Nyx was a conqueror.
A ruler.
A feared and respected warlord of the highest order.
At least… that's what he believed.
In reality, he was a very small kitten with slightly too-big paws, currently wobbling across a nest of blankets while aggressively attempting to look intimidating. His siblings were piled nearby in a tangled heap of fur, occasionally squeaking, occasionally kicking each other in slow, uncoordinated bursts of violence.
Nyx climbed on top of them.
Naturally.
This was his domain. His kingdom. His litter.
And they were his subjects.
One of his brothers tried to squirm free.
Unacceptable.
Nyx pounced—if one could call it that. It was more of a soft, sideways tumble that ended with him landing half on his target, half on his own face. Still, the message was clear.
Dominance had been established.
He let out a proud, high-pitched mrrrp, which was meant to be terrifying but mostly sounded like a squeaky toy.
Satisfied with his victory, Nyx turned his attention to more important matters.
Milk.
After a brief struggle involving incorrect directions, a misplaced paw, and one accidental headbutt into his mother's leg, he successfully latched on. Peace returned to the world.
For approximately thirty seconds.
Then it came.
A shadow fell over the nest.
Nyx froze.
His tiny ears twitched. His eyes—wide, unfocused, but determined—locked onto the source.
The Giant.
It loomed above them, vast and incomprehensible, making strange noises and moving with terrifying slowness. Nyx had seen it before. The Provider. The Intruder. The Thing.
And today… it brought something.
A mass of tangled threads dropped into the nest with a soft thump.
Nyx stared.
The object stared back.
It was large. Round. Unnatural.
It did not belong.
His territory had been violated.
Nyx rose to his feet—well, mostly. His back legs took a moment to catch up. He puffed himself up to maximum size, which was not very impressive, and took a bold step forward.
He tripped.
Recovered.
Then charged.
The attack was swift. Decisive. Heroic.
He collided with the yarn ball at full speed and immediately bounced off, rolling onto his back with all four paws in the air.
Silence.
The enemy remained.
Unmoved.
Nyx blinked.
This was… unexpected.
He twisted, flailed, and managed to right himself again, wobbling dangerously as he prepared for a second assault. His tail flicked with all the fury of a creature that had absolutely no idea what it was doing.
This time, he struck with precision.
A single paw reached out.
Touched.
The ball moved.
Nyx gasped.
Victory.
Or so he thought.
The yarn shifted again, unraveling slightly, a loose string brushing against his face. Nyx froze, eyes crossing as he tried to track it.
The string wiggled.
Nyx lost his mind.
He pounced again—missed completely—and somehow ended up wrapped halfway in the yarn, his back leg tangled, his dignity nowhere to be found.
He squeaked in outrage.
Behind him, one of his siblings yawned.
His mother didn't even look up.
The Giant made a strange noise—something like amusement.
Nyx struggled, rolled, and finally collapsed into a tiny, tangled heap.
The enemy remained undefeated.
But this war…
Was far from over.
As Nyx lay there—
Victorious.
Defeated.
Wrapped.
It was unclear which at this point.
His tiny chest heaved from the sheer effort of existing at maximum intensity. The world spun gently around him, the yarn still loosely clinging to his leg like a mocking reminder of his… temporary setback.
He blinked once.
Twice.
The enemy blurred.
An unknown force was suddenly closing his eyes; surely, the enemy had done something unexplainable to him.
His paws twitched weakly, as if considering one final, heroic strike.
Then—
Nothing.
Sleep claimed him.
Just like that.
One moment, a fearless warrior locked in mortal combat…
The next, a small, tangled kitten snoring softly with his tongue slightly sticking out.
Time passed.
Great, unknowable stretches of time. Eons upon eons.
(Probably like… five minutes.)
When Nyx awoke, something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He was suddenly free.
No yarn tangled in his mighty paws. No bindings of the battle. No humiliation of defeat.
He sat up slowly, eyes narrowing.
The Giant.
It had interfered—it must have.
It had stolen his victory.
Robbed him of a proper conclusion to the epic battle.
Unacceptable.
Nyx rose to his feet, wobbling only slightly this time, and scanned the battlefield. His gaze fell upon it.
The yarn.
Was still there.
It still existed in his territory.
Still daring to breathe the same air as this mighty warlord.
His ears flattened, fury unbound.
This was no longer a skirmish.
This was war.
With a battle cry that sounded suspiciously like a squeaky mrrrp, Nyx charged once more.
This time—experience.
This time—strategy.
He pounced, but instead of colliding blindly, he latched onto a loose thread with his tiny claws.
The yarn shifted.
Nyx held on.
It rolled.
Nyx rolled with it.
A struggle unfolded—fur versus fiber, instinct versus chaos.
The thread tightened.
Then loosened.
Then—
Unraveled.
Slowly but gloriously!
The ball began to fall apart under his relentless assault, thread spilling out like the unraveling of fate itself.
Nyx stood atop the destruction, panting, slightly dizzy, but undeniably triumphant.
He had done it.
The enemy had fallen, a worthy foe but alas not enough for the conqueror.
Victory.
As expected of the mighty Nyx.
Naturally, this called for celebration.
He turned with great dignity, took three proud steps—
Tripped on the very thread he had created—
—and faceplanted directly into his mother's side.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, he latched on.
Warmth. Comfort. The sacred nectar of the gods.
All was right in the world again.
Behind him, the remnants of the yarn lay scattered across the nest like the aftermath of a great and terrible war.
His siblings shifted, one accidentally stepping on the thread and getting tangled.
Nyx did not notice.
Nor did he care.
A conqueror must rest.
And refuel.
Tomorrow, there would be new enemies.
New battles.
New things to fall off.
But for now…
Nyx drank.
And the world belonged to him.