Go. The Fuck. To sleep.

The pup approached him, no hesitation or fear on her little face. She came so close, all Moros would have to do was reach and he could pluck her right off the ground. It made the brute grin, a maw full of razor sharp fangs gleaming in the ethereal light of the dreamscape they were in. And then, just as she came up to his paw and Moros felt that primal urge to grasp her up, Fever... smacked his giant paw pads with her own tiny paw. That caught the giant brute well off guard, black eyes blinking wide with surprise as she chided him for getting her wet and scaring away her firefly friends. So surprised was Moros that all he could do was laugh. A deep, hearty, belly shaking laugh boomed from the brute almost like a Santa Claus. Oh, she was such a precious little thing! Unafraid of a literal monster invading the sanctity of her mind and her dreams.

His granddaughter came up and curled against his chest, snuggling in against her great-grandfather like he had never been absent in her life. And in many ways, he hadn't. Ever since the little girl had opened her special eyes, Moros had been freed of his prison by her gift, and since he could walk the mortal realm to her eyes only, he had been there with her, fascinated by the pup and her ability to see him. "Oh, precious little pup, I am very sorry," he rumbled an apology with saccharine sweet words, smiling down at her as if the child were his own. "Here, allow me to make things better." Fever wasn't the only one able to manipulate the dreamscape of Somnium. Raising a giant crimson paw, Moros poked at the air with a single digit, each time a firefly reappearing floating lazily in the air around them as he did. One by one he brought back the lightning bugs—and then with a broad sweep of his paw, a veritable light show of fireflies appeared around them, their thoraxes aglow like living stars.

With the atmosphere returned, Moros brought his paws back around to nestle the little girl closer into the thick fur of his chest, smiling down at her all the while. Yes, he was being sweet to her. She was his key to limitless freedom. She held power he needed. If he turned her against him, he could very well end up back in oblivion for all time—and he had so much work to do still. "There. All better." Fever asked for a story, so Moros would indulge her. Deep voice humming with pensive thought, Moros craned his massive head down to nuzzle the top of Fe's head, gently ruffling her feathery soft puppy fur. He'd forgotten how soft and squishy puppies were. "A story... Would you like to hear about where your family came from?" Moros shifted his weight to get a bit more comfortable and began to groom the pup's head and back with long, broad licks of his tongue, lavishing her with affections the way her own parents would.

"Long ago, we lived in a distant land of arid canyons and deep caves. Your grandsire Alastor, my son, myself, and your great-grandmother Rhea were a part of a pack. An empire of wolves so strong we had no contenders for leagues. It was a rough and brutal life, and it built us to be strong and resilient to not only survive, but to thrive. We were made strong in body, in mind, and in spirit." Looking up from Fever, Moros stared vacantly into empty air. Then, in the blink of an eye, the world around them had changed. Moros had recreated the valleys and canyons he had grown up in around them. The pair of wolves laid out on a sunbaked ledge of stone, a gentle summer wind whistling through the canyon. "This is Mirovis. Or what it was once upon a time. A mighty empire where your strength determined how great your bloodline was. I raised my family to be the strongest, the mightiest, the most cunning and deadly so that our line may flourish."

Moros glanced down from the ledge to the ground below. At the bottom of the ravine, a pair of wolves were fighting tooth and claw against one another in vicious bloodsport. A small crowd had gathered, cheering and jeering from the sidelines while the two wolves tore each other apart. One of those wolves was a lean yearling—a brute wearing an ebony coat covered in flame markings. "Your grandsire was my crowning achievement. Strong, fast, smart, brutal... Alastor was to be the pinnacle of my bloodline." Moros smirked proudly as his memory played out for Fever to watch. Alastor, fangs bared, barreled into his opponent, toppling him over and swiftly lunging in for a killing strike to the wolf's throat. His opponent cried out his surrender, but Alastor accepted none, and with a guttural choking scream, ripped the wolf's throat out in a spray of gore. The crowd cheered. Moros grinned. "This is the strength of our blood, little Fever. You are the latest in a long line of indomitable wolves. That is why you have such a special gift—the gift that gave me my freedom back."

"Moros"