In the dream he was floating, wandering across the void. The stars of distant worlds shone all around him, a twinkling tapestry of galactic beauty piercing the absolute darkness of space. For a while he was content to just drift along, at peace finally for the first time in a long time. He knew that as soon as he awoke he would have to contend with reality again, and all the horrors that would bring.
He lost track of time. He continued his silent journey. Suddenly he became aware of a light behind him; fiery and bright. He turned lazily, annoyed at the interruption to his peaceful travels. Before him was the star of Dholen. He was in the Far Rim then, the gateway to the Perseus Veil. Why would his dream take him here?
He began to turn away from the star; it's light was beginning to hurt his eyes, it's growing heat burning the exposed skin on his arms. Something wasn't right. The star was wrong. It was bigger than it should have been. He watched with a growing horror as the red giant began to expand.
Wrestling control of his dream body he began to float off rapidly toward the systems inner planets, seeking shelter from the expanding star. From memory he recalled the planet of Haestrom. He made haste to the planet, focused all his will to reach a safe place away from the onrushing mass of Dholen's furious eruption. Entering Haestroms orbit he veered around to the planet's dark side. Turning back he watched as Dholen's light was eclipsed by Haestroms silhouette.
And then it hit him…an unbelievable sense of déjà vu. He'd been here before, witnessed this moment. The Prothean beacon! The vision from Eden Prime! The destruction he'd witnessed was akin to the horror he saw now: An expanding sun, planets engulfed in flame…billions of voices screaming out in terror then suddenly silenced…
Within the blackness of Haestroms surface a figure appeared, just as it had in his visions. An ancient sentient machine, wreathed in red and emanating malice. But it wasn't Sovereign. He didn't recognise this creature, though he instantly recognised it for what it was. A Reaper.
Without warning it's voice pierced his mind. "We are the Harbinger of your perfection, Shepard. Your actions have changed nothing. The cycle cannot be broken. Only through destruction can you be saved. We are the Harbinger of your ascendance. You do not yet comprehend your place in things. You are ignorant. We are knowing. We are your destiny Shepard."
Shepard's head throbbed with pain, the voice of the Reaper tearing into his brain.
"Why do you resist Shepard? You will regret your resistance. Your evolution cannot be stopped. You will be as we are."
Shepard tried to scream, a vain effort within the vacuum that surrounded him. His peaceful dream had become a nightmare.
"I sense your weakness…I know you feel this. I will show you true power."
Shepard watched as the image of the Reaper disappeared, replaced by a wall of red flame as Haestrom was engulfed in fire. "We are the beginning. You are the end."
Shepard's world turned red…then there was nothing but eternal darkness.
Shepard awoke in a cold sweat, his body trembling. His voice finally found substance, unfettered by the restrictions of his nightmare and bellowed outward into a terrified scream.
Miranda Lawson asleep next to him in the bed, bolted upright. "Shepard? What's wrong?"
It took a moment for the commander to compose himself. He looked around his cabin, took stock of his surroundings. He no longer knew what was real and what was a dream. He gradually convinced himself he was safe on the Normandy. He grabbed Miranda's arm, reaching out to confirm his existence within reality. Her reciprocating touch snapped him out of his trance.
"Shepard?" asked a worried Miranda. "Are you okay? It was just another nightmare."
He turned to her and smiled weakly. "I'm fine Miranda."
"Maybe Mordin should take another look at you. Or doctor Chakwas."
"No, Miri. I'm fine."
"I'm worried about you Shepard. These dreams are getting more frequent. What's causing them?"
"I don't know. They're…similar to the visions I had from the Prothean beacon. But…the Reaper…Harbinger. It…talks to me."
"What do you mean?" Miranda's brow furrowed with worry and she placed her arm around Shepard, drawing him close. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in the sweet lingering smell of her perfume. He closed his eyes and tried to forget the horror of his nightmare, hoping that the thought of Miranda's shining beauty would help dispel the darkness gathering within his mind.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Like you said, it's just a nightmare."
"You shouldn't avoid the issue Shepard. That's not like you."
"I know, but honestly I'm fine. I'm not going to let a dream get me down. Lets go back to sleep."
"But what if you have another nightmare?"
Shepard smiled, sinking back into the covers. His arms wrapped themselves around Miranda's perfect waist, dragging her down into the haven of warm blankets. "I guess you'll have to keep me awake then. All night long. Commanders orders."
"Oh really? You're so demanding Shepard. Always riding me hard…"
"Then how about you ride me for a change."
Miranda smiled, straddling him. "I guess that can be arranged."
The notion of morning was hardly apropos in space. The sky outside the Normandy's viewports always gave the impression that it was eternally night. When Shepard awoke Miranda had already left, the imprint of her sleeping body remained creased into the warm bed sheets. He smiled at remembering the midnight fun they'd had together, but his face instantly darkened upon recalling his nightmare. It had been two months since the assault upon the Collector base, and for nearly a month of that time he had been experiencing these worryingly frequent nightmares.
