Upon awakening Amadeus was greeted by silence.

  Not the soft, known hush of a room at night, where shadows fall softly against walls and the distant hum of machines remind the world to keep breathing. This quiet was different. It was huge. It surrounded him from all sides, pressing onto him like an unseen presence. The air felt peculiar in his lungs, clean and fine, carrying scents unlike anything that he could remember.

  Then he felt it. A soft touch of grass brushed against his flank. A sense of wrongness seeped into him, slowly and unsettlingly awakening his comprehension. Grass was not something to rest upon. He was meant for cushions and folded blankets, for warm laundry piles and sunlit windowsills, where the world stayed safely contained. Grass was wrong, it belonged outside. Nothing a proper housecat should ever have to endure.

  His eyes opened, and they saw a sky that was impossibly large to be inside, an endless expanse of blue that was broken only by clouds that drifted lazily across the sky, as if time itself had decided to slow its movement. There were no ceilings, no corners and no soft luminescence of man-made light. Only open space and freedom that was both beautiful and deeply unsettling at the same time.

  There was a whole field around him, green grass swaying gently in the wind to look almost alive. The wind touched his fur, lifting the longer white hairs to caress his back. It was bringing strange smells of warm stone, distant water, and beneath them all, a sharp mineral scent touched his nose.

  There was no bed.

  No boy.

  No dog.

  The absence of them was more deafening than any sound this world could make. It was then, as he changed his position the he noticed something shimmering above him. Symbols gentle and translucent were floating just beyond his whiskers. They had a faint, living light, like ripples on water.

  Amadeus narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sharpening as he eyed the floating forms with distant disdain. There was something fundamentally wrong with these beings. He measured them, weighted the fact of their existence, and then, with an air of finality, dismissed them.

  If something wanted to be understood, it ought at least to go through the trouble of making itself worthy of his attention. The symbols flickered, their faint glow quivering was if the had taken offense, and then vanished without a single trace.

  Satisfied, Amadeus closed his eyes again, fully intending to return to sleep and let the universe take care of itself with him having nothing to do with it, having already done his part by simply awakening in the first place. And then, just as he was drifting back into sleep, something brushed lightly against his face. An irritating sensation tickled his nose. It was persistent, in an annoying fashion, pulling him unwillingly back from the edge of sleep.

  It brushed against his whiskers. Again and again. It was an insistent and utterly disrespectful sensation. Amadeus scrunched up his muzzle. He took a breath despite himself, and the scent that invaded his senses was bright, almost sweet. Annoyed by the intrusion he lifted one paw and brought it down heavily in an offended strike.

  The instant his paw made contact with it, light exploded. Golden sparks shot out all around him, popping and cracking against his fur as they scattered into the grass around him. He was jolted awake by the shock of it all. A sharp hiss of pure outrage exploded out of him. He sprang to his feet, fur puffed and tail lashing furiously as he gazed around the field searching for the offender. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. Only drifting motes of golden light that floated away into the air as if it had all been just an imagination.

  Amadeus stared at them for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Whatever this place was, it had just attacked him. That meant, sooner or later, it would have to answer for itself.

  It was movement that finally caught his eye—a subtle flutter above the grass a short distance off, drifting just low enough to catch his eye and just bright enough to offend him. It was moving slowly and carelessly, as if convinced it was invulnerable. Amadeus turned his head towards the disturbance, locking eyes on its source. He recognized the shape at once.

  A butterfly.

  Its wings were an impossible yellow, too vibrant to be natural They were trimmed with tiny threads of light which shimmered and bent with the motion as it flew. Every lazy flail of those wings had left behind a faint trail of glittering dust which seemed to cling for an instant before evaporating light a thought abandoned halfway through. It was beautiful in a very deliberate sense, as if the world had created something just to draw the eye.

  Amadeus’ pupils narrowed to sharp slits as his instincts awoke within him. At least that made sense. This world might be full of strange occurrences. Weird symbols might float here. A field might exist where a room should be. But a moving creature that shimmered and tried to be caught—that was something Amadeus understood completely. That was prey.

  He dropped down into the grass, his belly pressed close to the ground, his muscles folded inward beneath his fur like tightly coiled wire waiting to spring. All distraction ceased. The endless field and the vast blue sky faded into meaningless background noise. His focus sharpened into a perfect line, joining him to the fluttering piece of yellow shape ahead.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The butterfly floated by, seemingly unaware, dipping and rising as if buoyed by an invisible wave. It had no fear, nor did it seemed to even realize the danger that was closing in around it. The lack of awareness was not merely foolish. It was insulting.

  Amadeus advanced. Each foot was laid with delicate precision, paws sinking silently into the grass. His whiskers were angled forward and tail held steady for counterbalance. This action had been done a million times before, moving his body in one single, purposeful motion shaped by instinct and perfected over hunt after hunt. The distance slowed with painstaking slowness, every moment stretching thin with tension.

  The butterfly dropped lower. Amadeus sprang. His paw sliced through empty air as the butterfly danced out of the way at the last possible second. It spiraled upwards in a mocking arc. Amadeus landed with a soft thud, claws digging briefly into the earth.

