Shortly after his “interview” with Wonder Woman and Bruce, Tom wandered through the quiet halls of Wayne Manor, his steps slow and deliberate. The pain in his ribs persisted, but he was beginning to tune it out, focusing instead on the maze of rooms and corridors. The grandeur of the manor was almost overwhelming, but right now, he wasn’t looking for artifacts or artwork. He needed space—seclusion to think.

After a few turns and a flight of stairs, Tom found himself in a dimly lit library. The towering shelves of books stretched to the ceiling, their dark wood frames lending the room an air of solemnity. It was quiet, and more importantly, empty. He made his way to a corner with an armchair and sank into it with a wince.

"Finally," Kaelith’s voice broke the silence, dripping with her usual sarcasm. She materialized in the shadows near the window, her figure half-lit by the faint sunlight seeping through the curtains. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me."

Tom sighed, rubbing his temples. "Not a chance. You’re too persistent for that."

Kaelith’s smirk faded as she stepped closer, her expression unusually serious. "I underestimated you," she said, her voice low and measured. "More specifically, I underestimated the extent of the knowledge you hold about this universe. If I had known, I wouldn’t have been so… complacent."

Tom tensed, his hands tightening around the armrests of the chair. "You mean what happened during the Lasso?"

Kaelith nodded, her gaze sharp. "Yes. That little brush with catastrophe was enough to show me just how precarious this situation really is—for both of us. And make no mistake, Tom, we almost didn’t make it out of that intact."

Tom blinked, stunned. "You mean we could’ve… died?"

Kaelith crossed her arms, her tone clipped. "Not could’ve. Would’ve. That entity you were thinking about? If it had fully manifested, we’d be gone. No second chances, no heroic last stands. Just gone."

Tom’s throat tightened as the weight of her words settled over him. The memory of the oppressive darkness, the suffocating pressure, and the sense of reality itself bending to something far greater than him came rushing back. "I wasn’t trying to summon anything," he said defensively. "I didn’t even know for sure that was possible."

Kaelith’s eyes narrowed "I know you weren’t trying to. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know the rules of this world—or the consequences of your own thoughts. And that makes you a liability, to yourself and to me."

Tom flinched at the word "liability," but he couldn’t argue with her. He’d seen the evidence of it firsthand.

Kaelith’s voice lowered, her usual sharpness replaced with a cold practicality. "We don’t let it happen again. You need to learn control, Tom. If you can’t rein in your thoughts or energy, we’re both as good as dead the next time something like this happens."

Tom frowned, his mind racing. "What are you saying? You’re going to help me?"

Kaelith’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual bite. "Yes. Not because I want to, mind you, but because I don’t trust the alternative. You need training—real training. And while you’ll never reach my level, I can at least make sure you don’t accidentally end the both of us."

"Magic," she said, cutting him off. "I’m going to teach you magic. It’s the only way you’ll have a chance at surviving here—or anywhere else for that matter."

Tom hesitated, her words sinking in. "Magic? You think I can actually learn it?"

Kaelith shrugged, leaning casually against the window. "You’ve got enough of a spark to make it work. It’ll take effort, and it’ll hurt, but yes. It’s your best shot at keeping us both alive."

Tom let out a slow breath, his thoughts racing. The memory of the entity’s presence—its overwhelming weight and suffocating darkness—still lingered in the back of his mind. "Alright," he said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. "If it means keeping that thing away, I’ll do whatever it takes."

Kaelith’s smirk widened slightly, though there was no humor in it. "Good. Then we start now."

She raised her hand, a faint ripple of energy coursing through the room. The air seemed to hum with power, subtle but undeniable. "Sit," she instructed, gesturing to the armchair. "This is going to be unpleasant, but you’ll thank me later."

As Tom sank into the chair, Kaelith’s serious expression lingered, her usual teasing tone nowhere to be found. "Focus, Tom," she said softly, her voice laced with an urgency he hadn’t heard before. "Because next time, we might not get a chance to stop it."

