The Guardians of Time

Chapter Four: Hope

Rok couldn't hear anything but the sound of air entering and exiting his lungs. Below his cheek, he could feel a cold, smooth surface. There was a cool breeze around him, playing with the minute hairs on his skin. His head was pounding and he could feel a twitch in his face. He took a couple of deep breaths before deciding to open his eyes.

Pitch black.

He rose in the darkness, feeling disoriented as he got to his feet. There were no smells, no sounds. There was nothing to help get his bearings. Reaching out in front of him, he found there was nothing to grasp.

Out of the silence to his left, there was a pop that echoed through the darkness. He turned to see there was a pillar of light. Then, another pop to his right and another pillar. Left to right, they continued until he found himself surrounded in light. It was as if someone had turned the electricity on in a large warehouse.

He closed his eyes to slits, desperately trying to see anything through the sudden brightness. There were no floors, no ceiling, and no windows or doors. In such a vast space and bathed in light, his stomach started to turn.

He could feel solid ground beneath him, but he felt as though he was floating, which only added to the nausea. He didn't know what to think.

Was he dead? Had that little man, Jakoba, done something? Was he dreaming?

While he pondered, the cool breeze exploded into a full-blown gust. Within seconds, he was knocked to the ground. Reaching out, he tried to grab anything to stop from sliding across the floor. Unsuccessful, he rolled onto his stomach and lay as flat as possible to avoid being blown into an oblivion of white.

Blinking, he looked up and felt the scratch of sand against his cheek. Burning as it bounced off of his skin, he put his hands in front of his eyes to avoid being blinded.

The particles multiplied, and even through the slits in his fingers, he could no longer see any white. The dust was so thick and bellowing around him like a tyrant, nearly wrenching the clothing from his body.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the wind stopped. He stood and found before him a pile of sand. Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked around it, trying to gauge its purpose. Suddenly, the sand started to shift on its own, gathering into a skinny column. Rok stared in awe. Then, the pressure of the room changed. He blinked as his eyes watered. His eardrums felt as though they were going to explode and he brought his hands up to the side of his head. Gripping tightly, he fell to his knees, screaming.

The sand began to compress and with a loud pop, it puffed away in a cloud of dust. The pressure relieved, Rok stood and was surprised to see the young driver smiling at him.

He slowly circled Rok, giving him a visual look over.

"What...what's going on? How did you..." Rok mumbled.

"What you saw on earth was one of my many forms. I suppose the old man is my truest form. Do you remember my name?" He asked as he stopped and smiled.

"But..." Rok was speechless.

"Jakoba. Remember?" The little man said.

"You're real." Rok stated simply. "It wasn't a dream."

Jakoba chuckled. "I'm afraid not. Bend down, please. Let's have a look at you."

"What's going on?" Rok asked again as he bent to one knee.

He could only stare as Jakoba looked into his eyes, turned his head to check each ear and back to look in his nostrils. He then circled Rok again.