Archives of the Future

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”

William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

The two Earth women had been invited to dine with the masters of the house. The dinner table, arranged in a way that echoed human customs, made an impression on the guests—a quiet, deliberate gesture of respect. Zarkon looked visibly pleased with himself. This time, he wasn’t sniffing from his little boxes every five to ten minutes, and everyone noticed. He had refined his formula and created a version that not only humans but also reptilians could use. In two separate glass containers, shaped like tall jugs, stood a red and a blue liquid. The red one was meant for Diona and Marayah; the blue was reserved for the two brothers.

Earlier that day, what should’ve been just a routine training session had shifted into something sharper. The closeness between the twin brothers, usually grounded in trust and instinct, had been disturbed. Sharing space with the two Earth women had become a silent pressure point. Their scent—subtle, but persistent—had soaked into the air. It was enough. Reptilian senses didn’t need more. What began as tension dissolved the unspoken pact between them, and instinct rushed in to fill the cracks. The clash wasn’t about skill or discipline—it was about control. Murgana had sensed it long before the session began. She had watched them, aware that this was no longer training. It had turned into a brutal fight—a primal test of strength and dominance, as if each were trying to claim the right to the female.

The blue drink felt like a long-awaited elixir. It even made the two men act friendly. Most of the time, Murgana listened to the conversation, mentally tracing the subtle differences between the two cousins. She felt reassured in her decision to work with Marayah, even though the other one could easily turn heads. Marayah’s mental sharpness and quiet inner beauty felt clearer and more elevated than Diona’s. Those qualities gave her a better chance at growth and social standing—something both newcomers would need to earn if they didn’t want to remain outsiders. In reptilian logic, the human phrase “beauty will save the world” felt like a grotesque parody. Their truth was: “Intellect will.

Diona listened too. Everyone around the table was speaking in an ancient language belonging to a tribe with unusual genetic heritage — the ones who once called themselves Bulgarians. In the old days, they were the only surface-dwelling humans who didn’t treat reptilians as monsters. They didn’t want to mix bloodlines, no, but they didn’t hunt them down either.

It wasn’t unusual for a reptilian male to take a human woman as his mate. The species were compatible, and their offspring could survive, grow, and even thrive. It was less common for the serpent-like females to choose a human male, but it happened. Depending on the mother, the hybrids leaned more toward one species or the other. Still, they lived underground. There were signs — skin tone, the shape of the pupils — little betrayals of their origin that kept them from passing undetected above. Humans, for all their intellect, were deeply tribal, profoundly racist at heart. They couldn’t even make peace with their own, dividing themselves into black, white, yellow, drawing lines that bled.

But the real difference had never been skin-deep. It was custom. Behavior. A way of reading the world that clashed from one group to the next. Every culture believed itself to be the pinnacle of human thought. Every culture believed the others should bow. Then came Hitler — shaped and sharpened by his reptilian “advisors” — designed precisely to split humanity, to ignite wars, sow famine, and flood the world with fear. Racial division was the perfect fault line. “Divide and conquer” had always been effective with humans.

For the last three or four centuries, the reptilians had learned to blend in more effectively. They kept to their deep cities, away from the sun, even though their bodies still longed for its light and heat. They had built a substitute underground — a replica sun — but no matter how many versions they improved, it could never quite match the real thing. And now, just as the humans were finally learning to harvest power from nature — even from their star — the reptilians watched in silence.

Yes — the conversation was fascinating….  Later that evening, after dinner, Zarkon made his way toward Diona’s quarters. He wanted to return her earring, to apologize, and to explain what had happened in the garden. Now that the elixir was working at full capacity, he could control himself—he could act like a rational being. It felt necessary to clear the misunderstanding. For some reason, he didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

Strange. All through dinner, he had caught himself watching the details of her behavior and body with quiet fascination. Not driven by physical hunger, but by something else—his mind. He enjoyed the precision of her movements, the way they lured and lingered. Now that the animal instinct was stripped away, what remained was the deliberate, fully conscious desire to be seen—liked, even—by this woman.

He remembered the way she had flirted with him while they were guarding the humans on their way to the Council. He remembered the touch of her skin when he had accidentally knocked her down, the scent of her earring, the curve of her lips as she chewed, the tiny dimples that formed when she smiled, and the long line of her neck. If this feeling had an Earth equivalent, it would probably be called love at first sight.