The hours slipped by as Tom practiced under Kaelith's watchful eye. Her sharp instructions and occasional biting sarcasm kept him focused, though the progress was slow. Each time he thought he was beginning to grasp the energy on his own, it slipped away like sand through his fingers. Frustration built steadily, but Kaelith’s voice cut through his discouragement.

"Don’t overthink it," she said, her tone brusque but lacking her usual venom. "You’re already advancing faster than most would. Normally, it would take months just to feel even a fraction of what you’ve already experienced. Be patient."

Tom leaned back against the armchair, wiping sweat from his brow. "Easy for you to say," he muttered, his exhaustion creeping into his voice. "You’ve probably been doing this for… forever."

Kaelith let out a low chuckle, crossing her arms as she leaned against the edge of a nearby shelf. "True. But even I had to start somewhere, darling. No one masters magic overnight. Every moment you spend trying builds that connection." Her tone softened slightly, though it still carried her characteristic edge. "And it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Trust me."

Tom exhaled, the reminder of what had almost happened earlier still fresh in his mind. "Right," he said, standing up with renewed determination. "One more time."

Before he could settle back into focus, a sharp knock echoed through the library, making him flinch. Kaelith straightened immediately, her form shimmering faintly before vanishing into the shadows, leaving only a whisper of her presence behind. "We’ll continue later," she said, her voice low and close to his ear. "Don’t get too comfortable just yet."

"Master Tom?" Alfred’s familiar, calm voice called from the doorway. He stepped inside, his gaze scanning the room with practiced precision. "There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Master Bruce is waiting for you."

Tom hesitated for a moment, still adjusting to the absence of Kaelith’s energy and the weight of his new reality. The faint warmth of magic lingered within him, buzzing softly beneath his skin. He nodded and followed Alfred out of the library, his steps a little steadier now.

As they walked through the long corridors of Wayne Manor, Tom couldn’t help but replay the events of the day in his mind. The terror of almost summoning something unthinkable, Kaelith’s uncharacteristic seriousness, and the realization of just how dangerous his knowledge could be—it all hung over him like a storm cloud. But amidst the chaos, there was a spark of progress, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his footing in this strange and perilous world.

And as Alfred led him down the halls, Tom couldn’t shake the thought of Kaelith’s parting words. Don’t get too comfortable just yet. He knew she was right. There was still so much he didn’t know—so much he needed to learn—if he wanted to survive what lay ahead.

----------------------------------------

The library of Wayne Manor was cloaked in a heavy stillness, the kind that clung to the skin like an unspoken accusation. The faint echoes of Tom’s retreating footsteps had long since dissolved into the quiet, leaving Kaelith alone amidst the towering shelves and dimly lit rows. Her crimson eyes glinted faintly in the low light as she lingered by a worn armchair, her form casting long, undulating shadows that seemed almost alive in the flickering glow of the fireplace.

She leaned back, folding her arms tightly across her chest, the weight of her situation pressing down on her with relentless force. A glorified babysitter. That’s what she’d been claiming, and for a while, she’d almost believed her own lie. A sharp breath escaped her lips, curling in the air like smoke. But it wasn’t true, none of it was. She wasn’t a demon, wasn’t all-powerful, and certainly wasn’t as detached as she pretended to be.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

She was created. A construct of magic and intent, designed by the Entity to be a guide, a shield, and, perhaps most importantly, a companion. Tom’s companion.

"Humans distrust altruism without a price," the Entity had told her, its voice a quiet yet immutable force in her mind. "Conceal your identity. Assume a guise. Be his deterrent, his shield, and his guide. He will need you, but he won’t trust you without a reason. Play the role."

And so she had. From the moment she’d appeared, Kaelith had leaned into the persona of an antagonistic, all-powerful demon, complete with biting sarcasm and a perpetual air of danger. It had worked well enough at first—Tom kept his distance but still relied on her. But now, after everything—the interrogation, the near catastrophe she had barely managed to avert—she found herself questioning everything. Was she too cruel? Not cruel enough? Was this “demon act” even working?

