Death did not feel like a story. It felt like a mistake.
Arin slipped on a wet café step. His head hit the stone. For a moment everything went black. No music. No light. No grand last breath. Just quiet and then nothing.
Warmth came back in a strange way. The air smelled of old bread, wet stone, and smoke. Nearby people moved and shouted. Carts creaked over cobbles. The city was noisy and alive.
He tried to move. His body did not answer like it had before. When he tried to call, a small high sound came out. He froze, confused and afraid.
A shadow leaned over him.
A tall figure, face hidden under a hat, pushed a small cage toward him. Arin saw his reflection in a jagged piece of glass. Big round eyes. A tiny pink nose. Soft fur that looked like cotton. Hands—no, paws—so small they seemed useless.
He was not human.
A simple line of text appeared in his mind as if someone had placed a label above his head:
[REINCARNATION COMPLETE]
[SPECIES: FLUFFLET]
[RANK: F–]
[HP: 3/3]
[ATTACK: 0]
[OWNER: NONE]
The figure spat and said, "Flufflets never last. Too weak. Toss it."
Arin had no time to be proud. He had to move. The figure left him near a trash pile. He pushed himself forward and slipped under a torn cloth. Being tiny had one real advantage. Large creatures and busy humans did not see small things. He watched the market life from under the cloth.
People walked in loops. Carts always took the same path. Dogs and battle pets showed off their collars and runes. No one looked down.
That night he learned to be careful. Cold made his small body ache, but hunger made him sharp. He found stale bread behind a bakery. He set a crumb trail to lead a rat away from a jam jar. He slept on his belly under a vendor's stall with one eye open. He studied the sounds around him and learned their patterns.
By morning he had a map in his head. Where the trainers walked. When the meat carts came. Which alley was safe in daylight. Survival had rules. He read them like a book.
A soft sound came from behind crates later that day. Arin crawled closer and saw a young gargoyle backed into a corner. Its wings were small and soft, its stone skin cracked from a bad hatching. Around it circled three feral pets. They had scars and hungry eyes.
Arin had no teeth to match them. He had no claws that could rip. He had only ideas.
He squeaked, loud and sudden. The scavengers turned their heads. He threw a crumb to the left. One animal lunged for the food. The second moved after it. The third stepped too close to a loose rope on the ground and tripped. In the moment of confusion, the gargoyle beat its wings and tumbled past them. It ran free.
A woman by the alley clapped her hands in surprise. Someone said, "That tiny flufflet saved it."
Arin's heart pounded. He felt strange and awake. A new thought came into his mind:
[HIDDEN CONDITION TRIGGERED: REFUSAL TO SUBMIT]
[SKILL UNLOCKED: PREDATOR'S MIND (LOCKED — EVOLUTION REQUIRED)]
Predator's Mind. Strange words. But now, chaos made sense. Movements became lines. Voices and footsteps became rhythms he could read. Weak points showed themselves. Where a creature's weight would fall. How a cart's wheel might slide. Where a human would step two times before turning.
He had always been good at puzzles. Now his whole life became one large puzzle to solve.
From above, someone watched. Two bright eyes shone from a shadow near the market gallery. A soft voice whispered, "You don't know what you are waking."
Arin froze. The shadow watching him was not like the other animals. It was older. It carried the kind of patience that meant it had waited a long time.
The moon hung thin in the sky, pale and metal-like. Faint blue lines ran along the cobbles near his paws, like the veins of the city itself. Arin understood one thing:
The city was alive. It was watching him.
His tail twitched. He felt small and strange and also very focused. He had survived the night and the scavengers. Now something else had noticed him.
That night the soft voice came again from the gallery. Closer now. It said, "If you survive tonight, you may learn why you were reborn."
Arin felt a chill. He did not know the voice. It did not speak like a person. It spoke like the city.
He decided he had to learn more about himself. If the city had noticed him, then the city had more to give. Maybe answers were hidden where the light did not reach.
A few nights later, trouble arrived. People called them bounty hunters—sharp men who took rewards. They wore dark coats and spoke in low voices. They wanted strange things. They wanted pets that were odd or rare. They came to the lower market with lists and coins.
Arin crouched, muscles tight. The city hummed under him. He had come far from the trash pile where a tall figure had shoved a cage. He had learned to read steps and the breath of carts. His mind felt sharper. He could see more of the world now. But he also knew that being noticed made him a target.
A soft whisper brushed his ear from the dark: "They will come for you, little one. They will test what you are."
Arin's heart hammered. He had learned one critical truth already: the world gave chances and it also took them away.
He would not be taken without a fight.
Something large moved in the shadow. It was slow, and its steps made the stones tremble a little. Arin's small body flattened itself even more against the ground. He held his breath. The shadow paused. Two bright eyes looked down at him.
Then the thing spoke, not with words he could fully understand, but with a tone that sank into his bones:
"Wake, little hunter. Show me what you will do."