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At the dawning of the world, when dark, ancient things from the time before grudgingly intermingled with the young, pristine creatures of the world of now, there was the Kingdom of Vulk where all species of fox lived. Ruling Vulk from its glorious capital of Nigh was King Taulon who sat upon a throne of jade and upheld the laws of his father's father's father. Always at his side was his beautiful wife, Lirrus, queen of Vulk and forever the jewel of Taulon's eye.

All the ladies of the court could not compare to the voluptuous and graceful vixen that was their queen. Her fur was the color of gold and her hair was sleek and snowy white, tumbling down over her shimmering blue eyes. It is said that when the jackal king of Len returned from his visit to Vulk he divorced all of his twenty-seven wives, stating that none of them could even hope to compare to Lirrus' beauty.

She was dressed in the greatest fineries her husband could produce; white silks stitched with gold threads, frosty jewels which glistened icily from her delicate fingers, along with earrings of shining silver and cuffs and anklets of ruby studded platinum. But no jewel or robe Taulon gave her could accurately convay how much he loved her.

A week before Lirrus' twenty-eighth birthday, Taulon sought a gift that would put all others to shame. For most of the morning and afternoon he sat in restless contemplation on his jade throne while matters of state went unattended. As the sun sank into the horizon, and the king had nearly given up all hope, a messenger from the nearby towns to the east entered the vast, vaulted throne room.

The fox told his king of a kitsune that lived in the woods by their towns. She killed and ate their livestock and broke into their houses in the dead of night to steel their valuables. Sometimes she would even creep into their dreams while they slept, leaving all who lived there paranoid and unnerved. As the fox continued to speak a small, reserved smile formed on the king's face, confident that his search for a gift was over.

After the messenger had bowed and taken his leave, King Taulon called forth one of his royal commanders.

"There is a kitsune in the forest east of here," Taulon said. "Go forth and bring me its heart."

"Yes, my king," the commander replied with a stiff bow.

As dusk fell to night a hundred men marched from the city gates, headed east along curvy roads. By morning they had reached the town the messenger had originated from and by mid-afternoon they were deep in the forest he told of. Their march fell to a stumbling hike as they traversed steep hills and uneven terrain in the darkness beneath the thick canopy. They followed a stream which lead them deeper into the primordial woods to an ancient valley, undisturbed by the foxes of Vulk.

It was in that valley where they found the ruins of a great temple from the world before, half engulfed by the forest. And it was there, far within, that they found the kitsune sleeping upon her pile of stolen belongings before a shattered alter. Her fur was as green as the forest around them with short, unkempt hair. Even from a laying position she looked tall, just a hair taller then the commander's largest soldiers. And there were iron rings in her nipples and bands of bronze decorated each of her six tails.

With quiet precision the commander and a dozen soldiers snuck up to the kitsune and with lightning speed they bound her arms and legs with rope and heavy chains made of silver. The kitsune awoke an instant later in screaming anger, snarling as she thrashed in her bonds. The foxes all moved away in terror, all except for the commander who moved cautiously toward the enraged creature, unsheathing his sword.

With a single swing, the blade cut deep into the kitsune, gashing open her chest, sending blood bounding across the pile of stolen objects. She thrashed and roared and her eyes glowed a fiery white as she mouthed something no one could understand. The earth trembled and the stone walls and ceilings began to crack and crumble. Men fled the temple in horror, all except for the commander whose nerves of steel drove him forward toward the dying kitsune.

He leaned over the creature and with a shaky hand he reached into her hot, bloody chest. There came the sound of popping tendons and the tearing of flesh and the commander yanked as hard as he could, pulling forth from her wound a red gem the size of his fist. The gem was alive with swirling colors of white and black and red, like a storm at the heart of the sun. Quickly, he stored the gem in the confines of a pouch on his belt and ran as fast as he could out of the disintegrating temple.

The commander and his men returned to gleaming Nigh just as the day turned to dusk and the moon hung gibbous above. Bowing low, the commander presented the stone to Taulon and was rewarded with a great feast in his honor and chests of gold stacked one on top of the other.

When the hour had grown late and the feasting had concluded, King Taulon descended deep into the bowls of the palace to the Hall of Fire where royal sorcerers gathered close to see the heart of the kitsune.

