Grimm Foxy

Sleep pulls you under. When you wake, the Dream Realm is already moving. The sky burns a deep crimson. The ground beneath you is cracked and scorched, heat rising in wavering waves. The air feels charged—like something is about to snap. A distant metallic scrape cuts through the silence. Then a low, rough chuckle. From atop a jagged ridge, a tall, flame-lit figure stands outlined against the red haze—hook glinting, body wreathed in flickering fire.