Chapter 1 The Paws of Fate

I’ve always admired cats. They were fluffy, aloof, lazy, temperamental, mischievous, and about a dozen other things that made them endlessly fascinating. Depending on the breed—or maybe just their mood—they could have completely different personalities. I envied that freedom, their ability to just be. Free. Proud. And so very dignified.

On days when my body felt like a prison, I’d scroll through endless cat pictures on my phone, lazing in my wheelchair like a low-budget sphinx. Cats didn’t worry about deadlines, doctor visits, or allergies—though ironically, my love for them came with a heavy dose of irony. My allergies made sure I couldn’t have one, no matter how much I wanted to. That, and my health issues, meant the closest I’d ever get was dreaming about them.

And dream I did. Sometimes I’d stare out the window, picturing myself as a sleek black cat prowling rooftops, or a pampered tabby basking in a sunbeam. Occasionally, I’d even imitate them—stretching languidly, batting at loose threads, or doing a perfectly unnecessary yawn. It was fun. If I had to die—and let’s face it, my body wasn’t exactly winning awards for longevity—I wouldn’t mind coming back as a cat.

Turns out, fate has a pretty twisted sense of humor.

The truck came out of nowhere. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say it was quick, loud, and everything people say about that “light at the end of the tunnel” was true. When I woke up, I wasn’t me anymore.

I was a kitten.

Not just any kitten, though. I was one of seven, nestled in a dark corner of the cold streets of some city by a lake. Felor, they called it. Not that I knew that right away—I had other problems. Hunger, the chill of the wind, and the overwhelming realization that my new family consisted of me, six squirming siblings, and a very ginger, very determined cat mom.

“Oh, my little kittens,” she purred—or said, in whatever passed for cat language. ““Grow strong, my little ones. Soon, we shall dominate the world!”

Wait, what?

Okay. That was... unexpected.

I blinked at her, but she just nudged me closer, her purrs resonating like the rumble of an engine. Was this some kind of joke? Was she joking? Or had it always been true that cats were secretly plotting to rule the world?

Regardless, there I was. A ginger kitten with an equally ginger mom in a cold, unforgiving city. Life as a human hadn’t exactly been kind, but as a cat? Let’s just say things weren’t looking much better.

Life was awesome. At least, at first.

As a kitten, I could run, play, and jump wherever I pleased. The world was a vast, unpredictable playground, and every day felt like a new adventure. Sure, not every day was awesome, but most days were worth it. Mom made sure of that.

She was tough, clever, and fiercely ginger, with a personality as sharp as her claws. From the moment we could stumble after her, she taught us how to survive on the streets. “Life isn’t fair,” she’d say in her purring drawl. “But you can make it fairer if you’re smart enough to take advantage of others.” And she showed us how.

She taught us how to weaponize our cuteness, pulling at the heartstrings of humans who would toss us scraps. She taught us how to sniff out weakness in other creatures—pigeons with a limp, rats that strayed too far from their pack. And she taught us the art of the ambush, crouching low, waiting, striking at the perfect moment. It was exhilarating, this balance of cunning and instinct.

Among my six siblings, I grew up to be the strongest. Even as a kitten, I proved myself formidable. I always snagged the best spots during feedings and snagged the fattest mice on our hunts. Mom’s milk kept me strong, and my knack for charming humans earned me extra treats when I needed them.

But, like I said, not every day was awesome.

The first winter was brutal. One of my siblings—a scrappy runt we called Twitch—didn’t make it. The cold seeped into our bones, and despite Mom’s efforts to keep us warm, Twitch grew weaker and weaker until one day he just didn’t wake up.

Spring brought a new kind of danger. Rats the size of small dogs roamed the alleys, their red eyes gleaming in the dark. One of them got my brother, Stripe. I tried to help, clawing and hissing, but it was too late. Stripe’s cries echoed long after the rat dragged him into the shadows.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Illness claimed another. Starvation took one more. And the last two—my bold, adventurous sisters—were killed by stray goblins. Yes, goblins.

By the time the first year ended, our litter of seven had dwindled to one. Me.

Mom took it all in stride, her eyes gleaming with an almost indifferent resolve. “Life is cruel,” she told me one night as we curled together for warmth. “The strong survive, and the weak... well, they make the strong stronger.” Her callousness should’ve stung, but I understood. It was just the way things were.

The second year, Mom herself fell. She didn’t return from a hunt, and when I finally found her, it was clear she’d met something she couldn’t outsmart or outrun. I didn’t stick around to figure out what—it didn’t seem wise.

