The sign outside the store flickered like it couldn't decide whether it existed.
One second it read "Pet Emporium" in cheap neon.
The next second, the letters rearranged into a language that looked more like fireflies dancing across glass.
Yomi Yuki squinted. "Cool. Guess the electrician's on strike again."
Inside, the shop was worse. Cages stacked to the ceiling, tanks that glowed like miniature galaxies, scratching posts that occasionally growled back if you got too close. The air smelled like cinnamon, ozone, and something that might have been sulfur.
It was her first shift.
And no one had warned her the hamster in aisle three was the size of a golden retriever.
"Don't touch the crystal," a smooth voice called from the back. The Shopkeeper—her new boss—never bothered with hellos.
Yomi froze. Her hand was halfway to a glowing shard poking out of the hamster's cage.
"…I wasn't gonna," she muttered.
The hamster sneezed. The shard pulsed. The ceiling lights flickered.
Great start.
The door chimed.
Not with a normal ding, but with a burst of violet lightning. The glass shimmered, then split open into a swirling oval of emerald fog and silver sparks. Out stepped a man in robes that probably cost more than Yomi's life, his eyes glowing like dying stars.
He carried himself like a warlord. He stopped at the counter like a dad at a hardware store.
"I require a… companion," he said, voice deep enough to rattle the shelves.
Yomi glanced at the Shopkeeper, who was leaned against the wall sipping tea like nothing was happening. Typical.
So, it was her job.
She grabbed a clipboard. "Name?"
The man raised a brow. "You ask me—?"
"Yeah, buddy, gotta fill the form. Pets don't walk out without paperwork."
His jaw tightened. "Vorath Malen."
The name crawled across the clipboard as she scribbled it down. Behind him, the portal still swirled, dripping colors that bled across the floor tiles. Yomi pretended not to notice.
The hamster in aisle three sneezed again. This time, the lights didn't just flicker—they shattered. Shards hung in the air, frozen mid-fall, glowing faint blue.
Yomi looked up. Looked at the Shopkeeper.
The Shopkeeper just sipped their tea.
"…Right," Yomi said, teeth gritted. "First shift. No pressure."
Vorath leaned over the counter, towering, radiating that "I've destroyed kingdoms before breakfast" aura. Yomi scribbled his name down anyway. Pen squeaked across paper.
"Alright," she said. "Follow me. Try not to touch anything that glows. Or hums. Or… breathes."
The aisles stretched too far, bigger on the inside than the building outside could possibly allow. Shadows and colors twisted together like paint in water. Vorath's boots echoed against the tiles as they passed rows of cages, tanks, and habitats.
First stop: a kitten. Except its fur looked like spilled ink against starlight, and its eyes spun with tiny galaxies. It tilted its head at Vorath, blinked once, then turned away in disgust.
Yomi smirked. "Wow. Cats are universal."
Vorath's brow twitched.
Next stop: a snake. Its body rippled like wet calligraphy, coiling midair as words formed in dripping black letters: NO.
Vorath growled. "This is insulting."
"Hey," Yomi shrugged. "It's not me rejecting you. They've got free will."
Finally, a puppy bounced forward from a glass enclosure. Brown, floppy ears, big round eyes. Adorable—until it sneezed and a burst of sparks shot from its nose, singeing a hole into Vorath's robe.
Yomi slapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. "Guess he likes you!"
Vorath's aura spiked. Shelves rattled, tanks trembled, the entire store vibrated with a suffocating weight. He jabbed a finger toward the kitten, voice thundering:
"I will take that one."
Before Yomi could say something snarky, the Shopkeeper finally stirred from the shadows. Their voice slid across the room, soft but absolute.
"The pets choose the owner. Always."
The kitten rose, galaxies flickering in its fur, and padded across the aisle—straight to Yomi's ankle. It curled against her like she was the only safe thing in existence.
Yomi froze. "…Uh. This isn't on the form."
Vorath's face turned crimson. Cosmic pressure slammed down harder, cracking tiles. Yomi's clipboard snapped in half.
The Shopkeeper didn't even look up from their tea. "Rule two. No harm within the Emporium."
Reality buckled. In one blink, Vorath was shoved back through his swirling portal, robes smoking from unseen fire. The door snapped shut, the neon sign outside flickering again as if nothing happened.
Silence.
Yomi stared at the curled-up kitten against her ankle. Its galaxy eyes blinked up at her with quiet, knowing weight.
"…You've got to be kidding me," she whispered.
The Shopkeeper's voice drifted over, calm as ever: "Clean up aisle three."
The hamster sneezed. The ceiling lights shattered again, frozen mid-fall, glowing faint blue.
Yomi groaned. "Yeah. Great first shift."