The Hollow Warden

Jarek sat on the edge of his worn out mattress, the city's neon glow creeping through the cracked blinds to paint restless patterns on his walls. Sparse wouldn't even begin to describe his apartment; it was merely a step above empty, yet somehow it felt suffocating tonight. It felt less like a home and more like prison cell.

He clenched his fists, the tension in his body a sharp reflection of the storm brewing outside. Rain lashed against the windows and roof of the building in uneven bursts. The chaotic clamour was a vague reflection of the disarray in his head. Every drop was a nagging reminder of the job pressing down over him, a job that promised a measley payout but demanded way too much in return.

Running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, Jarek let out a long, shaky breath. Exhaustion tugged at him, a weight he couldn't ignore. Sleep had never been a friend, but tonight it felt more like a battle.

And when it came, it didn't come easy.

He was plunged into a freezing void, the kind of cold that didn't just bite but burrowed deep into your bones. When he opened his eyes, the world around him was alien, impossible, incomprehensible and beyond imagination. Aquamarine skies streaked with ribbons of gold hung above a ground that seemed alive, crimson sands shifting into black, glassy stone with every blink.

"Where the hell am I…?" His voice trailed off, swallowed by the infinite vastness.

He tried to steady himself, but the ground rippled like a boiling liquid, every step threatening to topple him to the ground. In the distance, vague, flickering shapes moved too far to identify but close enough to make his skin crawl. Suddenly he heard a whisper, it was soft and fleeting, brushing past his ears like a ghost's sigh.

"Who's there?" he jolted, spinning around, with his fists raised. But nothing else was in sight. Just him and the impossible landscape.

"This has to be a dream," he muttered to himself, though it felt as real as anything in reality.

Ahead of him in the far distance, he saw what appeared to be a towering spire piercing into the unnatural sky, it gleamed like liquid metal under moonlight. Something about the spire called out to him, beckoning at his very core. Each step toward it felt strange, like he was being pulled closer faster than his legs could carry him, the spire drawing closer at an unsettling speed as if an image being zoomed into.

When Jarek reached the spire, he appeared infront of a massive door. The door was etched with glowing patterns, the patterns were symbolic of an ancient or a hidden society. The patterns pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Hesitation gripped him as his hand hovered above the strange, cold surface, contemplating whether to open the door or not.

Before he could make a choice, the door swung inward silently, revealing a gigantic chamber shrouded in shifting and otherworldly lights. At its center stood a pedestal, cradling a shard that defied description. It refracted light into shapes and colors that were mesmerising but hurt to look at.

His hand moved without his permission, fingers brushing the shard. And then "BOOM!" a large explosion occurred.

The ground split beneath him, the spire crumbling as light and sound erupted around him. But the fall wasn't just physical; it tore through him, dredging up memories and emotions he'd buried long ago. Countless whispers filled his ears, they sounded louder now, but were still their as incomprehensible as the first time he heard them.

Then, just as suddenly, he was back.

He jolted upright in his bed, his chest heaving as though he'd sprinted for miles. He was drenched in cold sweat, the rain outside still hammering against the windows like nothing had happened. For a long moment, he just sat there, staring into the dark, trying to piece himself together.

His comm unit buzzed, its faint blue glow cutting through the room. He grabbed it, Tek's voice crackled through the speaker.

"Code's in. Don't screw this up, Vayne," came the casual message, Tek's tone as grating as ever.

Jarek set the comm down and lay back, staring at the ceiling. The dream, or whatever the hell it was, clung to him like a bad omen. Maybe it was just nerves, or maybe it was something more. Either way, now was not the time to dwell on it.

The hiest was tomorrow, and hesitation was not a luxury he could afford at the moment. Whatever meaning the dream had, it would have to wait. For now though , the only thing on the agenda was surviving the hiest and coming back in one piece.