He wished she could feel the same. But he knew—his face was not human. His body might resemble a man’s, might function in similar ways, but he couldn’t change the way he looked. The thought saddened him more than he expected. Still, he stepped toward the hologram panel and placed his palm on the alert beacon. A moment later, a voice informed the occupant of the chamber that she had a visitor. His name was Zarkon.

Diona already understood what had happened to the doctor. Earth men often reacted like this when caught off guard by her charm. This wasn’t new.

She turned to him, addressing him by title.

“Doctor, would you wait a moment? I need to put on my protective layer.”

The thought hit him before he could stop it: How I’d love to see you without it — just for a minute.

He smacked himself across the face. Not out of weakness. But to sever the thought at its root.

“Of course,” he said, steady. “You could put on a whole seduction show — and I’d still hold.”

Diona didn’t ask what he meant, not because she didn’t care — she knew the pattern, had studied it, learned to navigate the fragile biology of male impulse, especially now, when something in her was beginning to understand the power she held over him.

She’d planned her escape in detail, rehearsed every step in her head, convinced that when the time came, she would walk away untouched.

But something shifted — not a feeling, not desire, not even curiosity — something colder and sharper: a recognition of the mind behind the body, of the restraint in his touch, and the quiet loyalty that had nothing to do with orders. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was enough to loosen the grip on her plan. And that made it dangerous.

For nearly two full minutes, he stood on the other side of the barrier, jaw tight, spine locked, telling himself he’d mastered it. That the elixir had calmed his blood. That his will was enough.

But the heat hadn’t left him. It simmered — low, insistent, defiant.

The door slid open without a sound, its magnetic seal releasing like a breath too long held. He didn’t wait. Didn’t pause. He didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. The sight of her struck not like beauty, but like fate. As if some deeper current—older than logic, older than species—had just reached up and claimed him. His pupils dilated, not from desire, but recognition. She was  danger. She was answer.

He felt the burn start at the base of his spine and rise—a command written in instinct, flooding through a body bred for war, for endurance, for silence. But she made it impossible. She made silence a lie. His hands didn’t move. Not yet. But his stance shifted, like a predator preparing—not to pounce, but to surrender to the one thing that could undo him.

No plan. No restraint. No “protocol.” Only her. And somewhere beneath all the layers of reptilian restraint and injected calm, his body betrayed him—leaning forward, heat building fast beneath the surface, breath slowing not to steady himself, but to savor. He wouldn’t take. Not unless she gave.

Her gaze met a storm kept under impossible calm: muscle coiled beneath skin, power leashed but leaking at the edges, his body a fortress and a threat, and for the first time, not to be feared.

She didn’t see the roughness of reptilian instinct anymore. She saw the grace of its control. It didn’t scare her. It stirred her. Something inside her tightened—not fear, not strategy, just a raw, feminine knowing. She tilted her head slightly, exposing her neck without thinking. Not a tactic. A calling.

And he… didn’t hesitate. All those minutes of restraint, of rational monologue, of telling himself he’d endure—burned away the second their bodies were in the same air.

They made love like two beings who had already memorized each other’s bodies — not through repetition, but through recognition; there was no hesitation, only the quiet certainty of touch shaped by instinct and consent. When the reptilian edge in him made his grip turn harsher, she endured as long as she could, and he — always, unerringly — sensed the shift in her breath, in her tension, and adjusted, pulling back with a control that didn’t weaken his desire, only refined it. At first, he’d feared that such a flawless form could be harmed by the strength bred into him, but then he learned — Earth women were not only elegant, they were made to withstand, to give and receive pleasure, to bear life and stay unbroken. They were grace, built with steel inside.

He remained in her quarters until dawn. It wasn’t planned. It simply was. And only after breakfast, still alone, he told her what had brought him there eoight hours earlier. She smiled, sensing how gently he tried to navigate around her softness, how even now, after all that had passed between them, he still didn’t take her for granted. He lifted her with a tenderness that could crush and carried her toward the window, showing her the simulated sunrise as if it were a secret only he could offer. Then he laid her back on the bed with the same reverence, asked her to dress in a particular fabric, and to drink again from the elixir — they were about to leave home. 

