A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

—Awoooo…

Saphiel's howl rang over the fields, echoing off the stone wall.

I took a trembling breath. It wouldn't be long before she found me. Better to face her on my terms than to be flushed out like game.

There, in the shadow of the rampart, I sat and waited.

Sure enough, I soon heard the soft thud of paws on earth.

From around the corner of a watchtower, a large shape emerged, moving gracefully in the dark.

Saphiel stepped into view, and my breath caught. She was in her Godbeast form—a sleek, imposing divine wolf taller than eight feet. Her fur seemed to drink in the moonlight, a soft radiance clinging to the edges of her silhouette.

She scanned the darkness, snout held high, until her gaze landed on me.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Up on the wall, a voice called down, "Commander Saphiel? Everything alright?"

So she was in charge here.

Saphiel didn't turn, she replied coolly, "All clear. Just some personal matters." Her eyes never left me.

We were effectively alone now, just the two of us in the dark field before the wall, hidden from the view of others.

Saphiel took a few slow steps toward me, nostrils flaring as she drank in my scent.

She stopped a short distance away, close enough that I could see the slight curl of her muzzle, the faint glow of her golden eyes narrowing. For a long, silent moment, we just looked at each other.

Finally, I mustered my voice. "Saphiel," I greeted, my tone caught between formal and uncertain.

She regarded me for a second longer, then in a swift shimmer of light, she changed forms.

In just a short moment, a woman stood where the Godbeast had been. Saphiel's human form was tall, her hair was a cascade of silvery-white, braided tightly in a martial style. She wore a simple tunic and fitted leather armor pieces. But her amber eyes, very reminiscent of our mother, remained the same, pinning me with their intense focus.

As for me, I had no human form to assume. So I remained as I was.

She spoke, her voice sounding like a cool beauty's, "Little brother. I could smell you on the wind. I almost didn't believe it."

I swallowed. My throat felt dry. "Why are you here?" I asked. It came out more accusatory than I intended.

One of her white brows arched slightly at my tone. "Why am I here?" she repeated, as if tasting the question for any hidden meaning.

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. "Ferron has allied with a neighboring nation," she answered matter-of-factly. "They're threatening an incursion across this border, so I was deployed to ensure it stays secure."

Her gaze swept over me from head to paw. "But maybe the better question is… why are you here, Pophet?"

Hearing my name from her lips after so long made me flinch. I tried to steady myself, standing a bit taller. "I was just—" I began, then faltered.

What could I say?

That I was fleeing from my own guilt? That I had nowhere else to go? My ears lay back against my head unconsciously.

Saphiel took two slow steps closer. We were only a few paces apart now. I saw her nose wrinkle as she took in my scent again. "You smell of blood and dirt," she noted bluntly. "And you look…"

Her eyes roamed over my mud-stained fur, the leaner musculature I'd developed, the undoubtedly haunted look on my face. "...different."

Her expression remained unreadable. She looked up slightly so that she was looking at me straight in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth," she said quietly. "Did Grand Vicar Talem send you? Or one of the other bishops? Are you here on some mission I wasn't told about?" There was a sharpness to her voice now.

I shook my head. "No. Nothing like that. No one sent me."

"Then why are you here?" She tilted her head, and I caught a glimmer in her eyes that seemed to have pieced a few things together. "Ah, it was you who didn't help." She didn't look away as she added, "They say a Godbeast made an appearance at the landslide at Maple's Rest. I thought it was Vaelric who ignored their pleas since he doesn't care about human lives."

My stomach lurched. So she knew at least the official story.

I dropped my gaze to the grass between us. "It's true," I said in a strained voice. "All of it. I ran away and didn't help." My breath shuddered. "People died because of me."

Saphiel was silent for a long moment. When I dared lift my eyes, she was still staring, but her expression had changed. She looked a bit perplexed, perhaps.

Maybe she hadn't expected me to admit it so plainly. Or maybe she was surprised I felt remorse.

"So you ran," she repeated softly.

Despite my shame, a spark of defensiveness flared. "Don't act like you're surprised," I muttered, a faint growl in my voice. "Isn't that what you all expected of the useless mutt? That I'd screw up and then turn tail?"

Her eyes flashed. "No, I didn't expect this from you," she retorted.

I flinched as if slapped.

A tense quiet fell between us. My ears flattened, and hot embarrassment swirled with hurt and anger inside me.

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I wasn't even sure who that anger was directed at..

Saphiel folded her arms. "Pophet, do you have any idea what it's been like hearing the rumors trickle in?" she asked, her voice tight. "The soldiers gossip when they think I'm not listening. When we were younger, our own priests, priests of our faith, whisper that the youngest heir was a pathetic mutt."

She practically spat the last word, "mutt." I bristled, a flash of heat shooting through me.

"Oh, so now you care what they say about me?" I snapped before I could stop myself. "That's new. You and the others never gave a damn before. You left me to hear those whispers alone for years!"

She actually took a step back, eyes widening a fraction at my outburst.

I never once raised my voice to my siblings, but once the dam broke, all the resentment came pouring out. "I was never part of the family to you, was I? Just some disgrace you tolerated because Mother insisted. I'm just the weakling who stained Mother Aurelith's blood. Don't pretend otherwise."

A low growl crept into my voice. I realized I was baring my fangs. But out here, after everything I'd endured, I wasn't going to just roll over. Even if she decided to fight me, at least I would speak my piece.

Saphiel's face hardened. "I treated you as I had to," she said, her next words sharper than the last. "You never wanted to be part of us. Always hiding in books or sneaking off on your own. Looking at us with those disdainful eyes like we were beneath you."

"Disdainful…?" I blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about? I never—"

"Don't lie," she cut in, voice rising. "Ever since we were little, you had that look. Like you were above us. Like you were older than us, judging every little thing we did wrong. It was unnerving, I wanted to talk with you, and yet, I could see in your eyes that you were silently criticizing us."

