Thaddeus awoke with a gasp, damp skin forced off the fur bedding, thumbs pressing against the temples of his pounding head. The agonizing aftermath of the recurring nightmares haunting his slumber of late.

Repeating night after night, showing him glimpses of his forgotten childhood, his no longer existing village, his mother dying at his feet, the blood dripping sword in his hand, the ominous beam of light piercing into the clouds, then the stifling nothingness that always followed. But this time, what he saw left him uneasy.

He rose from the bed, walking to the circular table in the middle of the tent, reaching for the water jug thirsty drinking, water overspilling from the sides of his mouth, drenching his beard, trickling down his bare chest. With a clang landed the emptied jug simultaneous with his satisfactory groan.

A deep inhale allowed his thoughts to settle, dream trickling back into his head like droplets of light splattering against the darkness of his mind.

An infinite sea of raging green boiled, swallowing everything on its path.

Heat rose to his head, onyx eyes shadowed under the deep crease of his frown.

'The blue-eyed one?' his lips mumbled, swollen heart drumming in his chest.

What baffled him was not that she too haunted his dreams, but the unmeasurable sadness her drowning left, even though it was merely a dream.

'Den.' he cried, detaching himself from his unexplained feelings.

A young boy entered, tying the tent's flaps, allowing the soft morning light to flood the dim space, approaching.

'At your service, Lord Commander.' he said, head lowered, an arm across his chest.

'Call upon the healer.'

The boy's eyes lifted the ground, briefly meeting Thaddeus's glare.

'At once, Lord Commander, are you...unwell?' his young voice came concerned.

'Do as commanded, or I'll have you replaced. Do you understand, boy?' Thaddeus fumed.

The boy dropped to the ground, kneeling.

'Please, forgive me, Lord Commander, it won't happen again.' he pleaded, voice shuddering.

A long pause sealed Thaddeus's lips, during which Den feared the worst, biting his tongue.

The commander was not to be questioned; what was he thinking? His stupidity would cost him the privilege of his position at the commander's service, as he thought of himself an apprentice to the greatest, most potent of Damned.

'You're forgiven, soldier,' Thaddeus's voice came calmer, 'But you are not to question my actions or orders ever again, do you understand?'

Den quickly nodded, his heart fluttering in disbelief.

'Now... do as you were told, with haste.'

The boy nodded, a faint smile arching his lips, speedily marching out of the tent.

Thaddeus's black eyes followed as Den's silhouette vanished into the light. Laboriously, he turned at the washing basin, footsteps dragged against the bristling fur of animal skin evenly spread covering the tent's floor. His large hands scooped the cold water, splashing it generously over his face. Without looking, his hand reached for the drying cloth to his right, roughly wiping his face, dark orbs of his eyes glued on the brown leather bag begging for his attention under the sharp stream of light.

Something in him, previously contained, broke loose, leading his steps towards the bag. He crouched, hands briskly unstrapping its flap, impatiently spreading it open. An aromatic smell filled his nostrils, smokey, and sweet. The brown leather binder stood out between the uniquely folded garments, colorful sachets of grounded herbs, and little bottles of liquids. Intrigued, he reached for it, pulling it out, astonished by its dryness as well as the rest of the bag's contents despite the rain's intensity that night.

Thaddeus rose, resting the binder on his arm, opening it with the utmost care, fingertips brushing the indented letters. Rows and rows of short pen strokes, swirls, and circles filled the pages; it's language alien to him. Some included diagrams of entwined circles and aligned dots. Others had glued pickings of dried flowers and uniquely shaped plants. As he flipped the pages, a red leaf slipped, dropping on the floor. He picked it, twirling its stem between his thumb and forefinger, studying its sides. He knew it too well to mistake it for another—a red leaf, freshly taken from The Redwoods.

He returned it, turning to the next page. What he saw next stole his breath away. Never before had he seen such perception, skillful pencil strokes depicting a scene stunningly impossible—an open gate hugging the clouds.

Den's calls crescendoed into his ears.

Calmly, he closed the binder, returning it, securing the bag's straps before turning.

'Lord Commander, I apologies for the disturbance, but the healer is here.'

Den's baffled frown almost gave him away, head quickly lowered, observing his commander from under his lashes as he walked bare-chested to the elongated sitting pillow pallet thoughtless of the woman expected.

'Let her in.'

Den dipped his head, walking outside.

Shortly after, an old hunch-backed woman slogged in, the layered beads around her neck clattering.  A few steps away from where Thaddeus sat, she stopped, looking at where her foot stood, grey braided head slightly bowed.

'You called upon me, Lord Commander?' she wondered, her voice gruff.

'Yes, Respectful Yelda, I have.' he replied, studying her shriveled figure, the bags under her eyes, and the tattoo needled vertically across her forehead, running over her nose, lips, and chin, creating a bold line of ink that dividing her face in half.

'To live and behold such an honor, the commander of The Damned asking for my humble services.' her grayish murky pupils shone, holding his gaze. 'How can I be of service?'

'Where do you come from, Respectful Yelda?' asked Thaddeus, resting his cheek over his fisted hand, elbow dipped in the pillows piled next to him.

Yelda paused, staggered by his unexpected question.

'The East, Barnolia to be exact.' A faint smile arched her lips as soon as she uttered the name, a hidden yearning in her tone.

'Barnolia, once a beautiful place, I heard. Above the clouds, in the mountains, is it not?'

She nodded, her eyes escaping his glare, her mind processing the reason behind the asked questions.

'Respectful Yelda of Barnolia, I know you have been wondering why I have sent after you.' He uttered, leaning forward, his arms above his knees.

She squinted speculatively.

'Whatever your reasons are, Lord Commander, I hope I can be of assistance.'

'My dreams, I need you to silence them.' He said, stare hardened.

The shock of his words ran through her like an electric wave before settling in, assessing the request.

'Dark dreams and quiet nights?'

He nodded, hoping she won't demand details as he was not keen on sharing his reasons.

'That I could deliver, Lord Commander.'

He released a breath he did not realize he was holding.

'I'll mix a potion that you need to drink every night before sleep. You'll have dreamless nights, I guarantee it.'

'What If I failed to drink it once?' he anxiously asked.

'Dreams will return.'

'Very well. By nightfall, Den will come to fetch it. I needn't remind you of the sensitivity of the matter, Respectful Yelda.'

'Of course, Lord Commander, you needn't worry.' she said, bowing her head.

'You have my utmost gratitude, Respectful Yelda of Barnolia.' he said, standing up.

She smiled, turning towards the entrance, walking with a prominent limp to her left knee.

'Oh, one last thing.' he muttered, reaching for the black linen tunic in the opened wooden chest.

Yelda stopped, looking at him.

'Barnolia, does it have gates that open up to the clouds?'

Her frown relaxed. A smile resided on her face as her bony fingers entwined in front of her.

'Lord Commander, my homeland seems to spark your interest, and I am honored by that. Unfortunately, I remember so little of it as I have left it too young, soon after the Kaiuq came rocking from beneath destroying everything on its path...' she dwindled, sadness settling over her features.

He lowered his head.

'May I go, Lord Commander? The potion needs many preparations.'

'Yes, you may...' He uttered, without looking at her, fidgeting with the cloth in his hands.

She stepped out to the sunlight, waves of purple clouds adorning the sky above her, ever thirsty ground underneath her steps dry. Den rushed to her side, his eyes fearful of the queer audience.

'How did it go?' he whispered, glancing at the tent.

She hummed, passing him into the wide route forked ahead of her, crossing the clanking platoon of soldiers marching towards the rings, shushing her inquisitive mind from asking questions that need not be asked.