They spoke to no one. Left no message behind. No explanation, no signal. They simply boarded the vehicle and set off toward the place that would make their bond irrevocably real. For Diona, it had begun as a strategy — something woven into her escape, a calculated alignment. But now… it felt different. Voluntary. Almost necessary. She wanted this. Wanted him. And that made everything more dangerous.

He, on the other hand, was in love — a feeling foreign to him, wild, untrained, something no one here ever displayed in public, let alone admitted to. And yet, it owned him. Not with fire, but with gravity.

The ceremony was short. Functional. Official. A representative of the Council led them through the motions, then instructed them to place the backs of their wrists under a scanner. In seconds, the device etched painless, raised markings into their skin — identical symbols for both of them, shimmering faintly under the light. The process was over before he had time to process what it meant. He felt stunned. Marked. Claimed. Changed.

They left the hall and chose to walk back, not out of the ceremony, but to breathe. Their garments now carried the same iridescent pattern. Their cloaks matched. And by design, it was clear to everyone: Diona now belonged to this male. Zarkon noticed the stares. The curiosity. The desire. Especially from the other males. Once or twice, it was enough to trigger something primal. A sound left him low, warning, territorial. Instantly, the gazes dropped. The whispers stopped.

But the women… they kept looking. Curious. Confused. Drawn.

And he — in that moment — burned. Jealousy twisted through him, white-hot, sharp, uncontrollable. He’d never felt anything like it before. Not even on the battlefield. Not even in exile. Nothing compared to the ache of knowing she was his… and still wanting to protect her from every eye that dared to see what he now claimed as sacred. He had never known a jealousy that burned this way — not until now. Now that she was officially his, the thought of anyone drawing near ignited something feral in him. But he understood: trying to keep her too close would only bring her sorrow. She’d spent too long below — surrounded by cells, shadows, and silence. She needed space to breathe. To move. To live like the other women — human or reptilian — who walked these streets without chains.

So they decided to explore the underground city. As they wandered its wide corridors and layered levels, he told her stories — legends rooted in the bones of his people, their rise and fall, their science and pride. She listened, not just with interest, but with something more profound. And he watched her, every motion, every breath, knowing that he would let the world open for her, if only to see that light in her eyes again. At first, the Earth woman’s only goal had been to find a way out — out of captivity, out of the isolation of being an outsider. But within half a day, something shifted. She realized she loved this “creature” — as he might appear to her own kind — and wanted no one, nothing, but him.

The shift wasn’t born of fear or dependency. It came in the quiet ache that spread through her when they had to part, even for just half an hour, when he left to finalize the documents that would make their union public, official, and irreversible.

That was the moment. The hollowness that filled her chest in his absence was not the feeling of a prisoner left alone. It was the ache of a woman who had found her home in someone no one would ever understand… except her. 

She sat alone on a bench in a quiet park outside what looked like a jewelry store. The sunlight filtered through the high glass canopy above, tracing soft patterns on the ground. She was waiting for her husband, wherever he’d gone to finalize the next step of their union. Reptilian passersby slowed as they noticed the mantle she wore. Some nodded with quiet recognition. Others veered away, giving her space with the kind of instinctive respect reserved for someone newly claimed.

Diona figured that since their union was a blend of two races, it made sense to honor the traditions of both. She stepped into the jewelry store and asked the vendor whether they had anything like rings. Though he hadn’t yet noticed her mantle — the distinct mark of who she belonged to — he behaved courteously, as if by instinct. He showed her a few intriguing designs and asked about her method of payment. Zarkon had already explained the local system: you simply raised your wrist to a scanner, which identified you and withdrew the required amount automatically.

She’d also learned from him that everything he possessed was now legally hers. The thought of spending money she hadn’t earned made her uneasy. Not guilty, just unsettled — as if something vital was out of balance. Quietly, she resolved to find her own way to contribute. She would speak with him about it later. 

