The workshop greeted Jarek with the scent of burnt circuitry and molten solder, a sharp metallic tang that clung to the air like a stubborn ghost. Tools and bits of half-finished projects sprawled across every surface, creating a chaotic symphony of disarray that somehow screamed productivity. The low hum of a generator filled the room, a monotonous bassline beneath the silence.
Rhea stood at her workbench, hunched over a tangle of crystalline components and wires, her face illuminated by the cool glow of a magnifying lens. Her hands moved with surgical precision, each motion deliberate, as though she were performing some arcane ritual instead of tinkering with scraps of tech.
"You're late," she said, not bothering to glance up. Her tone was clipped, the kind that implied she'd already measured out her annoyance and found it substantial.
Jarek leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed with the practiced nonchalance of someone used to annoying people on purpose. "You didn't exactly send me a clock, Rhea."
She finally turned her head, just enough to shoot him a withering look, then went back to her work. "Fair enough. What do you want this time? More repairs? Or are you here to dump another mystery on my bench and run?"
Stepping into the room, Jarek let the door slide shut behind him. "Neither. I need more answers."
Rhea snorted, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. Setting down her tools, she turned to face him fully, arms crossed. "You always need answers, Vayne. The real question is, what are you willing to do to get them?"
He hesitated, his jaw clenching as though the weight of her question had just doubled. "That depends on what kind of answers you're offering."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing him as though he were an overly complex schematic she couldn't quite crack. "That shard you're so fond of, it's not just some fancy bauble. It's wrapped you up in the Hollow Realm tighter than a noose. If you want to survive, you'll need more than your usual brand of recklessness. You'll need control."
Jarek's brow furrowed, skepticism shading his voice. "And you're going to teach me, just out of the kindness of your heart?"
Her lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not kindness. I'm offering a trade. Dream cultivation isn't charity work, and it's not for free. If you're serious, I can show you how to channel the shard's power without letting it devour you."
"Sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
Rhea leaned back against the workbench, her gaze steady and unflinching. "The Cabal has a Dream Nexus out in the Driftlands. It's a hub for their experiments, where they gather fragments of the Hollow Realm and twist them into whatever nightmare tech they're cooking up. I need intel, schematics, records, anything that shows what they're doing in there."
Jarek barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "You want me to stroll into Cabal territory, poke around in their Nexus, and waltz back out with the goods? Sounds like a suicide mission wrapped in wishful thinking."
"Possibly," she said with a shrug that somehow managed to look confident and dismissive all at once. "But you've got that shard, which gives you an edge. And if you let me train you, you'll have more than a fighting chance."
He began pacing, his boots scuffing against the workshop's stained floor. The idea of infiltrating the Cabal's stronghold coiled unease around his spine, but she wasn't wrong. If he wanted to understand the shard, and survive whatever it was doing to him, he didn't have the luxury of saying no. This could also be a chance to find Morrigan.
"What's in it for you, Rhea?" He stopped pacing, fixing her with a sharp stare.
Her expression softened, though only slightly, her gaze drifting to the faint glow of the shard beneath his jacket. "Let's call it professional curiosity, with a dash of self-preservation. The Cabal's reach is spreading like rot, and someone needs to cut it off before it consumes everything."
"Curiosity doesn't usually get people killed," he muttered.
"Ignorance does," she shot back without missing a beat. "The Cabal wants that shard, Jarek. If they get to you first, they'll rip it, and whatever's left of you, apart. Your choices are limited, learn to use it, or die holding it."
His fists clenched, the words sinking in despite the protest building in his gut. The logic was brutal but undeniable. "Fine. I'll do it. But if this blows up in my face..."
"It won't," she interrupted, her tone laced with unshakable certainty. "Not if you listen and learn. Meet me here tomorrow night. I'll show you the basics, but don't expect this to be detailed and concise, I don't know much about it myself. Learning dream cultivation isn't a party trick, it's survival."
Jarek gave a sharp nod, his mind already spinning with the implications of what he'd just agreed to. He turned to leave but hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at her.
"Why are you really doing this?"
For a moment, her expression softened, a flicker of something almost vulnerable breaking through her usual sharp edges. Her gaze lingered on the faint glow of the shard, her voice quiet but firm. "Because the Cabal's already taken too much, and someone has to push back. If you survive, you might just be that someone."
Jarek held her gaze for a beat longer, then stepped out into the night. As the neon-streaked streets swallowed him, the weight of his decision pressed down harder. The Driftlands loomed ahead, a fractured void of danger and unknowns. There was no turning back now, not with the shard pulling him forward like a siren in the dark.