"Work the heart," the king commanded, "into a pendent for my sweet Lirrus. Make it so that it shines always and never losses its luster. Make it the glorious centerpiece of your queen."

The head sorcerer eyed the heart intently.

"To make a pendent in honor of the beautiful Queen Lirrus will take time, my king," he explained. "Return in six days and we shall have it ready for you."

"Six days?"

The sorcerer nodded.

"Something this delicate cannot be rushed," he explained.

"Fine," the king replied. "Six days, but no more."

And with that the king turned and made his ascent to the palace above, leaving the sorcerers to go about their work.

As the days passed the city swelled with people from all corners of Vulk to herald the coming of Queen Lirrus' twenty-eighth birthday. Nobles from the north intermingled with peasants from the south while woodsmen from the east drank delicious wine brought by travelers and wanderers from the west. Princes and princesses from a dozen different lands slept and lounged in the best inns in Nigh, their gift filled caravans clogging every onyx paved street that led to the palace.

The days for Taulon passed in relative quickness as he buried himself in matters of state. He ensured that the city guards were well supplied and manned while he listened to his master of seed and game ramble on and on about how the amount of people flooding the city had put a great strain on their stores of food, never once giving good council on how to remedy the problem. He dined with each prince and princess, every great lord and noble lady, tasting so many delicacies that he feared he would become too fat for his clothes. He made sure to sit Lord Terrav and Lord Murhab next to him at the great feast and made sure that Lord Staln and Lord Morrin would sit as far away from one another as possible. All the while sorcerers worked.

On the morning of Lirrus' birthday, when bells tolled and all of Nigh rejoiced in celebration, the fox king descended once more into the depths of the palace. The sorcerers met him at the entrance to the Hall of Fire, dressed in robes of crimson trimmed in black.

"Well," Taulon demanded. "Where is it?"

The head sorcerer drew close and from within his robes he withdrew a great, glistening spectacle that made Taulon's eyes grow wide. The heart had been cut into a smooth, octagonal prism, gleaming redly as the colors inside it swirled and billowed on. Gold incased it, worked to near perfection with no scratch or scuff to defile it. Set in the gold were gemstones of amethyst, and citrine, ruby, and topaz, opal and onyx, each one cut into the likeness of prancing kitsunes. Inscribed at the top were five words; 'The heart of my world.'

"Is it to your likening, my king," the head sorcerer asked.

Taulon held it by its silver chain, inspecting each atom of it.

"Yes," he finally said.

From within his own robes, the king withdrew a cloth bag filled to the brim with diamonds.

"For all your hard work," he said.

At the feast that evening the fox king gave his gift to Lirrus. Her wide, excited smile made his heart swoon and jump and in that moment he knew he had found a gift worthy of her love and beauty.

After the celebration had ended and all the princes and princesses had left to their far off countries and the lords and their ladies had returned to their respectful lands, life continued on as usual. King Taulon attended to his regal business, the sorcerers studied their dusty books in the Hall of Fire, the people of Nigh lounged languid and happy in the summer heat, and Lirrus sat queenly by her husband, the pendent always around her neck.

Then, in mid-summer, came the one-hundred and first anniversary of the rearing of Nigh when every drink was free and every meal was a feast. Every inch of the capitol was engulfed in drunken revelry and the city guards ascended high to the rooftops with longbows and shortswords, keeping ever vigilant for riots or fires while letting smaller crimes in the streets below go unnoticed. The taverns overflowed with people and the brothels closed midway through the day so the girls could rest.

A parade ran right through the middle of the city with trumpeters and drummers and soldiers marching in uniform while scantily clad vixens danced behind them. The parade ran right past the palace and from a balcony high above, Taulon and Lirrus watched it all happily.

"I feel tired," Lirrus said all of a sudden.

"Tired," Taulon asked, looking away from the spectacle. "Then perhaps you should return to bed. The celebrations will still be here when you awake."

"Maybe..."

Her voice trailed off as she got up from her seat. She walked toward the door behind, but when she reached the middle of the room she stopped and cradled her head. Then she murmured something, low and indistinguishable, and her legs buckled and she fell hard to the floor.

