After the mission at the asylum Zascha had gotten himself to the infirmary. The wound to his arm and side needed tending and that was the only place he could get the care he needed. Even if he didn't want to be there he knew he needed to be.

They had kept him for several days. Running tests and changing bandages. Poking at the strange butterfly mark on his arm. The numbness in his hands from the Sahara mission had spread in his injured arm but he made no serious mention of it to the Life techs who were attending him. He had been told it would probably spread over time. The nervous system was a tricky thing that.

He had been relaxing in his room before slipping into a deep sleep. A dark sleep. As in there was no light, no sight and stifled sound. As if he were in a box. There was little air and as Zascha tried to sit up his smacked his forehead against a hard surface. Was that wood? Running his fingers along it he could tell that it was. Placing both hands upon the surface he pushed but it didn't budge. As if something were holding it down.

Red flags went up in his head.

Were his injuries more serious than he had thought? Did they think he had died at the hospital? Had he died and then suddenly returned to life....after they buried him? s**t, s**t. Zascha pounded on the lid of what was he finally realized his coffin. "Hello! Can anyone here me! I'm still alive in here!" But there was no reply. No sound of frantic digging to rescue him.

He began to claw at the lid desperately, his finger tips growing sore. And then they were bleeding. Zascha had to get out, they had made a mistake he was still alive! Somehow by luck he had found a small crack in the lid and began to pick at it. Slowly the small crack began bigger and bigger until finally he could push hard enough on it to make the wood groan but there was still barely any give from what he assumed was dirt on top as it began to leak through the lid.

Panic was settling in even more. It felt as if there were less and less air to breath as the weight of earth crushed down upon him. But still he picked at the lid. Hoping perhaps he could outlast the dirt pouring in, that it hadn't been settling for too long above him that he could dig his way out. More and more he chipped away with his fingers. They were numb and bloody but he didn't care. He was making progress or so he thought. It wasn't until the huge rush of dirt came through the hole and began to fill up the coffin that he realized his attempts were futile. He couldn't push his way through the dirt, they had buried him too deep. It was crushing his lungs, crushing him.

But then a heat began to rise. A flame. Burning from his feet all the way to the top of his head. He could feel its warmth filling the coffin as did the dirt, Zascha was on fire! Great, he was being buried in dirt and now fate was trying to set him ablaze as well. But the fire wasn't burning his skin. Wasn't burning his clothes. It was burning away the dirt. Could fire really do that?

He was quickly engulfed in flames. Zascha brought his arms up the best he could in a defensive manner. If it had burned through the dirt surely it would burn through him too. But suddenly the flames were gone and Zascha found himself standing on a mountain top. A familiar mountain top. One he had seen several times in his dreams as well. There was nothing around him and as he looked below there was darkness. But a darkness darker than dark. It ungulates and swirls about in the valley below.

Suddenly he was falling. Zascha was unsure if he had jumped or if he had been pushed. But the swirling darkness below was rushing towards him. Closer and closer. A call rang out, piercing the air. He turned so that his back was falling towards the darkness. A ball of fire racing down after him, he watched in fascination. It was familiar some how. He outstretched his arms, hands emerged from the fire and grasped his own. The beating of wings blew warm air into his face and he smiled. Soon he was lifting up into the air, up and away from the swirling darkness below.

As quickly as he had slipped into the dream Zascha slipped right back out. Sitting up straight in bed he reached out with his bandaged arm only to wince back in pain. Flopping against his pillow. A fine sweat on his skin.

What was that dream....