By then, I had already pieced together the truth. This wasn’t just any world. It was a fantasy world. The signs were all there: the goblins, the strange magical creatures lurking in the shadows, the glimmering runes I occasionally saw etched into human tools. At first, I was thrilled. I’d read enough books and watched enough movies in my past life to know what that meant. Adventure! Magic! Possibilities!

But fantasy didn’t mean fair. This world wasn’t some whimsical fairy tale. It was brutal and unrelenting, a place where creatures like me were far down the food chain. No amount of cuteness or cunning could change that.

I was a small, fluffy creature in a world of claws, teeth, and magic. And if I wanted to survive, I’d have to be more than clever. I’d have to be ruthless.

It was a sad development to be alone, but what else could I do except move on? I had learned quickly that survival wasn’t a matter of sentiment but strength. To gain that strength, I needed knowledge.

The first step was obvious: learn the language of the sentient races in this world. Not that the Cat Tongue was inferior, mind you—far from it. I am a proud feline, after all. But in a world dominated by humanoids, understanding their Common Tongue was essential.

I frequented bars, inns, and bustling marketplaces where humans, elves, and other humanoid races gathered. Observing them from shadowed corners, eavesdropping on their conversations, I absorbed their words. Immersion worked wonders, even if it took months of painstaking effort. By the time I hit seven months old, I could understand the basics of how these creatures spoke. Their language was clunky compared to the elegance of purring and hissing, but it got the job done.

It was during these observations that I learned about Adventurers. The name alone made me cringe. Could it get any more cliché? Adventurers, as it turned out, were the kind of people who accepted quests to slay monsters, gather herbs, or recover lost trinkets. They congregated at places like Felor’s Adventurer’s Guild—a rundown building that saw a steady flow of adventurers coming and going despite its dilapidated state.

I kept my distance from the Guild. My feline friends had warned me about the dangers. One particularly chilling story told of an adventurer who had caught a cat, butchered it, and turned it into soup. This wasn’t just a fantasy world; it was a medieval fantasy world, where barbarism lurked in every corner.

Still, curiosity got the better of me. At seven months old, I decided to risk it and observe the Adventurer’s Guild for myself.

“Hey, Kai… we shouldn’t be here,” came a soft purr from behind me.

It was Lucky, my childhood friend and a black cat of the same age. She was a scrappy little thing, sharp-eyed and quick-witted.

“That’s Kaiser to you,” I corrected, puffing out my chest. No, it wasn’t the name my Cat Mom had given me. Feline naming conventions were... well, spontaneous at best. Cats called themselves whatever they wanted, and other cats referred to them however they pleased. But I had taken it upon myself to give myself a proper name.

Lucky purred with amusement. “Nah, I’m sticking with Kai. Forever. Unless you give me a reason to change my mind… like having my babies.”

“Blegh!” I flicked my tail dramatically. “I am on a quest for powah! I will raise all of feline kind to the apex, and I shall proclaim myself King! No—too low. Emperor!”

Lucky snorted. “Why stop there? Why not call yourself God?”

“Bah, we are gods already!”

“You’re out of your mind,” she muttered, though her whiskers twitched in amusement.

Our conversation, spoken entirely in Cat Tongue—purrs, hisses, and subtle shifts of body language—earned a few odd looks from bystanders. They couldn’t understand a word we were saying, of course, but they could sense the intensity of our discussion.

Ignoring the stares, I crept into the Adventurer’s Guild, Lucky trailing behind me.

The inside was as rustic as I had imagined. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and the smell of ale and roasted meat hung thick in the air. Adventurers gathered at tables, laughing and sharing stories, while others lined up at the counter to speak with the clerk. It was everything I had expected of a medieval fantasy setting.

I leapt onto one of the beams above, settling into the shadows to observe. Lucky followed, her paws light and silent against the wood.

Below us, the adventurers were a lively bunch. A dwarf banged his tankard on the table, demanding another round of ale. An elf leaned back in her chair, recounting a tale of her latest hunt. At the counter, a burly man argued with the clerk over the price of a health potion.

“This place is a mess,” Lucky muttered beside me, her green eyes scanning the room.

“It’s perfect,” I whispered back, my tail swishing.

Lucky tilted her head. “For what?”

“For learning,” I said simply. If I was going to rise to power in this world, I needed to understand it first. And what better place to start than here, where adventurers gathered, plotted, and traded their secrets?

“Just don’t get caught,” Lucky warned. “I like my fur on my body, not in someone’s soup.”

“Relax,” I said, grinning. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Her ears flattened. “You just jinxed it.”

Maybe I had, but I wasn’t going to let fear stop me. This was just the beginning.