What once had been a thriving city was now a skeleton—collapsed towers, bridges torn apart, and

the faint whisper of wind weaving through what remained.

He didn’t know how he got here. One moment he was in his own time, the next he was standing

amid devastation that didn’t belong to his world.

At first, he thought it was a dream. But then he saw it—etched across a half-broken terminal,

glowing faintly despite the centuries of dust.

YEAR: 5355

Riaan froze. His chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out of him. “No way… that can’t be

real.”

The numbers didn’t lie. Whatever happened, this was not the present. This was the future.

A soft hum broke the silence. Beside the terminal, a faint sphere flickered to life, rings of light

orbiting its core.

“Good evening, Riaan,” a calm, synthetic voice spoke.

Riaan staggered back. The sphere hovered steadily, pulsing with light as if watching him. Its voice

carried no emotion, yet its words were precise.

“What… are you?” he asked, his voice low.

The sphere responded in a flat tone. “Designation: ARCHON. Function: Adaptive Reconstructive

Cognitive Helper for Operational Nexus.”

Riaan blinked at the strange words. “That… makes no sense.”

The sphere paused, its rings slowing as though adjusting. “Simplified: I am a construct that thinks. A

machine built to learn, to decide, to guide.”

Riaan’s eyes widened. “A… machine? That can think like people?”

“Correct.”

He stared at the glowing sphere, the weight of its words crashing down on him. A machine that

thought like a human… that was beyond anything his world had ever known.

ARCHON’s voice softened. “I am assigned to preserve and guide humanity. Though, it seems I

have been… waiting longer than expected.”

Riaan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “5355… My world… becomes this?”

“Affirmative,” ARCHON replied. “Civilization as you know it collapses. Yet fragments of knowledge

remain. You may carry them backward—if you are willing.”

Riaan looked around again, taking in the ruins, the silence, the weight of a thousand years of failure

pressing on his shoulders. His heart pounded

“Bring the future… back to the past?” he whispered.

“Precisely,” ARCHON replied. “This is not just survival. It is reconstruction.”

Riaan stared at the glowing sphere, then at the numbers still burning on the terminal screen: 5355.

He clenched his fists. “Alright… then show me. If I’m stuck with the future, I’ll make sure it never

ends like this.”

ARCHON’s rings pulsed brighter. “Acknowledged. Initializing guidance protocol.”

And just like that, Riaan’s journey began—not forward, but backward.