  He stood there, transfixed, not in surprise, but in something much more deadly. In appreciation.

  And then, very slowly, his mouth began to curve into something which was not yet a smile, but which resembled one quite closely.

  Well now, he thought. You’re not that helpless after all.

  As he launched after it, the field seemed to stretch wider. Grass bent beneath his paws as he ran across the field. Each of his strides was smooth and powerful, every movement guided by instinct and driven by intent. The butterfly darted ahead of him, faster now. It slipped between the tufts of grass then rose in a sudden lift. The butterfly just swooped low enough for him to ger closer—as if wanting to be caught but refusing to surrender.

  Amadeus adapted. He shortened his stride and shifted his direction allowing his instinct and calculation to be merged into something seamless and precise. As the butterfly zigged, Amadeus prepared for the zag.

  As it rose up into the air, Amadeus waited until he felt tension building up within himself to a point when he leaped. This time he twisted in midair, his body rotating with ease and control. One paw swept upwards in an action that felt as natural as breathing. His claws closed around nothing but light.

  The butterfly didn’t struggle. It burst.

  A soft flare of yellow brilliance bloomed outward, enveloping his paw. The sensation spread through his limbs in a gentle and unmistakable touch that left behind as soft, lingering echo.

  Something chimed. It was not quite a sound, but a sense of something deep inside him, turning one precise notch forward. It was like an invisible mechanism adjusting. Amadeus landed softly on the ground and looked up. The warmth was still humming through him as he searched the air.

  Symbols appeared, yet again. They poured out over the space above him, glowing faintly as they shifted and rearranged themselves. Letters, or something resembling them, swirled about in haphazard clumps. The hung upside down; some were mirrored or partly overlapping in ways that did not make sense at all. Amadeus looked at them with a small degree of irritation as if they had let him down personally. The symbols pulsed once and then vanished.

  Just as suddenly the field responded. Light danced across the lawn in a series of ripples, like a breath drawn in reverse. And in an instant, the air was full of movement. More butterflies appeared, but this time by the dozens, each shining with a unique hue of light.

  Yellow, red and blue moved across the field, some drifting closer while others floated away. Each trailed its own shimmering light.

  The yellow ones had left behind soft golden sparkles that shone like dust in the sun. The red ones had shed ember-like sparkles that had momentarily glowed before vanishing into nothingness. The blue ones scattered cool, crystalline flecks that hung around longer, drifting down slowly as if unwilling to leave the air.

  Amadeus flicked his tail in one decisive move. The lights trembled and shimmered—fluttering around in displays of false innocence that made sure he would notice them.

  Well, he thought to himself. If you insist. He moved; his body already aligned towards the nearest glow.

  First came the yellow butterflies. They drifted low and careless, relying on their brightness. Amadeus took them down with ruthless efficiency. A small explosion of warm seeped into him after each capture. With each success, the symbols overhead changed, numbers climbed into place only to slide out of order again, dissolving into nothingness before he even could begin to decipher them.

  The red butterflies, on the other hand, were less forgiving. Their flight was sharp, with unexpected turns, and he had to give himself fully into each motion. He staggered once, missing them before correcting his course and adjusting his timing. When he finally caught the, the sensation was stronger, hotter. As the embers touched his core, they left a heat behind that lingered longer than after the yellow ones.

  The blue ones had waited, drawn him into a game of hide and seek, retreating whenever he pursued. Amadeus had slowed, his irritation suddenly flaring up. He permitted one of the butterflies to get close, as if he had lost interest, before suddenly attacking it. He caught it midair. The final blue butterfly melted into a burst of cool light, and the air itself quivered in response.

  Symbols swarmed the sky above him in a tidal wave. These were larger, brighter, and more insistent. Lines began to fall into place, only to dissolve again, as the letters almost aligned just to twist away at the last moment.

  Amadeus blinked, and in that moment of stillness, he knew something had changed.

  He could sense it within the still places of his body. His limbs felt lighter yet more dense. It was as if the world had shifted around him, redefining him without asking his permission. The very field seemed to be recognizing him on a different manner now. The blades of grass bent a little more easily under his feet. The ground carried his weight like it knew him.

  The symbols floated in the air around him, vibrating softly and they were no longer meaningless. The words were clear now.

  LEVEL UP

  Amadeus stared at them, then rose up to survey the seemingly endless fields, the expansive sky, and the distant horizon that seemed to go on forever.

  This was not a dream. This was a system. The realization dawned on him with a weight that was equal part irritation and fascination.

  The butterflies had not been prey. They had been tasks.

  He sat down, his tail curling neatly around his paws, letting the thought settle.

  Somewhere, elsewhere was a room, a boy, and a dog who cared too much and tried too hard. There it was warmth and fabric with scents of certain familiarity that spelled home and safety. But instead, there was this world that responded when he acted, flowing rules of unknown structure.

  The quietness made the ends of Amadeus’ ears softly twitch. He looked upwards at the floating interface once again, his eyes half-lidded, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  The world around him had changed. And for the first time since awakening, he wondered if he had changed with it.