---
Was it
Kara.
Kili.
Don't know but it was something with a K.
I forgot her name again.
It happens. Not because I don't care—but because names are trivial when you've outlived suns and watched galaxies breathe their last sigh.
She was... the girl. The assistant. The not-kid. She kept saying she was eighteen, like that number held meaning. To me, anything under five thousand still screams "infant."
She had been here for days. Or weeks. Or maybe years.
Time doesn't pass normally inside my home. It bends, hiccups, folds in on itself like lazy laundry. I built it that way. If you want a stable clock, go live in a flat reality. Not this kaleidoscope of collapsed timelines and echoing dimensions.
But she—she adjusted. Strange thing.
She had this frustrating tendency to learn. Not just the basics of the job, but the deeper things—even things I never cared to read. The Book I handed her (mostly for fun, I hadn't even skimmed it) was apparently her new religion. She asked questions about rules I didn't know existed. Spouted obscure codes from the Null Reaper Protocols like she was born in them.
Once I found her re-shelving my shelves of universes alphabetically.
Alphabetically.
Who even told her they had names?
But she's trying, though. That much I'll give her.
I'd find her walking upside down on the ceiling of the library, skimming through tomes written in languages that predate existence. A few of them I haven't even dared to crack open. One of them screams when you touch the spine. She touched it. Laughed. Said it sounded like a dying goat.
Disturbing. But mildly impressive.
She's been reading, practicing, tinkering with relics and gadgets I forgot I even owned. She even found my boxed-up Reality Shears. Said they were "cute." The Shears severed Dimension-47's planetary axis last I used them. Cute, huh.
What's wilder is that she's learning things about my job. Stuff I've never noticed or cared to know. Like how to optimize soul extraction efficiency by rearranging the sigils on the Black Ledger.
She corrected my sigil formation yesterday.
I almost unmade her out of reflex. But… she wasn't wrong.
Anyway, today was different.
I had plans.
So I did what I always do: walked into her room unannounced like a decent, god-tier employer, holding up a folded outfit.
"Wear this," I said, dropping it on her bed. "We're going somewhere."
She blinked at me from the mirror, brushing her absurdly long hair. I couldn't remember when it grew that much. Time again. Or maybe she was just being weird. Mortals do that.
"Could you… leave?" she asked, turning. "I need to change."
"Why?" I blinked.
She made a face. "Because I'm a woman."
I tilted my head. "And?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Privacy?"
"Kid, I've fought dragons made entirely of exposed muscle tissue. I've watched planets give birth to weaponized ideas. Trust me, I don't care about whatever mortal modesty ritual this is."
She crossed her arms. "Still. Out."
"But I need to see if it fits," I countered. "Otherwise, I'll have to adjust the matter-bonded weave manually. If it's too tight you'll rip a hole in the nearest pocket dimension. Not fun."
She stood up, outfit clutched to her chest. "I'm a woman," she said slowly, like I'd forgotten. "You can't just barge in and expect me to—"
"Woman. Man. Interdimensional slime slug. It's all the same to me. You're a body with a purpose. And that purpose is not detonating mid-transit."
She blinked. "You're a terrible mentor."
"And you've made it three days without dying. So I must be doing something right."
"It's been weeks."
"Sure."
She made a shooing gesture. "Out."
I stared at her. She stared back.
"You know I could just see through walls, right?" I asked.
Her expression didn't budge. "Then choose not to."
"…Fine."
I turned around with a dramatic sigh and walked backward through the wall just to make a point. Left a ghost-shaped hole in it for style.
As I crossed to the other side of the wall, I heard her mutter something like "Pervert Reaper." Which was insulting. And inaccurate. And honestly? A little funny.
Leaning against the hallway wall that wasn't technically a wall—more like spatial suggestion—I waited.
She was adapting faster than I thought. Reading. Asking things. Challenging me. Questioning why I devoured some worlds and spared others. Asking about morality like it was a switch I could flick.
There was a part of me—buried, rusted, ancient—that remembered having someone like her once.
Or maybe I made that up.
Either way, I was beginning to think I didn't save her just because the System recommended an assistant.
Maybe… I wanted someone to remember me.
---
A few minutes later, she emerged.
The outfit fit.
Of course it did. I'm a cosmic tailor.
She looked… prepared. Focused. Maybe even confident. It was kind of terrifying. Not the way she looked—but that she was adapting. The house hadn't driven her mad. The books hadn't melted her mind. The system even started calling her by name.
I still don't know it.
Maybe I'll ask. Eventually.
For now, we had a stop to make. Somewhere only accessible via the Wound Corridor. Dangerous. Full of time glitches and spatial paradoxes. Perfect for a first field trip.
"Ready?" I asked.
She nodded, then rolled her eyes. "Yes. And next time? Knock and wait."
"Next time?" I smirked. "You're assuming you'll survive this time."
She didn't flinch.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
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