The Riftwalker

     Groggily rubbing his temples, Don sat up in his bed. His alarm clock was emitting an earsplitting sound, tearing him away from his dream of his neighborhood. Strangely in his dream, his neighborhood had become a kingdom, and his neighbors were knights and farmers.  He pouted at his misfortune, as he was enjoying it very much. He slumped out of his bed and slammed his hand down on the source of this trauma. The beeping had stopped, and he slumped out of his bed and made his way into his hallway.  Every light was too bright, and as he walked through his house he flicked off the lights one by one.
    As he entered the kitchen, his headache worsened. Reaching to the cupboard above the stove, he grabbed the half empty bottle of aspirin. It rattled as he fidgeted with the childproof seal on the bottle. He let out a heavy sigh and tossed the bottle onto the counter. Glaring at the bottle, now rolling towards his toaster, he began making his morning coffee. The headache would have to stay, for now.
    Don pulled a chair from his kitchen table and sat staring at the coffee maker as it bubbled. The headache intensified, and he turned back to the aspirin bottle. His tired eyes only squinted more intensely as he debated trying to open it again. Suddenly, his head began to pulse as the phone next to him began to ring. He jumped from the sound, and quickly grabbed the phone to silence the ringing.
    Don spoke in a pained, hushed tone. "Don Procep, what's up?"
    "Good morning Mr. Procep," a cheery voice responded. "My name is Anna and I was hoping to ask you if you would be interested in donating to the National SPURS Research Organization."
    Don sighed. "No thanks." As he moved to hang the phone back on the wall, bright lights began flashing. He looked up, but the kitchen light was off. The world melted around him, and all he could feel was a breeze and the phone in his hand. Looking back down, his phone had transformed into a sword, and he was surrounded by trees. A horn sounded in the distance, and as he turned to look at the source, he noticed the sound had not bothered him. His headache had disappeared. Stretching out before him was a sprawling army. Horsemen with pikes rode beside towering knights with massive shields and broadswords. One of the horsemen rode up beside him.
    "General Prosep, on your command."
    Don raised his weapon and began to shout. "Tonight, Darkspire falls! Charge!"
He couldn't control what he was saying. His mind began to race. What was happening? Where was he? Why was his body not listening to what he was trying to do? The horse he was seated upon sprung forward, propelling him towards a looming stone castle in the distance. Suddenly, he snapped back. Looking around his kitchen, he shook his head. He had been daydreaming again. He sighed once more and continued getting ready for the job he hated.
    Walking outside, Don looked around. He lived in a decent neighborhood, but the house directly across the street had been for sale for the past month. Frowning, he climbed into the driver's seat of his old, rusty car. The stench of his cat's urine on the back seat hit him hard, and he regretted not picking up an air freshener when he had got his oil checked the week before. Instead, he had spent a fair amount of money on repairs that he had no idea he needed. He pulled out of his driveway and went off to his job at the accounting firm downtown, but not before grabbing his favorite a-Ha CD, sliding it into his half broken dashboard, and throwing the case into his empty passenger's seat.
    The traffic on the highway moved inch my inch. Don had been sitting still in his car for thirty-five minutes now. Somewhere far up the road, a car had lost a tire and swerved off the road. Don didn't care much for them, as he was already late for work, and this time his boss would definitely fire him. He muttered to himself.
    "Would that really be the worst thing?" He rolled his eyes at the flickering clock on his dashboard.
    "Actually, it wouldn't be too great."
    The response caught the driver off guard. He accelerated for a split second then slammed on the brakes, causing the car to jerk back and forth. He turned to his now occupied passenger's seat. An old man with a scraggly gray beard sat, holding what seemed to be an old tree branch.
    "Who are you?" Don exclaimed.
    The old man scratched his beard and turned to look at his newfound chauffeur. "My name is Aarin. I am the chair of the Wizard's Guild here in Stockton."
    Don's mouth hung open as he stared into the old man's steel blue eyes. "How did you get in my car?"