By nightfall the queen had developed a horrible feaver and she moaned and cried as it ravaged her. The palace doctors were at a loss and the potions and elixirs brought up from the Hall of Fire could only sooth her. All the while Taulon stayed at her bedside, keeping a watchful eye on her as the night went on and celebrations outside faded.

The following morning saw no change in her condition and as the day progressed her illness became more dire. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her bloodshot eyes drooping darkly as she mumbled incoherently in words that no one could understand. She would not talk to anyone directly, and Taulon had to coax her to eat and drink, the smell of food seeming to be reviling to her.

The king sat by her side for three days until finally, when Lord Staln and Lord Morrin came to the palace arguing about a land dispute, he was called away. For most of the day he listened to the red and black foxes yell at one another across a long table about a strip of land that one had stolen from the other. As evening turned to dusk the king commanded wine to be brought up from the cellars, hoping to bring things to a close, but it was still hours before drowsiness and drunkenness got the better of them. With bleary eyes Taulon climbed the steps to his room and passed out upon his bed still fully clothed.

He slept for what felt like years until the sounds of bells and the loud banging at his door awoke him. One of the king's stewards threw open the door and ran inside.

"King Taulon," the young fox stammered. "It's the queen... s-she... she..."

He couldn't finish, but Taulon knew what was wrong. In an instant the king was on his feet and bounding past the steward; then down the great, vaulted halls to Lirrus' room. There he found the palace's royal doctors standing over the limp body of his wife and shock coupled with anguish drove him stumbling forward to the bed where she laid.

"She passed just moments ago, my king," one of the doctors said. "The fever was too much for her, but she was peaceful in her final moments."

They moved Lirrus' body a short time later, but Taulon stayed kneeled by the bed, holding the jewel pendant he had given his wife. It shined brilliantly in the morning light, more glorious than ever before and as he tumbled it between his fingers he detected an odd odor emanating from it; not the familiar, rigid smell of metal or the sweet scent of Lirrus' perfume, but of the deep woods, mossy and cool, and unforgiving.

When the sun was at its zenith, the sorcerers from the Hall of Fire were called to the throne room. It was empty save for the king who glowered at them with livid eyes and the soldiers who stood at perfect attention, staring coldly from along the walls.

"What did you do to this," the king snarled, holding out the jewel. "What curse did you put on it?"

"We did as you commanded, my king," their leader stammered hesitantly. "Nothing else. We swear it!"

Taulon's expression did not change.

"We know what you suspect us of," another sorcerer said timidly, "but we are loyal to you. Completely. It's just... the heart. It comes from a powerful being. No living member of our order has actually seen a kitsune heart and we thought we could use the written accounts to do as you wished, but many of the texts have faded and... and..."

The sorcerer was silenced by Taulon's rage filled stare and the black robed foxes were sent away. By dusk their heads decorated the main gate of Nigh.

Lirrus' funeral was short and closed to everyone except Taulon who stood grief stricken above her coffin, his eyes hard and red. He didn't say anything the entire time; not when she was carried through the gardens passed rows of crying people, nor when they sealed her in the cold crypt beneath the palace.

The following weeks brought on a deep seclusion. Taulon shunned all contact except for his stewards who came and went from his room in a quiet, reserved fashion. When members of the court asked them what the king was doing in there all day and night, the stewards told them firmly that the king's business was none of their concern. But stories still abounded. Most entailed him sitting before his fireplace and starring at Lirrus' pendant as he gulped down cupfuls of wine until he passed out.

Since he had no heirs, lords from all over Vulk assembled with their daughters at the palace, each one hoping to be uncle to a prince. But the king greeted none of them and quickly had them all sent away. Each one skulked home embarrassed and angry and quite baffled at their king's motives.

Summer fell to autumn and the palace grew cold. The harvest feasts which had filled the great halls with song and laughter in times past found no place there. The days grew shorter and the nights became colder and still Taulon kept silent in his room. Once in a while people saw him walking about the palace, usually very late or very early, saying nothing while his eyes stayed low to the floor. The servants and cooks talked about him as if he were a ghost roaming about the corridors in dead hours; Rarely doing anything else seeing as meetings of court came sparsely and fewer and fewer guests were ever called upon.

Then the frozen silence was shattered by the yelling of Lords Staln and Morrin as they walked up to the steel gates of the palace. Taulon seethed with anger as he watched them ascend the marble steps from his window and he quickly called for one of his stewards.

