In the eastern region of the zoo, twin limestone mountains loomed over the dense wilderness. Between them lay a maze of caves, their entrances jagged like the mouths of ancient beasts. Most were ordinary—formed by time and erosion—but one was different.
Nestled between the rocky outcrops, a peculiar cave lay hidden beneath a thick veil of green moss. Unlike the surrounding formations of weathered boulders and sharp stone, this cave exuded an eerie vitality, as if it were alive.
Inside, its crude exterior gave way to a vast and surprisingly well-lit chamber. The architecture was primitive yet imposing—wooden beams and stone slabs arranged with a deliberate, almost ritualistic precision. At the far end of the cavern sat a throne, not of gold or jewels, but of bone and hide. A massive tiger's pelt stretched across the floor, its faded stripes serving as a grim reminder of past conquests.