You awaken to the sound of chanting.

This would be alarming if you weren’t also warm, well-fed, and kneading something expensive with all four paws. Incense curls through the air like visible metaphors. Silk brushes your fur. Somewhere nearby, a dozen grown adults are arguing about Heaven’s will.

You blink slowly, because blinking slowly feels correct.

Someone gasps.

“Did you see that?” a voice whispers. “The Immortal acknowledges us.”

You do not acknowledge anyone. You are busy wondering why your body has whiskers, why your balance is suddenly flawless, and why the most powerful man in the empire is kneeling slightly too close to your tail.