But the act wasn’t solely for Tom’s benefit. It was a shield for them both—a necessary layer of protection in a world that wouldn’t hesitate to tear them apart if it knew the truth. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. Kaelith was an anomaly in this universe, a construct unlike anything it had encountered before. Her very existence was an invitation for questions, scrutiny, and danger.

Pretending to be a demon was a calculated decision, imperfect but functional. A demon’s presence, while alarming, wasn’t unheard of in this universe—a known variable in the grand, chaotic equation of its magic and power. It was far easier to let others believe she was a dangerous, malevolent force than to risk exposing her true nature. The alternative would draw far more unwanted attention to both her and Tom—attention neither of them could afford.

Admittedly, the choice wasn’t perfect. A demon wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous guise, but it carried a kind of familiarity that gave her some measure of control. People feared demons, but they understood them in their own limited way. They could rationalize her presence as a threat to be managed or avoided.

Kaelith’s gaze drifted toward the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the high windows, her mind replaying the events of the interrogation with unrelenting clarity. Tom had been so close to summoning something horrific, something even she could barely comprehend. That moment had rattled her in a way she hadn’t expected. She’d almost failed her task—her purpose—not even a day into this arrangement.

Her existence was for him. The Entity had made that clear. She was gifted knowledge, power, and abilities far beyond her comprehension, all to protect, guide, and teach him.

Her fingers trailed over the polished surface of a nearby desk, the cool wood grounding her thoughts. The truth was simpler and far more frustrating: she cared. She had from the moment she was created, but she couldn't be up-front from the beginning, or maybe she could have? At this point it would be too much work to attempt to be honest now, as it would seem that she would be trying to pretend to care. Which was the Truth, ironically.

"Am I doing this right?" she muttered under her breath, her words sharp in the oppressive quiet.

The Entity had been clear—Tom would need a friend, someone he could trust implicitly in this world. That someone was supposed to be her. But she’d never interacted with humans before, not like this. Everything she knew came from the Entity’s instructions, secondhand knowledge meant to approximate understanding. She had no idea if her approach—pushing him, teasing him, demanding more than he thought he could give—was helping or hurting. She had no idea if she was getting it right.

Kaelith’s fingers curled into a fist as she pushed herself away from the desk, frustration simmering just beneath her composed exterior. For all her supposed knowledge, for all her preparation, she was fumbling through this as much as Tom was. The difference was that she couldn’t afford to let him see it.

"You’re supposed to be his friend," she reminded herself bitterly, her voice barely above a whisper. But when? When should she drop the mask? Should she tell him the truth now? Later? Would he even listen after she started this relationship on lies?

Her gaze swept over the library’s darkened corners, the cold, still air brushing against her like a silent admonishment. The bond between them thrummed faintly at the edge of her awareness, a constant reminder of her purpose. It wasn’t just a connection; it was a responsibility. A promise.

The Entity’s voice echoed in her mind. “You are not just his shield. You are his path forward. Help him grow.”

Her thoughts drifted to Tom’s earlier question—why offer to teach him magic now? Why not earlier? The truth was that she’d intended to teach him from the start. It had always been part of the plan. But humans, she’d learned, were frustratingly suspicious of kindness given freely. She needed an excuse, a reason he would accept without question. The interrogation had provided the perfect opportunity for her persona.

Kaelith’s lips twisted into a faint smirk, though it didn’t carry its usual sharpness. "You’re learning, Tom," she murmured, her voice carrying an edge of reluctant pride. "I get to teach you now."

Her crimson eyes lingered on the empty doorway where he’d disappeared moments before. How much longer could she keep up the act? How much longer could she pretend to be something she wasn’t? The question gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside. For now, her focus was clear: teach him, protect him, and ensure they both survived whatever came next.

