Word, in the ways that such things travel between dimensions, began to spread. Not of a savior or a god, but of a "Fixer." Entities and civilizations facing problems that were subtle, systemic, and soul-deep started putting out a quiet call. They didn't need a warrior; they needed a specialist.
Kairo's skiff became a common, if fleeting, sight in the stranger corners of the multiverse. His methods were unorthodox. He didn't give speeches or wield obvious power.
For a hive-mind species plagued by a "psychic static" that caused debilitating migraines, he didn't build a shield. He sat in their communal chamber and, using the memory of the Vesperian Compact as a template, helped them "re-tune" their connection, turning the painful noise into a harmonious chorus. He was a therapist for a collective consciousness.
For a race of star-forgers whose creations were becoming unstable and short-lived, he didn't offer a new alloy. He showed their master smith, through a shared vision, the final, peaceful sigh of an ancient star—a lesson in sustainable release over violent burnout. Their next star burned with a steady, enduring light.
He was a cosmic consultant, and his fee was the satisfaction of a job well done.
One day, after realigning the gravitational tides for a water-world whose moons had fallen into a disruptive rhythm, a familiar grey ship, sleek and utterly silent, materialized beside his humble skiff. A hatch opened, and Sentinel-7 floated out.
Its impassive helmet regarded Kairo, then the now-calm alien oceans below.
"The Silence Fleet has noted your activities," Sentinel-7 stated, its voice as flat and professional as ever. "Your success rate is 100%. Your methods are… efficient. And untraceable by conventional threat-assessment protocols."
Kairo rested his oars. "Is there a problem?"
"Negative. There is an… opportunity." A data-stream transmitted directly to Kairo's mind. "A reality fragment, designation K-7B, is experiencing critical existence failure. Its foundational laws are decaying. Standard stabilization protocols have failed. The Mender Corps has deemed it a total loss, scheduled for dimensional recycling."
Kairo scanned the data. It was a grim diagnosis. The fragment, a small pocket reality, was like a body rejecting its own organs. Space and time were unraveling at a quantum level.
"The Council believes your unique paradigm may offer a final alternative before termination," Sentinel-7 continued. "You would be acting as an independent contractor. This is a high-risk assignment. Failure means the fragment's complete and irreversible erasure."
This wasn't a tune-up. This was an emergency room call. The patient was dying, and the established doctors had given up.
Kairo looked from the sterile Sentinel to the simple oars in his hands. He thought of the diamond seed, of the beautiful, terrible cost of an ending that couldn't be stopped. But this one could.
"I'll take a look," he said.
Sentinel-7 gave a single, sharp nod. "A gateway will be opened. You have 24 standard hours. We will be monitoring."
The Foreman had dropped off a blueprint for a seemingly impossible job. Kairo, the repairman, picked up his tools. It was time to get to work.