FOXTALE

There is a moon where the wind comes down the valley every evening, where bakers argue with shepherds about the weather, and where the castles were built against enemies no one living can name. Dragons keep the high places. Little animals keep everything else. It has been this way for as long as the stories go back.

Then, on an ordinary day, something crosses the sky that does not belong to it: a starship, bright as a struck bell. And behind it — because this is how it always goes — come the others. An armada of alien survivors and the machine horde that hunts them, falling upon a world of swords and bread and weather. The age of stories ends. The war for everything begins.

You are the fox. Not a big fox — this matters. You will travel every realm of your moon, take up steel and starlight, command animal and alien soldiers alike, and record what your world was — its flowers, its songs, its people — into an archive older than any of them, kept by a fast-talking machine historian who writes everything down because someone has to.

The theme of Foxtale is its whole heart, and we will say it plainly: even in defeat, we rise again.