As she stepped into the shadows, her form blending seamlessly with the darkness, Kaelith couldn’t shake the lingering thought that hovered in her mind. Was she really protecting Tom, or was she simply trying to convince herself that she could?

For now, she had a role to play. But she hoped—prayed, even—that when the mask finally came off, Tom would still look to her as the friend she was supposed to be.

----------------------------------------

The study was a room with tall, dark bookshelves lining the walls and an impressive oak desk at its center. It was well illuminated with lamps and the flickering light of the fireplace. Bruce Wayne sat behind the desk, his posture straight, his hands resting lightly on the polished surface. His eyes, however, were fixed on Tom, who had just stepped into the room.

Tom hesitated near the door, the weight of Bruce’s gaze making him feel oddly small. He shifted awkwardly, glancing around the imposing room. “You were looking for me?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Bruce gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk. “Yes,” he said, his voice calm but direct. “Now that the League’s initial concerns about your presence have been addressed, we can focus more on your situation. Fully.”

Tom sank into the chair, trying to suppress the tension in his shoulders. “Right. So what’s next?”

Bruce leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze unrelenting. “First, I want to address something critical,” he began, his tone carefully measured. “Your well-being. And I’m not just talking about your injuries.”

Tom blinked, confused. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, considering everything, I’m doing okay.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. “Tom, you attempted to take your own life less than 24 hours ago,” he said bluntly. “That’s not something anyone just bounces back from. You’ve been thrust into an entirely new world, facing challenges most people can’t even imagine. The mental toll of that alone is enormous.”

Tom’s mouth opened to argue, but Bruce held up a hand, silencing him. “I’ve seen the effects of trauma, isolation, and overwhelming pressure firsthand. Injuries of the mind are just as serious as those of the body. Ignoring them doesn’t make them go away.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests. “I don’t need a shrink,” he muttered. “I’ve got enough on my plate without…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish.

Bruce’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. “I’m not suggesting it as an option, Tom. I’m telling you it’s necessary. And it’s not a punishment or an indictment of your character. Everyone—and I mean everyone—needs help sometimes.”

Tom frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know. It just feels… weird. Like admitting I can’t handle it.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, his tone shifting to something almost conversational. “Did you know that every member of the Justice League is required to have monthly counseling sessions?”

Tom’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Wait, what? Even you?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. “Yes. Even me. It’s mandatory. The League deals with threats and situations that would break most people. We face things no one else can comprehend. If we don’t address the psychological toll, we risk becoming liabilities instead of assets. None of us are invincible, Tom. Not in that way.”

Tom sat back in his chair, digesting that. The idea of Batman—the Dark Knight himself—sitting down for therapy was almost impossible to reconcile with the larger-than-life figure he’d grown up reading about. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. If anyone understood the importance of being prepared and staying sharp, it was Bruce.

“Okay,” Tom said finally, his voice quieter. “But how does that work? I mean, who’d even believe half the stuff I’d have to talk about?”

Bruce’s expression grew serious again. “There are professionals we trust, individuals who understand the unique circumstances we operate under. You won’t be alone in this, Tom. And if it makes it easier, you can think of it as another step toward acclimating to this world.”

Tom exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to try,” he admitted reluctantly.

Bruce nodded, satisfied. “Good. I’ll make the arrangements. In the meantime, focus on taking care of yourself. This isn’t a sprint, Tom. It’s a marathon.”

As Bruce stood, signaling the end of the conversation, he added, “You’ve got people here who are willing to help you. Don’t let pride or fear keep you from accepting it.”

Tom managed a faint smile as he rose to his feet. “Thanks, Bruce. For… everything. I’ll try not to let you down.”

Bruce’s gaze softened, just barely. “The only way you’d let me down is if you stop trying. Keep moving forward, Tom. That’s all anyone can ask.”

Tom nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief as he left the study. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t facing everything alone.