[???]
The bright sun bore down onto a vast field of vibrant green grass, its warmth as comforting as it was unrelenting, casting long shadows across the rolling land. The grass swayed lazily, stirred by a breeze that carried no scent of earth or pollen. At the center of it all, a hill rose upward smoothly.
Grimm found himself seated without warning.
There was no sensation of falling, no jolt or disorientation—simply the abrupt awareness of weight beneath him and structure around him. A chair. Before him stretched a long table, its surface concealed beneath a pristine white cloth that did not ripple in the wind. The fabric lay perfectly still, unmarred by dust or crease.
