The Draconian Woman. Chapter Five

Chapter Five – The Man Who Should Not Exist

By October 2022, Serakha had mastered nearly every aspect of modern human life.

She could order coffee without accidentally frightening the barista.

She knew that when someone asked,

"How's it going?"

they did not expect a detailed strategic report.

She had learned that smiling required remarkably few muscles but produced astonishingly effective diplomatic results.

And she had finally accepted that cats...

were somehow in charge of the internet.

Emma had only one complaint.

"You work too much."

"I work the correct amount."

"No."

"You optimize everything."

"Correct."

"You even optimized your weekends."

"They contained unnecessary inefficiencies."

Emma sighed dramatically.

"Today..."

"...we're doing something completely useless."

Serakha looked alarmed.

"...Go on."

"We're going to a bookstore."

"What strategic objective does the bookstore serve?"

Emma smiled.

"Happiness."

Serakha narrowed her eyes.

"You keep assigning impossible objectives to ordinary buildings."

The bookstore smelled of paper, coffee and old wood.

Serakha stopped walking.

There were thousands of books.

Entire civilizations preserved inside rectangles of paper.

She ran one finger gently across a shelf.

"No encryption."

"No security clearance."

"No authorization codes."

Emma smiled.

"Anyone can read them."

Serakha whispered,

"Your species shares knowledge..."

"...with strangers?"

"Usually."

She looked genuinely amazed.

"Incredible."

An elderly bookseller approached them.

"Can I help you find something?"

Serakha answered honestly.

"I do not yet know."

He smiled kindly.

"The best readers never do."

She liked him immediately.

Emma wandered toward the fiction section.

Serakha drifted into History.

Then Philosophy.

Then Astronomy.

She picked up a book about ancient civilizations.

Egypt.

Sumer.

Babylon.

She smiled faintly.

"Your memories survive..."

"...even if your facts do not."

Then...

someone spoke behind her.

Not in English.

Not in Romanian.

Not in any language spoken on Earth.

It was ancient Draconian.

Flawless.

Precise.

A language that had not echoed through her ears for over ten thousand years.

The voice said quietly,

"The stars remember your true name."

Serakha froze.

Every muscle in her body locked into absolute stillness.

Slowly...

very slowly...

she turned around.

A man stood three meters away.

Perhaps forty years old.

Dark hair.

Grey coat.

A book in one hand.

He looked completely ordinary.

Except...

his eyes.

They were watching her with the calm patience of someone who had waited a very long time.

He inclined his head.

The ancient military greeting of the Fourth Draco Fleet.

Nobody on Earth knew that greeting.

Nobody.

Emma returned carrying three novels.

"Oh!"

She smiled.

"You made a friend?"

Neither of them answered.

Emma looked from one face to the other.

"...Should I come back later?"

The man finally spoke.

Perfect English.

"My apologies."

"I wished only to confirm that Commander Serakha survived the transition."

Emma laughed awkwardly.

"Transition?"

Serakha never took her eyes off him.

"Who are you?"

He smiled.

"The wrong question."

Silence.

Then he added,

"You should ask..."

"...when I am from."

Emma blinked.

"...Excuse me?"

The man looked at her politely.

"You are Emma."

"...Yes."

"You rescued her."

"...Yes."

"You changed history."

Emma laughed nervously.

"I think you've mistaken us for someone else."

"No."

"I rarely make that mistake."

Serakha stepped closer.

Her voice became cold.

"What division?"

The man's expression changed instantly.

Professional.

Controlled.

Military.

"The Seventh Observatory."

Her heartbeat accelerated.

Impossible.

That division had disappeared...

before she was born.

"They were destroyed."

"So history records."

The bookseller interrupted cheerfully.

"Everything alright over here?"

The mysterious man smiled warmly.

"Perfectly."

He bought a single book.

Thanked the cashier.

Wished everyone a pleasant afternoon.

Then left.

As though nothing unusual had happened.

Emma stared at Serakha.

"...Who was that?"

Serakha didn't answer immediately.

Instead she walked to the window.

Outside...

the man crossed the street.

A bus passed between them.

For barely three seconds.

When it moved on...

he was gone.

Completely gone.

No side street.

No crowd.

Nothing.

Emma whispered,

"That's impossible."

Serakha quietly replied,

"No."

"Merely advanced."

That evening neither of them watched television.

Emma finally broke the silence.

"You know him."

"No."

"But you know what he is."

Serakha looked at her tea.

"It is worse."

"What could be worse?"

"I know..."

"...what he shouldn't be."

Emma waited.

Serakha rarely hesitated before speaking.

This time...

she searched for the right words.

"When civilizations become sufficiently advanced..."

"...they stop measuring distance."

Emma frowned.

"What do they measure?"

"Probability."

"I don't understand."

"In your world..."

"...you ask..."

"'How far away is someone?'"

She looked toward the night sky.

"In mine..."

"...we asked..."

"'How unlikely is it that we meet?'"

Emma blinked.

"...That's beautiful."

"It is terrifying."

Later that night Serakha couldn't sleep.

For the first time since arriving on Earth...

she dreamed.

Not memories.

Not battles.

Not command chambers.

She saw...

a library.

Not a normal library.

One built among the stars.

Shelves stretching across galaxies.

Every book glowing softly.

Every page alive.

At the center stood the same man.

He looked at her and smiled.

"You are reading the wrong timeline."

She frowned.

"There is only one."

"There are always many."

"Then why am I here?"

His answer echoed through the endless library.

"Because..."

"...someone edited the story."

Serakha awoke before sunrise.

Her heart was racing.

On the bedside table...

lay a folded piece of paper.

She had never seen it before.

She unfolded it carefully.

Only six words were written.

Find the Keeper before December begins.

Nothing else.

No signature.

No explanation.

Emma was still asleep in the next room.

The apartment was silent.

Outside, the ordinary world continued exactly as always.

Cars moved.

People hurried to work.

Someone walked a dog wearing a tiny blue sweater.

Earth remained delightfully normal.

But Serakha knew...

normality had just ended.

Somewhere...

someone else remembered the old universe.

And if one traveler had crossed the timeline...

there might be others.