— end —

The dog’s eyes blinked once, deliberately. A ripple like wind moved through its fur. “Kharon,” it accepted, as if the syllable fit into a place inside it.

Berz1337’s fingers worked a rhythm against their knee. “He’s part of me. Not metaphorically — I can feel him. When I’m about to snap, he sits up, ears pricked, and the world tilts.” They glanced at the hellhound. “He eats the shame so I don’t have to. He keeps people away. He… protects me by destroying things.”

Berz1337 snorted. “Names feel like contracts.”

Dr. Marin nodded. “And does he ever get predictive? Does he warn you before he acts?”

They sat like that for a long, practical minute. The hellhound’s breathing slowed. Berz1337’s hands stopped trembling.