    Aarin wiggled his fingers through the air and spoke one word. "Magic."
    The driver couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion before rubbing his temples to ease the constant headache. Aarin cleared his throat and continued to look at Don.
    "Don, I came here to tell you you're special."
    "Yeah, I should have taken the aspirin this morning. Thank you, wizard man, for showing up inside my head."
    Aarin reached over and slapped Don across the face, catching him by surprise. He screamed, grabbed the door handle, and rolled out onto the concrete.
    The wizard chuckled in response to his panic. "Don, get back in the car, you're only embarrassing yourself."
    Don looked around, seeing that the breeze outside had fallen still, and none of the drivers were moving. Sticking his head back in the car, he noticed his dashboard had stopped flickering and the music had been silenced.
    "What are you?"
    Aarin stroked his beard with a grin. "I told you already, I am the chair of the Wizard's Guild. I'm honored across the world for my achievements, and I cook a mean stromboli."
    Don stood up straight and looked around once more. "Figures."
    This time, Aarin seemed slightly confused. "Pardon?"
    "The traffic never moves this slow."
    The old man gave a short chuckle. "Well, I have halted the flow of time while we speak. Once our business has concluded, you can continue on your way to work to explain to your boss once more why you have failed to arrive on time."
    Don climbed back into his car. "How do you know that?"
    "I've been watching you for a long time, Mr. Prosep. We all have been. You see, you're more important that you could ever know."
    The younger of the two seemed intrigued. "What do you mean?"
    Aarin cleared his throat once more before looking around. "Do you mind if I explain somewhere a little more private?"
    Don cocked his head in confusion. "What do you mean? You've stopped time. Nobody is going to overhear or anything."
    The old wizard nodded and continued speaking "Your seats are uncomfortable." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, causing the car to emit a blinding light. Don rubbed his eyes in recovery after the blinding light, and as he opened them he didn't recognize his surroundings. His dashboard had been replaced with a large, wooden table with scattered books, teacups and a teapot. A few feet away was a stone fireplace with a roaring fire. The air smelled faintly of cherries and faded incense. He looked to his right, and there sat Aarin, sipping on a cup of steaming tea. He noticed Don's stare, and caught himself.
    "Oh, where are my manners?" He snapped his finger once more, and the teapot floated over to one of the cups and poured itself. "Please, drink."
    Over the hot drink, Aarin explained to Don that he had been born with special abilities. Throughout history, one Riftwalker had been reincarnated to balance the dimensions when they needed to be balanced. The gates between worlds were contained in the mind of the Riftwalker, and they had the power to open and close each gate when they had been trained to do so. Aarin had lived for centuries, and instructed many Riftwalkers before Don. Over the span of a year, he trained the young Riftwalker to harness his abilities of opening and closing gates, travelling through many dimensions in the process. Don had protected kingdoms, ridden on steam powered airships, and braved the treacherous waters of a flooded earth.
    One night, after a trek through an earth covered in bright blue trees, the two made camp. They had been training and defending this earth. Suddenly, a rift opened unexpectedly. Don sat up in fear in his sleeping bag, as Aarin slept in the next tent over. Something had opened a rift without his consent. He rushed out of the sleeping bag and was met with a familiar blue vortex, swirling around and around. Out crawled a hulking red behemoth, with teeth like knives, and carrying a handful of knives that looked suspiciously like sharpened teeth. The demon spoke.
    "Don Marcheur Prosek."
    Don stood triumphantly in front of the beast. "Giant red thing."
    The beast took a swing at Don, sending him flying into Aarin's tent. The wizard was shocked by the sudden interruption of his sleep, and removed his sleep mask from his eyes. Looking around, he noticed his tent had ripped and there was a demon skulking towards them.
    "Fiddlesticks," the wizard spoke. "This isn't good. Don, grab my arm."
    He grabbed the old man's arm, and with a snap of the wizard's fingers, the two returned to Aarin's home back on their earth. His magic tethered him to this spot, and could return with the help of the Riftwalker.
