands clutched at his coat sleeves and tugged gently on the edge of his satchel.

"You took so long!"

"Did you bring the storybook you promised me?"

"Where's my bag of sweets?"

Maevin crouched slightly, allowing their hands to cling to him as their voices blended into a chorus of laughter and questions. His expression barely changed. It was still calm and still faintly tired, but there was a softness in how he handled the children..

An old woman appeared in the doorway, her plain gray habit illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps inside. Lines creased her face, but her smile was warm.

"Maevin." Her voice carried the warmth of a long-absent mother. "You're thinner again. Are they feeding you properly at the Basilica or working you to the bone?"

"Both," he said softly.

"You've been away longer than you promised."

"I know."

"Well, come inside. I've just made soup, and there's bread if you're hungry."

"Thank you."

I hadn't expected this—not from the efficient clerk I'd only known through harsh scoldings and many lessons in the past.

From what I could gather, Brother Maevin had grown up here.

This orphanage, tucked away in one of Lumineth's quieter streets, was a far cry from the marble halls and golden light of Sunmire.

He hadn't been born into power or wealth. He'd carved his way out of these narrow streets and into the Basilica, not because anyone demanded it of him, but because he felt he owed something to the faith and the people who raised him.

The moment Brother Maevin stepped inside, the children swarmed his belongings like bees to honey. Two of the older boys grabbed his satchel and trunk before he could protest, vanishing down the narrow hall with cries of, "We'll put these in your room!" and "Don't worry, we'll be careful this time!" Their smaller companions trailed after them, tugging at his coat sleeves and pelting him with questions about where he'd been and why he hadn't written more letters.

Maevin sighed, adjusting his glasses with the calm air of a man long accustomed to being outnumbered. "Go wash your hands. Dinner's almost ready," he said, herding them gently toward the dining hall.

The old nun from earlier was already there, ladling steaming soup into bowls and scolding the children for trying to sneak pieces of bread before she rang the bell.

When Maevin sat down at the long wooden table, she gave him a sharp look.

"Maevin. You didn't forget your manners in the Basilica, did you?" she asked pointedly. "I didn't raise you to sit and eat while your guest goes hungry."

"I really can't hide anything from you," Maevin sighed exasperatedly. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled me out, setting me gently on the table in front of him.

How rude. Putting me into the spotlight like this.

There was a collective gasp from the children.

"What is that?"

"It's so small!"

"Is it… a puppy? A really weird puppy?"

"Is that the gift you promised me last time?"

They crowded forward until the nun cleared her throat loudly. "Manners. Eat first."

The effect was immediate. The children straightened in their seats, murmuring apologies as they turned back to their soup.

That didn't stop them from sneaking glances at me, though, as their eyes continuously flicked towards my small, black-furred body with a mix of curiosity and awe.

The nun set a small bowl of soup and a slice of bread in front of me without comment. I eyed it warily at first, but the aroma of rich broth and herbs was too much to resist.

Leaning forward, I began to eat, savoring each bite.

It was strange; this form didn't require much food at all. A few spoonfuls of soup, a bite or two of bread, and I already felt comfortably full. I knew from my earlier experiments that if I returned to my normal size now, I'd be starving again within minutes.

I didn't understand how it worked, but I wasn't about to complain.

When dinner ended, the children leapt from their seats to help clear the table. Maevin stood, tucking me back into the crook of his arm as the nun motioned for him to follow.

Together, we made our way up the stairs and through a quiet hall to her office, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath Maevin's boots.