In the dark forests beyond the reach of men, there was a kingdom ruled not by law or reason, but by the iron fang of a wolf named Vorstag. Unlike his wild kin, Vorstag had no interest in mere survival—he craved dominion. And so, he built an empire, not of wolves, but of those he could bend to his will: the cats and the mice.

  At his word, the great feline generals—sly, nimble, and ruthless—organized their forces. They were not mere hunters but tacticians, whispering commands to the countless mice who scurried beneath them, willing or not. And today, those mice would march upon the village of Whisker Hollow, where their brethren lived in naive peace.

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  The night air was thick with tension as the moon cast long shadows over the gathered forces. Atop a jagged rock, Vorstag watched, his amber eyes gleaming in the dim light. The mice below, clad in scraps of armor and wielding makeshift weapons, trembled as the feline commanders barked orders.

  Tonight, the first battle would begin.

  To be continued...

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