Righteous Fox Immortal (Going through rewrites)

The air hung heavy and still as Hǎiyáng Huǒhuā, a name that once meant 'Ocean Spark,' awoke to a world of stark contrasts. His consciousness, still hazy from the traumatic transition, registered the rough stone ceiling of a cave above him. A primal instinct, deeper than any memory, urged him to move, but his limbs felt clumsy, uncooperative. He was small, wet, and covered in a fine, reddish fur.

Beside him, five other tiny forms squirmed, equally red and equally small. They were kits, he realized, and a jolt of understanding, both alien and terrifying, shot through him. He was one of them. A fox. Not the human he remembered, but a creature of instinct and fur. A low growl, deep and rumbling, drew his attention to a much larger, muscular fox with bright red fur, its presence radiating an undeniable power. His father, a nascent thought whispered. Then, his eyes fell upon a creature of breathtaking beauty—a shining, red-furred vixen, her presence radiating warmth. His mother.

He tried to stand, to process this impossible reality, but his new legs wobbled, betraying him. He stumbled, a clumsy, undignified heap. A deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the cave. "Boy, you can't do that yet. You were just born." The voice, surprisingly clear and understandable, belonged to his fox father. He was picked up by the scruff of his neck, an indignity he would have raged against as a human, but now only registered as a firm, paternal gesture, and placed gently among his new siblings.