I stumbled back a half step, stunned by this revelation.

Did I really? .

But Saphiel's voice barrelled on, years of pent-up feelings spilling out:

"You think we just ignored the priests' gossip about you? That we didn't care?" Her eyes were intense, unwavering. "I heard them call you unworthy behind your back. I heard them sneer that you were a mistake. It made my blood boil, because—"

Her voice caught, and she snapped her mouth shut abruptly. She looked away for a second, composing herself.

When she spoke again, her tone was scathing, "Because if you truly were our mother's son, you should have roared back at them. But you didn't. You just took it. You let humans walk all over you with their words and did nothing. Nothing!"

Her eyes shimmered with an emotion I struggled to identify.

I realized that in her own way, Saphiel had been offended on my behalf. But my inaction, my passive acceptance of disrespect, had angered and alienated her.

"One moment you seemed beyond us, the next you were cowering. It made me angry," she continued, quieter now. "That disparity… I didn't understand you at all. "

My throat tightened. This was the most honest conversation we'd had in our entire lives. It was almost too much to process. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, equal parts shame and a twisted relief that at least now I knew what she'd thought of me.

"And what about Mother?" she said softly, opening her eyes to pierce me with that golden gaze. "She believed in you. Light above knows why, but she did. She spent more time with you in her final month than with any of us."

Ah. There it was, the raw wound underneath all this.

Mother Aurelith's favoritism, or what they perceived as such.

I had been too wrapped up in my own insecurities to notice at the time, but looking back, maybe Mother had doted on me more. That must have sown seeds of resentment.

"And then she died," Saphiel went on, her voice losing its steadiness for the first time. "She died, and how did you honor her?" Her eyes looked at me with resentment. "You hid. For three years, Pophet. Three years, shut in your room feeling sorry for yourself while the rest of us trained for the faith and gave people hope."

Each sentence hit like a hammer. I opened my mouth, guilt crashing over me. "I felt , I—"

Saphiel's composure finally cracked; she shouted at me, "You think you were the only one who felt lost? She was our mother too!" Her voice echoed over the field, raw and furious and pained. "But we didn't have the luxury to collapse like you did. We didn't, because we knew what she expected of us. We are her pride, her heirs, the embodiment of her faith. We had to be strong for Sunmire, no matter how much it hurt."

Her chest was heaving. I stood, head bowed, utterly mute. What could I possibly say? She was right. Every word.

After Mother Aurelith died… after the bishops berated me, I retreated from my family and my duties; I left the burden on them.

Saphiel swiped at her eyes.

To my shock, I saw tears there before she brushed them away. She quickly regained some of her steely posture. "We are supposed to be her legacy. And you… What did she see in you? Why did she spend her last moments with you? You, who shamed that legacy by hiding and running away from everything."

By now, tears were silently spilling down my own face and dripping onto the grass. Each accusation was a knife twisting in my heart, but I knew I deserved it. I had failed them all.

"I don't know," I whispered brokenly. "I never understood what she saw in me, either. I never wanted to disappoint her—"

I lowered myself onto my belly, ears flat, tail curled around me. I couldn't stop crying now-; soft, pathetic whines escaped from my throat despite my effort to choke them down.

"You're right," I managed to say, "About all of it. I've failed. I failed Mother. I failed our people. And I failed our siblings."

Admitting it out loud hurt almost physically, but it was the truth. Saphiel deserved to hear me say it.

A heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant crackle of a torch on the wall and the nighttime chorus of crickets. I kept my face down, unable to look at Saphiel any longer. I half expected her to just leave, to walk away in disgust and let the guards deal with me.

Perhaps that's what I deserved.

I heard the grass rustle as she stepped closer. I braced, not sure what was coming—a kick, perhaps? Some final cutting remark?

Instead, her voice came quietly and surprisingly gentle, from right above me.

"Stand up," she said.

I sniffled and dared to lift my head. She was standing over me, frowning.

I hesitated, so she repeated more firmly, "On your feet, Pophet. Stand up straight."

On shaky limbs, I pushed myself up from the ground and stood, doing my best to square my shoulders or as much as a quadruped can.

Saphiel lifted her chin and looked down her nose at me. But her own eyes were a bit red at the edges, and her voice, when it came, was softer. "We are the heirs of Lady Aurelith," she said, almost in the cadence of a recitation. "We carry her blood and her legacy. Whether we like each other or not, that's the truth."

Her gaze searched my face for a long second. "Tell me I'm wrong, Pophet. Tell me you're not running away for good."

I opened my mouth, but at first nothing came out. In my heart, I genuinely hadn't decided until this moment. What was my plan? Run forever? Go somewhere no one knew me and live as a beast?

My silence must have been telling. Saphiel's eyes flashed and hardened. "If you run away from here," she said, each word clipped, "then don't ever come back."

It wasn't just a warning; it was a line in the sand. If I chose to keep running now, I would be dead to her.

My voice came out very small. "If… If I go back," I said haltingly, "I don't know how to make things right."

Saphiel's stance eased just a fraction. She let out a breath through her nose. "You start by standing with us," she replied. "You start by not hiding." Her eyes bored into mine. "Prove Mother wasn't wrong about you. Or at least try. That's all any of us can do."

It might have been the closest thing to encouragement I'd ever gotten from Saphiel. It wasn't flowery, but it felt genuine. She was willing to give me a chance to prove myself. To prove Mother's faith in me had not been misplaced.

I nodded weakly, the decision solidifying in my chest. "Alright," I murmured, voice cracking. I swallowed and tried again, louder: "Alright. I'll… I'll come back. I'll face it."

She gave a curt nod. "Very well."