A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

I woke up with my tongue lolling out and my jaw sore from sleeping at the wrong angle.

The room was bright, and the quality of the afternoon light was already different from Sumire's dawn masses. I didn't miss waking up that early at all.

Someone was shaking me awake, careful but persistent. I lifted my head and squinted at the figure beside me. She was one of my attendants, looking just a bit nervous.

"Your Reverence," she said, "Please forgive my intrusion, but you must wake. We have many visitors. Nobles from four kingdoms are waiting outside, asking for an audience."

I blinked. It took a moment for the words to register in my mind.

"How many are there?" My voice came out rough.

My attendant glanced at a folded parchment. "Six parties, at least. More are waiting for a reply. Each delegation is led by someone of rank: ministers, merchant lords, a few envoys from the trading city-states." She hesitated, "They have gifts, Your Reverence. Some of them have waited since dawn, out of respect for Sunmire's traditions."

I sighed, got up, and stretched my body, feeling each vertebra pop into place. "Very well. Let them in, but only one group at a time."

She bowed and retreated out of my room. I took the time to go to the small pond outside of my room's terrace and washed my face, drying myself with a very large towel hung nearby.

By the time I finished, the first party was being ushered into the receiving hall. I passed them and entered into another room, a big chamber that was repurposed for me meeting delegates and the like.

The first noble was tall and wore a robe adorned with river and wheat motifs. His gift was a lacquered box of spices, sealed with wax and ribbons. He introduced himself as Lord Silvan of Lirion, the city-state known for its central market squares.

He bowed low, presented the gift, and spoke of new routes. "Our council believes a direct passage through Sunmire would benefit both our citizens," he said. "Lirion's airships carry twice the volume of our rivals. We offer to lower tariffs for Sunmire's tradeships, should your council accept an exchange."

I felt a quiet satisfaction, at least someone recognized the value of partnership and not just spectacle. But this was not my decision. My role was to observe and for my attendant who was listening at my side, to record.

"I appreciate your offer," I replied. "I am familiar with Lirion's history and its value as a trading kingdom. However, I hold no authority over Sunmire's agreements. I can only promise that your message will reach my council. Should we require an arrangement, Lirion will be the first we consider."

He seemed disappointed, but kept his composure. The conversation continued with details about tariffs, joint patrols, and security. I kept my answers polite but neutral, never promising anything.

After he left, my attendant let another party enter. This time, the noble wore a medallion in the shape of a golden coin, a sign of the Central Concord, known as Concordium in the trade records.

It was the beating heart of the continent's market, home to banks and mercantile houses. His delegation brought rare textiles, and the same pattern repeated: offers of business, talk of opening new credit lines, and requests for Sunmire's favor.

Before the Concordium envoys withdrew, I stopped them with a raised paw.

"Why do you not approach my siblings for these proposals?" I asked. "There are four… no, three other Godbeasts in Sunmire. Each of them have more direct influence in trade than I do."

The merchant lord from Concordium smiled, but there was fatigue behind his eyes. "Your Reverence, the council of Sunmire and the Five Bishops make such meetings difficult. We need formal approval, and even then, there is always another barrier. Here, outside of Sunmire, protocol is lighter. You are the only one we could meet so directly."

He hesitated, searching for a respectful phrasing. "With the others, we must go through endless circles of permission, and in the end, speak only through intermediaries. Here, in Kethra, we can address you directly."

I nodded. There was truth in his words. I had been the only one sent abroad in years, the one deemed expendable. Another realization left a bitter taste in my mouth. Perhaps they didn't care what promises I made since they would be null once I perished at the dungeon?

"I understand," I said quietly. "Thank you for your honesty."

He bowed. My attendant marked something in his records as the group left.

The next delegation brought gold-threaded silk, which they arranged in neat coils on the floor. Their lord bowed deeply, almost to the ground, before offering praise I did not need or care for. He asked only for the chance to touch my paw, to "greet divinity with reverence." I shook my head.

Others followed, each one bringing gifts, some more ostentatious than the last. A box of candied fruit, a carved bronze idol, coins from a different continent's hoard. A few envoys simply wished for a blessing or a signed token. Some grew bold, asking if they could snip a tuft of fur "for luck," as if I was a living relic. I refused every such request. I would not let them pluck me for talismans.

My patience held, but only just. I let my attendant manage the queue, his pen scratching over parchment as each group presented their case, pleaded their need, offered their alliances.

Then the scent reached me. It was bitter, familiar, like scorched iron and old sweat. My hackles rose without thought. My attendant glanced at me, noticing my change in posture.

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"Skip the next one," I said, voice sharper now. "I won't meet with anyone from Ferron."

He hesitated. "Your Reverence, he's already here, and his name is on the list."

"Remove him from it," I spoke quietly, but the authority in my words was clear.

Having made my stance clear, my male attendant went outside, stopping my other attendant from letting the Ferron bastards inside.

A commotion erupted just outside the room. The Ferron delegate's voice was raised, indignant. "I have waited six hours! I am owed an audience. This is an insult to Ferron!"

I stood. My paws pressed into the floor, body tense, but my expression stayed composed. I [awed to the doorway. The Ferron envoy, a man in a high-collared coat, his hair cropped to the scalp, stood just outside, arms crossed.

He straightened when he saw me.