    "Aarin, what was that?"
    Aarin sighed and sat down. "That was Ozariox. He has hunted riftwalkers for the past thousand generations. He must have been running low on energy, as he can't open rifts on his own and would never be this bold."
    Don looked puzzled. "Why wouldn't he be able to open rifts? It seemed like he knew how."
    "He drains the power from Riftwalkers. This kills them if done incorrectly, and Ozariox doesn't care much for the lives of people. He will kill you."
    Don slouched. "What can we do to stop him?"
    Aarin turned and walked to his library. "I'll think of something. In the meantime, do not use your abilities. He will be able to track you through whatever rifts you create, no matter how small."
    The Riftwalker slumped over in the chair next to him. Running his fingers passively over the chair's armrests, he made a decision. Springing out of the chair, he followed his mentor to the library.
    A week passed, and Don had thought of an idea. He eagerly ran up to Aarin, meticulously combing through a stack of books for a solution to their problem.
    "Pocket dimension."
    The old man turned to face his student. "What?"
    "I create a pocket dimension. I can open rifts to other planes of existence, so why can't I just open one that leads to an empty dimension?"
    Aarin shook his head. "It would take too much out of you. You might lose your powers, and we have no idea what could happen besides you just getting a little tired."
    Don shook his head. "We have to try it. What's the worst that could happen?"
    "You could rupture the veil between dimensions, sending everything that has ever existed anywhere crashing into both itself and everything else. You could end the multiverse."
    Don's expression turned blank. "Oh."
    "Exactly."
    Don turned and walked away. "Still doing it."
    Before Aarin could respond, Don had turned the corner. He sighed and slumped back into his chair and continued his research, looking for something that could save the multiverse and his apprentice's life. He studied until the night fell.
    Pushing through the large front door of Aarin's estate, Don looked around at the magical forest that he had grown used to seeing around him. The pale blue moon in the sky highlighted the subtle fluorescence of the enchanted trees around him. He sprinted off, having done much research of his own on the dimensional barrier and how it could be harnessed, along with some small experimentation of his own. He attempted to generate a rift small enough to gather a large amount of attention, while big enough to fit Ozariox through. Almost immediately, the large red claws of the best flung through at him. Don began to slowly close the rift before he could come completely through. The giant claws before him swung wildly at him as they were collapsed upon. Don heard a voice behind him.
    "Don! Don't do it!"
    Don kept up his best efforts of sealing the portal while he turned to look at the source of the voice. Everything began to blur. Aarin stood behind him, outstretching his hands.
    "Dimension creation was attempted once before, nearly 5 thousand years ago! The riftwalker was much before my time, and he lost his powers!"
    Don tried to make out what he was saying, but he couldn't hear anything over the ringing inside of his head. Aarin continued yelling.
    "He was sent back to before he learned to hone his powers! We only know this because of his keeper's records!"
    Don's head pounded as the demon before him screamed. He shut the rift and spent all of his effort on creating a small pocket for Ozariox to inhabit for the rest of time. As the rift closed, the demon's hand was severed and came crashing down to the ground in a thud. Everything went black.
    Groggily rubbing his eyes, Don sat up in bed. The alarm clock was ringing through his bedroom. He climbed out of bed with ease and shut off the alarm before strolling into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He flicked the lights on as he walked through his house.
Halfway through breakfast, he heard a horn outside of his house. Peeking out of his front door, he saw the house directly across the street had been sold, and the new owner was already moving in. An old man with a long white beard stepped out of the truck, opened the back, and began moving boxes. In a large box he was carrying was a large red heap of something he couldn't quite see, with a few jagged edges on one side. The old man noticed Don staring at him, grinned wide, and waved happily. Don gave an uneasy but polite wave back, and felt as though he knew the man. Shrugging it off, he continued breakfast, took his shower, and went to work at his favorite and best job in the world.

Doorway construction.