Chakwas had been sympathetic to Shepard, claiming that the horrors he'd endured were bound to leave scars. She'd attributed his nightmares to post-traumatic stress. Shepard wasn't so sure. There was something about the dreams he couldn't quite place. It was if the Prothean cipher within his head had suddenly flared back to life. It felt as if he was being warned once more of an approaching apocalypse. But why?
Shepard reluctantly left the bed, and lazily dressed himself in casual attire. No need to stand on ceremony. The crew had ceased to be Cerberus when they blew up the Collector base. The Illusive Man had not been happy.
Shepard had since attempted to contact the Alliance. They had been less than interested in welcoming him back following reports of his Cerberus involvement. He knew the Council wouldn't help him anyway. For all intents and purposes he was still a Spectre, though without the Council's backing and Alliance support he felt dangerously close to being seen as a rouge agent. For the past months the crew of the Normandy SR2 had restricted themselves to the pirate ports of the Terminus Systems, avoiding the gaze of the Illusive Man's agents and keeping the Council off their backs.
With their commitments to his cause over, several of Shepard's crew had jumped ship soon after returning from the Omega 4 relay. Jack had been the first to leave, disappearing into parts unknown. Grunt had returned to join Clan Urdnot on Tuchanka and pursue whatever grand destiny the Warlord Okeer had foreseen for him. Zaeed, true to his mercenary ways had left after his funds from Cerberus cleared, hopping on the nearest off-world transport the second the ship had made port in Omega. The drell assassin Thane Krios had returned to Kahje to see out the remainder of his shortening days in peace. The justicar Samara had returned to the asari homeworld of Thessia.
The rest of the crew had stayed. Bound by oath, contract or friendship they had chose to remain. What choice did they have? The were the last hope for the galaxy. They had witnessed the truth. The Reapers were coming. And they would not stand idly by, knowing they could help prevent the looming spectre of galactic extinction.
Shepard knew that like it or not he had to act to prevent the coming destruction. He didn't know how much longer they had; how long it would take the descending horde of synthetics to complete their arduous journey from dark space. The galaxy needed a hero. His mother had always told him that some men were born great. Others had greatness thrust upon them. He often wondered what category he fit in. His actions on Elysium had earned him the Star of Terra, cemented a reputation as a true hero of the Alliance. In that instance he had been forced to act. He couldn't stand by and watch as his friends and allies died. Had his actions meant that he had always been great, or had circumstances forced greatness upon him? He supposed it didn't really matter. Though when a Reaper took a personal interest in one man it was hard to shake the feeling that some greater destiny or purpose yet lay in store for him. Why him though? What did Harbinger want?
Shepard finished getting dressed and took the elevator down to the CIC. He strolled over to Joker, the Normandy helmsman. "How we doing Joker?"
"Better than you I hear. Miranda told me about those nightmares you've been having. A Reaper that talks to you? Worlds destroyed by exploding suns? And I thought my dreams were bad."
"What dreams have you been having?"
"One's where I'm back at the academy. My instructor begins shouting at me, telling me off for something I haven't done. But she's dressed in a schoolgirl outfit and she has EDI's voice! It's very unsettling commander. But nothing compared to your dreams I'm sure."
"What's our status?"
"We've just discharged our drive core over Charoum, commander. Boards are green, everything looks solid. No hostile ships in the area. Remind me again why we're here? Why are we back in the Dholen system?"
"I'm not sure. My dreams have been bringing me here. Call it instinct. Intuition. Something's going on out here."
"While I won't argue that your visions have a habit of being prophetic, you do realise that we are in geth controlled space commander? I'd rather not be around when those metal bastards find us. The difference between doing something out of instinct as opposed to logic is that logically an instinctual reaction will get you killed. You do so love to put your crew in harms way. What are we looking for exactly?"
"I don't know. We're meeting someone here. Kal'Reeger, a marine from the Quarian flotilla. He contacted me several days ago. I don't know why."
As if on cue the Normandy's long range scanners detected a small patrol of ships coming out of light speed on the planet Charoum's far side. Immediately the unknown ships began hailing the Normandy, requesting they open a comm link.
"Patch them through Joker."
The grizzled voice of Kal'Reeger scratched it's way through the onboard speakers. "Commander Shepard. This is Kal'Reeger."
"This is Commander Shepard. What is this about Reeger?"
"I will explain in person Shepard. We have a small enclave of scientists on Haestrom's surface. I'm sending the coordinates. Please meet us there."
"You heard him Joker, take us in."
"Commander? We've got a problem."
"What is it Joker?"
"A patrol of geth dropships just broke cover from that nearby moon. They're booking it fast toward the Quarians!"
"Then step on it Joker! We have to save them!"
"Goddamn it. Why the hell don't we get hazard pay for this? Seriously, once all this is over I'm going back to Earth to pilot a taxi…"