Suddenly, someone stormed into the store—wild-eyed, frantic. It was Zarkon. His face showed nothing, still as stone, unreadable to most. But she knew him. She knew that look, the sharpness in his gaze, the tension in the way he moved. Before she could say a word, he had crossed the distance, pulled her close, and placed her firmly behind him with a single protective motion. No panic, no words—just instinct. She tried to explain, her voice soft but urgent. He didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, shoulders drawn tight, listening to the vendor, then to her. Her voice, more than the words, calmed him. It took a minute—maybe two—for him to fully understand, for the haze of fear and jealousy to clear. But it did. And when it did, he exhaled like a man surfacing from deep water.

Together, they chose two rings—simple, elegant, symbolic. She explained their meaning. The ritual that meant to bind oneself to someone, not with law, but with a gesture. He let her place it on his finger, and he put his on hers. She kissed him softly, and the jeweler, sensing something sacred had passed between them, stepped away without a word. Not retreating, but yielding—leaving the moment untouched. Instead of simply thanking him, they offered something more—a dinner invitation. Not just out of courtesy, but because this moment deserved another pair of friendly eyes to be shared with.

When they returned home, everyone was already waiting for them. Tony’s son stood alongside Asselin, both of whom were present for the occasion. A little ahead, in the center of the courtyard, wasTony Zark and Murgana, with Marayah positioned slightly to the side. The entire household staff was lined up behind them, standing at attention.

As soon as they appeared, everyone bowed deeply. Only Asselin’s body didn’t bend quite as far, but enough to signal his approval and acceptance of what had taken place. After all, there was no law forbidding Reptilians from pairing with humans. The only unbreakable rule was the one forbidding them from surfacing. No law had been broken, and the union was fully legal. No one had the right to interfere, or to argue for or against the decision of an individual who wished to formalize a bond with a chosen partner.

Of course, each choice came with its own consequences.

News of Diona and Zarkon’s marriage reached the others over breakfast. For the first few minutes, both Marayah and Murgana were visibly stunned by the sudden decision. Tony, on the other hand, had sensed his brother’s intent long before the announcement. A minute after the ritual, Zarkon had shared the news with him telepathically, prompting genuine congratulations and a flicker of noble envy. Part of Tony wished it had been him, standing beside Marayah.

He knew he could still take her as a second wife, but now was not the time to draw attention to himself—not when every move he made was under scrutiny. The entire group watched him as if he were under a microscope. Besides, he wasn’t even sure how Marayah truly felt, though she had clearly won over his wife’s heart. This wasn’t the moment for bold declarations. What he needed now was to steady his footing and reestablish his place within the group. It was scandalous enough that he had broken the law by surfacing. His punishment had stirred whispers. A second marriage would only deepen the ambiguity surrounding his choices and provoke speculation among the city’s population. His reptilian mind ran the numbers, reviewing recent events with cold precision, weighing advantages and liabilities.

Such a union had not occurred for centuries, and it was clear this would be the news of the year, not just for their immediate circle, but likely to draw attention from reptilian settlements far beyond. Not everyone would be pleased, of course, but curiosity was certain.

As the evening celebration reached its height, the invited jeweler arrived, bearing a gift. He presented the bride with a finely crafted bracelet and offered a matching pair of cloak clasps for the newlyweds. Diona accepted the gift with quiet grace, standing close to Zarkon, who remained at her side as steady support, occasionally leaning in to whisper what was customary, guiding her gently through the etiquette she hadn’t yet mastered so  she wouldn’t feel out of place.

Acelin observed both women with her usual detachment, though her thoughts lingered more often on Marayah. There was something raw in the Earth woman, something potent. She would need education, of course—but in time, she could become essential to what lay ahead. Only Acelin knew what was coming. Only she had been warned by one of her off-world trading partners who’d chosen to pay in knowledge instead of credits. As head of the group, Acelin was required to share essential intelligence with the others, but the timing and delivery remained hers to decide, so long as the delay didn’t prove dangerous. Later that evening, she pulled Murgana aside.

She told her—calmly, but without ambiguity—that Murgana’s husband, and hers one childhood friend, had fallen for the human woman long before any of them had arrived here. That his feelings had not begun recently, nor under the influence of pheromones, but from the time when he’d still been fully human. And that, from this moment on, whatever happened, Marayah was not to be harmed. They could only hope his reptilian mind and altered instincts would rein him in before the city began to whisper.