[ System Achievement: Get Your Shit Together ]

  Your second chance at life in a world of magic is super hard and all, but you’re getting your shit together and moving forward. You need to grow strong, meditate to become one with your inner being or something, and learn how to channel mana into magic to become the divine murder bunny I know you can be.

  [ Achievement Reward: full access to your emotions ]

  “Murder what?” she asked faintly. The glowing words disappeared without answering.

  Another message replaced it.

  [ You are not alone, Miri. ]

  The words blurred.

  Not because the light was too bright, but because her eyes suddenly couldn’t keep up with the tears spilling out of them.

  Miri’s breath hitched once.

  Then again.

  And then the dam broke.

  The fear came first—raw and animal, slamming into her chest hard enough that she folded forward on the couch, arms wrapping around her middle as if she could physically hold herself together. Her heart raced, too fast, too loud, pounding with the certainty that something was wrong and she had missed the moment when she should have run.

  “I— I— ” Her voice snagged uselessly in her throat.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  The cave felt too small. Too quiet. Too empty.

  Mason.

  The thought hit like a punch. Images crashed through her mind in no particular order: Mason’s grin at the edge of the lake, Mason’s voice in the tight crawlspace telling her to keep moving, Mason’s boots beside hers at every trailhead since they were old enough to lace them.

  Where was he?

  Was he hurt? Was he alone? Was he scared and pretending not to be, the way he always did when he thought she needed him to be steady?

  Was he back in that crystal cave? Was he stuck down there in the bowels of the Earth with her dead body?

  What if he was out there somewhere calling her name and she wasn’t answering?

  What if she never found him?

  The panic spiraled, faster and faster, until her vision tunneled and her hands started to shake. She dragged in a breath that felt like it scraped her lungs raw, then another, tears dripping off her chin and onto the rug she hadn’t asked for.

  She pressed her forehead into her knees.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered to no one. “I don’t know how to do this alone.”

  Loneliness followed the fear, heavy and suffocating. Not the absence of people—she’d been alone before—but the absence of him. The quiet where his presence should have been. The missing counterweight that had always kept her balanced, even when she was sprinting headlong into danger.

  Confusion layered on top of it all. Magic. Death. Systems. Gods. Talking cats. None of it fit together, and her brain kept trying to reject the whole thing like a bad transplant.

  This wasn’t real.

  This couldn’t be real.

  She squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to see stars, half-expecting to wake up on cold stone again, or in a hospital bed, or anywhere that made sense.

  Nothing changed.

  The fear didn’t go away but slowly, haltingly, it stopped escalating.

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  Miri focused on her breathing the way she had in tight spaces underground. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Count the seconds. Anchor yourself to something solid.

  She opened her eyes.

  The couch was still there. The tea was steaming. The room still existed.

  And she was still breathing.

  Minutes passed. Maybe more. The bonfire didn’t vanish, but it burned itself down to embers she could carry without being consumed by.

  Her shoulders slumped as exhaustion set in, deep and bone-heavy.

  “…Okay,” she muttered hoarsely. “Okay.”

  She wiped her face with the heel of her hand, sniffed, and straightened up with the stubborn dignity of someone who refused to be seen completely falling apart. Even if the only witness was a supernatural feline.

  Only then did she look up.

  The cat had not moved.

  It hadn’t interrupted. Hadn’t offered platitudes. Hadn’t told her to be brave or strong or grateful for her second chance.

  It had simply waited.

  Miri swallowed, her throat tight but steady enough now to speak.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I think I just— needed a minute.”

  The cat inclined its head slightly, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.

  “Emotion suppression is an inelegant tool,” it said. “But effective. The return is… rarely gentle.”

  Miri huffed weakly. “Yeah. That’s quite the understatement.”

  She took one more breath, deeper this time, and picked up the teacup with careful hands.

  “Okay,” she said again, more firmly. “I’m good. I mean. Not good. But functional.”

  She met the cat’s bright, unsettling eyes.

  “Now,” she said, voice still rough but steady, “you can tell me who you are and what the hell is going on.”

  The cat’s mouth curved slowly upward into a grin so wide it bordered on theatrical.

  “My name,” he said proudly, “is Lord Squishybottom Fluffkins.”

  Miri lost it.

  The sound burst out of her before she could stop it—a sharp bark of laughter that snowballed into helpless giggles, then full-bodied, gasping guffaws. She folded forward, clutching her middle as tears again streamed down her face, laughter shaking loose everything that had been knotted tight inside her.

  “Oh my god—I’m—I’m sorry—” she wheezed, barely able to breathe.

  She forced herself upright, mortified, already scrambling for an apology, only to find him holding both paws up, entirely unoffended.

  “Miss Miri,” he said serenely, “I assure you that I am fully aware of how ridiculous my name is.”

  He hopped down from his chair and paced a small, dignified circle.

  “My name has been Jack. And Simon. And Mittens. I am currently on my fourth life, and in this one my mistress named me Lord Squishybottom Fluffkins.”

  He lifted his chin high, pride radiating from every inch of his fluffy form.

  “I bear it with dignity.”

  Then he cracked, whiskers twitching as a grin split his face.

  “You may call me Fluffkins. I only use my full name when I have to visit the healer for my yearly checkups. The assistants absolutely love seeing it on the paperwork.”

  His tail flicked back and forth with visible satisfaction.

  Miri snorted despite herself, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. The laughter ebbed, leaving her wrung out and oddly lighter, like she’d finally exhaled after holding her breath for too long.

  “Okay,” she said hoarsely. “Fluffkins.”

  He padded over and, without ceremony, hopped up onto the couch beside her. The cushions dipped under his weight, warm and solid and very real.

  “Now,” he said, folding his paws neatly in his lap, “let us discuss what happens next.”

  Miri straightened, instinctively bracing. “Training.”

  “Yes.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Fluffkins considered. “You will be sore in places you did not know you possessed.”

  She winced. “How long?”

  “Several weeks. Perhaps more. We will see how quickly you adapt.”

  She hesitated. “And… you’re teaching me?”

  “I am,” he said simply.

  Miri glanced at his fluffy paws, then at his calm, assessing eyes. “No offense, but—”

  “—I am a cat,” he finished. “A fair concern.”

  He smiled again, gentler this time.

  “Each time I am reborn, I choose a different path. A different class. I have been a mage, a duelist, a scout, a scholar, a healer, and several things that do not translate cleanly into your language.” His ears twitched. “This has made me very difficult to kill permanently and extremely irritating to my enemies.”

  That earned a real smile from her.

  “You have no experience,” Fluffkins continued, “which makes you ideal. You have no bad habits to unlearn. No rigid assumptions. I will teach you how power works before I teach you how to wield it.”

  “And if I mess up?”

  “You will,” he said cheerfully. “Frequently. That is how one learns.”

  Miri leaned back into the couch, staring up at the fireballs stuck to the cave ceiling.

  “Okay,” she said quietly. “Then… teach me.”

  Fluffkins’ tail gave a pleased little flick.

  “Excellent,” he said. “We’ll begin in the morning. Try to get some rest. Tomorrow, I will show you just how many ways the universe is prepared to hurt you.”

  She huffed a tired laugh.

  “Can’t wait.”

  Fluffkins smiled, sharp and knowing. With kindness in his eyes.

  For the first time since she woke up alone in the dark, Miri didn’t feel quite so unmoored.