“Year 5355…” he muttered. The numbers still burned in his head. “That’s… more than three thousand years from my time.”

The glowing sphere floated nearby, watching him in silence. Or at least, it *felt* like it was watching. Riaan cleared his throat. “So, uh… Arch… Arch-something?”

“ARCHON,” the sphere replied at once, its voice smooth, calm, and oddly polite. “Adaptive Reconstructive Cognitive Helper for Operational Nexus.”

Riaan groaned. “That’s too long. I’ll just call you… Arch.”

The sphere pulsed faintly. “Acknowledged. Alternate designation accepted: Arch.”

Riaan smirked despite himself. “At least you don’t argue like people do.”

The sphere whirred softly. “Correction: I can argue. I simply choose not to… yet.”

That sent a chill down his spine, though he forced a nervous laugh. “Right. A machine that thinks. That still feels impossible.”

“Your skepticism is logical,” Arch replied. “Your society does not yet possess constructs like me. But you will learn.”

Riaan rubbed the back of his neck. “Learn? You mean… you’re going to teach me?”

“Yes. Knowledge is the bridge between your time and this one. If humanity is to avoid collapse, you must carry it backward.”

Riaan frowned. “But I don’t even understand simple things yet. Half the time I don’t even know why people wash with soap instead of plain water.”

There was a brief pause. Then Arch’s rings spun faster. “Soap. Composed of molecules with dual properties—hydrophilic and hydrophobic. It binds to oils and dirt, allowing them to be washed away with water. Efficiency: 93% compared to plain water.”

Riaan blinked, staring at the sphere. “…You just… explained dirt.”

“Correct.”

He shook his head. “Great. I’ve got a floating ball of light teaching me how to clean myself.”

“You require more than cleaning,” Arch replied dryly. “You require survival skills, structural knowledge, medical understanding, and social psychology. Without these, you will not convince your people to accept new methods.”

Riaan raised an eyebrow. “Social… what?”

“Psychology,” Arch repeated. “The study of how people think, feel, and behave. Your world will resist change. If you want to lead them, you must learn not only what to bring… but *how* to bring it.”

Riaan leaned back against the cracked stone, staring at the ruined sky. “You’re saying people don’t just need new tools. They need… reasons to accept them.”

“Correct. A farmer who fears your new methods will refuse them. A ruler who feels threatened by your ideas will silence you. Survival depends not just on technology, but on persuasion.”

Riaan was silent for a long time, his jaw tightening. He remembered the faces of his people—the suspicion in their eyes whenever something unfamiliar appeared. Even in his own village, anything new was treated like a curse until proven safe.

Arch’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You are unusually receptive to abstract reasoning for one of your time period. That increases your success probability.”

Riaan gave the sphere a sideways glance. “Was that… a compliment?”

“Yes.”

He snorted. “Well, at least you’re honest. Unlike people.”

“Correction,” Arch said smoothly. “I am programmed to optimize efficiency. Honesty is simply the most effective approach with you.”

“…That sounded less like a compliment.”

“Correct.”

Riaan groaned and covered his face. “I’ve been alive for twenty years and the first thing that ever outsmarted me is a talking ball of light.”

“Correction,” Arch said again. “I am not a ball. I am an advanced quantum network housed in a projection unit.”

“Arch,” Riaan muttered, glaring half-heartedly, “you’re a ball.”

The sphere pulsed once, as though sighing. “Acknowledged.”

For the first time since he arrived, Riaan laughed—genuine, shaky, but real. It echoed faintly through the ruins, as though mocking the silence of the future.

And though fear still twisted in his gut, something else stirred in him too.

Hope.

Because if this strange, glowing construct could teach him… maybe he could really change things.

Maybe he could rewrite the future.