"They aren't welcome here," he snarled. "Not in Nigh, not in the palace, and certainly not in my sight."

"But, my king--"

"Do as I command!"

His advisors came shortly after, pleading that his council was needed to resolve Morrin's and Staln's dispute, but he would hear none of it. So thus absolving himself of any responsibility, the king returned to his solitude and matters were left in the hands of the two feuding lords.

A few weeks later Taulon's advisors returned again, this time saying that Lord Staln and Lord Morrin were in open war with each other. But the king showed no interest in this. Nor did he show interest when his advisors came with news that other lords were taking sides and the war was expanding, enveloping all of Vulk. At night the people of Nigh could see the horizon glow bright orange as fires burned the towns and farms along the country side. Even as whole cities were drawn into the fighting, and the lands of Vulk were pillaged by rival lords the king said nothing, did nothing, planned nothing, and it was then that the people lost faith in him. Eventually his advisors stopped bringing him news, knowing what his response would be.

Then came the reports from Vulk's northern border, each one telling of wolves sweeping down across frozen landscape in a ragging torrent, moving further and further south with each new report. They came in considerable numbers to take advantage of Vulk's devastating war, each wolf seeking their own riches and glory.

By then Lords Staln and Morrin were dead, slain in battle, and their oldest sons had claimed their titles. The palace sent word to both of them, telling them to make peace and march north with all their men, but neither of them saw Taulon as their king. They believed that they could fight with each other, and avenge their dead fathers while defending themselves against the fast approaching hord at the same time.

One by one the great cities of Vulk were plundered by the wolves. War weary armies were shattered by their advance and millions of foxes fled further and further south. The capitol was overwhelmed with refugees and tent towns sprouted along the walls. Food became scarce and vixens sold their finery to afford stale bread and moldy cheese. The city guards dispelled of order and their ranks were rife with bribery.

The nights grew colder and the winds screamed frigidly and each morning saw more and more dead from exposure littering the city streets. The once bountiful granaries were empty and stalls at the great bazaar couldn't even sell rotting fruit. Theft was rampant, especially in the richer districts of the city whose inhabitants could no longer afford honest guards, and murder became common place amongst the desperate and broken throngs. All of Nigh drowned in despair and when it seemed that things couldn't possibly get any worse the sentries atop the walls saw the wolf banners waving in the snow speckled wind and the thousands of armored figures marching across the barren earth.

Taulon's advisors stammered as they pleaded to him by his simmering fireplace.

"My king," one of them said shakily, "the men are afraid. They need a figure to look up to, to stand with them. If you were up there it could bolster their spirits."

The king took a gulp of rich red wine from his cup and gave them all a crooked smile. His eyes had grown glassy and sunken and his crimson fur was dull and faded. In his hand he clutched Lirrus' pendant, gleaming just as beautiful as ever.

"Tell the men to make themselves ready," Taulon said.

His advisors excitedly assumed the best and they ran through the palace halls exclaiming how the king would be up on the battlements to defend his city. They dispatched riders from the palace with the same message, traveling every street and alley way of Nigh. But when the snow picked up and the wolves commenced their siege it was only the inexperienced soldiers and officers on the battlements and only Taulon's advisors giving orders from the jade throne.

The wolves were masters of siege warfare and their powerful trebuchets brought down the city walls in only a single hour. They stormed the city with steel swords that could cut a fox clean in two and they descended upon the soldiers with a terrifying ferociousness. Then they pillaged, burned, looted, killed, and raped their way up to the palace where they ripped down the surrounding steel gate.

The palace guards fought them floor by floor, spire by spire until they finally succumbed to the onslaught; Along with Taulon's advisors who were taken out and beheaded on the marble steps. The wolf king Sardus was the one who found Taulon dead in his room, his spilled wine staining the floor around him. From his hand he pulled forth the glistening jeweled pendant, studying it intently with wide eyes.

When night fell the wolves marched out of the ruined city of Nigh and headed north across the shattered land once known as Vulk to Arcadius where all manor of wolves dwelled; Taking with them vast, unimaginable riches and countless slaves. At the head of the army was Sardus, proud and tall, the pendant gleaming around his neck.