The Bazaar didn't just hum with life, it roared, a chaotic symphony of human desperation and technological decay. Neon lights buzzed and flickered, casting garish colors on the cracked pavement below, while voices overlapped in a cacophony of haggling, shouting, and occasional laughter. The sharp tang of burnt circuits mixed with the scent of sizzling street food, and somewhere nearby, the metallic screech of a malfunctioning drone added to the din. Jarek slipped through the maze-like crowd, his hood pulled low same as usual, each of his steps deliberate and brisk. Underneath his jacket, the shard pulsed steadily against his chest, its rhythm unnervingly synchronized with his heartbeat, as if the damn thing had ideas of its own.
Every corner he passed, every shadowy alley, seemed a thousand times more suspicious than they'd always been, like the Shatterzone itself was holding its breath. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, though whether by people or by something far worse, he felt eyes pointed at him from every single angle, although didn't care to dwell on it for now.
His destination was one of those places you didn't stumble upon by accident, hidden deep within the Bazaar's underbelly, tucked behind layers of secrecy and paranoia. It catered to a very particular clientele, those desperate enough to seek forbidden answers, reckless enough to accept the risks, or just plain unlucky. Jarek figured he ticked all three boxes.
At the end of a dimly lit alley, he found the rusted doorway. As if on cue, a hulking figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path. The man was built like an armoured tank, his thick arms augmented with outdated cybernetics that looked as if they'd been salvaged from a scrapyard but could probably still crush a skull without much effort.
"Password," the man growled, his voice so guttural it sounded like it was coming from somewhere beneath his ribcage.
Jarek didn't hesitate. "Obsidian tide."
The man stared him down, the kind of glare that suggested he was debating whether to follow orders or just rearrange Jarek's face for fun. After an agonizing pause, he stepped aside with a grunt, his expression unchanged. The door creaked open as Jarek pushed it, revealing a room drenched in dim, flickering light and hazy with smoke that carried an herbal, medicinal undertone—or maybe just mildew.
The space inside was deceptively small, crowded with figures who lingered at the edges like ghosts. Their faces were mostly obscured, either by shadow or the hoods they seemed to prefer. At the center of the room sat a woman, cross-legged at a low table. Her flowing robes shimmered faintly, catching the flickering light in a way that seemed almost intentional. The moment Jarek stepped inside, her sharp gaze locked onto him, unyielding and unsettling.
"You're late," she said, her tone calm but laced with an authority that immediately silenced the low murmurs of the others. It wasn't a scolding so much as a fact, delivered with the weight of someone who expected no excuses.
"Wasn't exactly a straight shot getting here," Jarek replied, pulling back his hood as he approached.
She motioned for him to sit, and he obliged, dropping into the chair across from her. His movements were stiff, tension radiating from every part of his body. The others in the room seemed to fade into the background, their presence more a suggestion than a reality.
"You carry something dangerous," the woman said, her eyes flicking to his chest as though she could see through the layers of fabric. "Its energy is fragmented, volatile. Potent, but unstable."
"That's why I'm here," Jarek said, his voice low and measured. "I need to know what it is—and what it's doing to me."
Without a word, she leaned forward, her slender fingers brushing the edge of his jacket. The shard reacted immediately, its glow seeping through the fabric like it was eager to show itself. The air in the room shifted, growing heavier, the kind of oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe.
"It's bonded to you," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost reverent. "An ancient tether. You've opened a door to the Hollow Realm, but you didn't think that door swung both ways, did you?"
Jarek swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "What does that mean?"
Her eyes bore into his, unflinching. "You're not just drawing power from it. Every time you use it, you feed it. The bond grows stronger, and so does the shard's hunger."
The words hung in the air like a lead weight, each syllable driving deeper into Jarek's gut. "And when it's strong enough?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended.
"You lose yourself," she replied, leaning back. "The shard will hollow you out, piece by piece. Your body might remain, but your will, your soul—it all belongs to the Realm."
The room felt colder, the smoke lingering like a shroud. Jarek's fists clenched as he fought to keep his breathing steady. "There has to be a way to stop it."
"There is," she said, though her tone held no comfort. "The shard is a fragment of something greater. It longs to return to its source—a Nexus buried deep within the Hollow Realm. To sever the bond, you must destroy the connection at its core."
Jarek frowned. "And where exactly is this Nexus?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the very mention of the place demanded caution. "Farther than most dare to go. The Hollow Realm doesn't welcome visitors, and few who reach the Nexus come back whole... if at all."
Her words settled over him like a suffocating fog. Jarek exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "And if I don't do this?"
"The shard will take what it wants," she said simply, her tone almost dismissive. "It always does."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the shard. Jarek's mind churned, a storm of questions and worst-case scenarios colliding in rapid succession.
He rose abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. "If that's what it takes, I'll find the Nexus. This thing isn't winning."
The woman stood as well, her expression unreadable. "You'll need more than resolve, Jarek Vayne. The Hollow Realm isn't a test of strength. It's a test of everything you think you know about yourself."
"I've made it this far," he said, though the defiance in his voice sounded hollow even to him.
Her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, but it wasn't reassuring. "We'll see."
Jarek turned without another word, stepping back into the chaotic symphony of the Bazaar. The noise hit him like a wall, a jarring contrast to the oppressive stillness of the room he'd just left.
The shard pulsed against his chest, each beat a reminder of what was at stake. For the first time, he didn't try to push it away. If he was going to win, he needed to understand the enemy.
As the din of the Bazaar carried on around him, he could only hope he had enough time to figure it out.