"Delegate of Ferron, your presence here is noted. But your nation's debts are not forgotten. You will not be granted an audience. Return to your whatever filth you came from and cause no further disturbance, or you will be escorted out."

He opened his mouth, then shut it. My tone left no room for negotiation. He looked away, the lines on his jaw hardening, and turned without another word.

I watched him leave. My attendant closed the doors, and the other one returned to his records.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

Gifts and speeches, bows and endless requests. I endured it all, keeping my voice steady and my answers brief. Some nobles left pleased, others frustrated, but I had no energy left for their ambitions.

By evening, I was exhausted. My butt ached from sitting for hours. The last of the gifts were stacked in a corner, waiting to be catalogued.

When the last visitor was finally gone and the doors closed, I let myself collapse on the cushion and breathed out. The evening air was cool.

I wanted nothing more than silence, but instead, my attendants returned, carrying plates of food and several bottles of wine, a gift from one of the Concordium envoys. They set the dishes on a low table near me, arranging the plates in a neat line: roasted meats, seasoned grains, steamed roots, and fruit cut into geometric shapes.

They did it quietly.

I didn't wait for ceremony. I was already starving. I tore into the food and ignored etiquette, chewing and swallowing. About halfway through the first platter, I stopped, paws still greasy, and looked at the two of them.

They had retreated to the edge of the room, waiting for my next command.

"You both have served well," My voice quieter now, not so formal. "Since arriving in Kethra, you have been patient, even when I made it difficult. You have supported me."

They exchanged uncertain glances, unsure if this was a prelude to some reprimand or a test.

"Sit," I told them. "Eat with me."

The female attendant, the one who had arranged the guest list and handled the delegates, hesitated. "Your Reverence, we could never impose—"

"I'm not asking," I said. "I am telling you to join me. That is final."

A pause. Then the two of them glanced at each other again.

Reluctantly, they fetched spare plates from and knelt across from me. They moved slowly, as if expecting to be stopped, but I waited, not touching another bite until they began.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. They served themselves carefully, picking at the grains and fruit, their eyes lowered out of habit. The male attendant poured wine into a big bowl, putting it infront of me. I then nodded toward the bottle.

"Drink," I told them. "Relax. There are no high priests or the council here. No bishops or stewards. Only the three of us, and the hour is ours."

They exchanged glances again, something like disbelief this time. But they obeyed. The female attendant drank first, then the male. They each took another.

The room was a bit cold, but the wine, sweet and strong, kept us warm. Soon, I saw the flush rise to their cheeks. Their movements loosened, and the tension on their faces eased.

"Do you know our names, Your Reverence?" she blurted out suddenly, startling herself and the man beside her. "I bet you don't. You never use it! It's always 'attendant' or 'you there.' I bet you've never even thought to ask us!"

The man chuckled quietly. He looked ready to sink into the floor and disappear.

She straightened up, letting out more bravado. "I'm Elen. And this is Taris." Elen looked at me directly, chin lifted, as if daring me to say something.

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden candor. Alcohol had clearly dissolved the last of her restraint.

For a second, I was unsure what to say.

"I… I see. I will duly take note of that, Elen and Taris." I repeated their names.

She grinned, satisfied, and reached for more wine. "Good. You should use them sometimes. We're not just your attendants, we're your bodyguards!"

Elen gave a slow nod, mumbling something about it being a good night. His voice was barely a whisper.

Eventually, the wine did its work. Taris was the first to slump sideways, still clutching his cup, snoring softly. Elen lasted a few minutes longer, mumbling about duties before collapsing face-first onto the cushions.

Both of them lay sprawled on the floor, deep in an untroubled sleep. I watched them for a moment.

I stood, padding quietly to a nearby closet and pulling out a blanket, one of the thick ones set aside for Kethra's colder nights. I draped it over their bodies as best I could, careful not to wake them..

Satisfied, I returned to my own room. I intended to collapse on my bed and let the peace of my quarters take me. But as soon as I stepped through the doorway, I smelled a different scent, faint of oil and sweat. Old leather, sharp metal.

From the corners of my room, figures appeared.

Three, then four, dressed in black, faces hidden behind cloth masks.

One of them tilted his head, eyes narrow. "Why are you still conscious?" he demanded. "We laced your bowl with nightshade bellwort. Even beasts a couple times your size would have dropped dead already."

I didn't answer. I just stood there, my tongue hanging out, eyes half-lidded. It was supposed to be such a pleasant night, who were they to ruin it?

Another assassin, voice lighter, almost giddy, laughed. "It's no matter. Look at him. He's panting heavily right now. It's already working."

A third, standing by the window, scattered something into the air. The scent was floral and sweet. My nose twitched, but I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs as any pug might.

I let myself breathe it in since it was a pleasant fragrance.

"How… how are you still awake?" the one who threw it whispered, disbelief leaking into her tone. "That dose would've felled a drake."

The presumed leader cut her off with a hiss. "Quiet. Just kill him and be done with it. No more mistakes. Weapons out, now."

I didn't move. I simply stood there, staring at them, letting my tongue loll and my panting grow louder. They ruined my evening for this? I counted their weapons, measured the spacing between them, and felt my patience slip away. I waited for their first move.

To them, I must have looked pitiful: overfed, drunken, and poisoned.

And so, as soon as they rushed in, I raised my paw and swiped it down.