Captain

  Alexander, formerly of the artillery corps, stood alone in the

  central courtyard formed by the U-shaped buildings of the west wing,

  where the Institute of Archaeology and Social Sciences of

  Tomsk Federal University was located.

  That morning, entry control was handled by veteran clerk Valentina

  Sergeevna, a woman of rough manners but undeniable

  efficiency, who regarded Ksenia as the daughter she

  never had.

  Ksenia possessed an adventurous, inquisitive nature, often

  impulsive, which made people misread her as rebellious and wild. In

  truth, that fa?ade was a shield protecting a fragile, instinctive

  soul with far too much empathy for anyone who might need her.

  Valentina entered the second-floor faculty room. Sunlight streamed

  through the wide windows, reflecting on the wooden floor. Ksenia

  was having her final meeting before class with the project

  coordinator, Lyudmila Sidorova.

  —I’m impressed with

  your work on the Tuekta Kurgan

  —Lyudmila said—, but we need to discuss the Protective

  Griffin. That interpretation of yours—of it being a

  guardian of the intermediate world, capable of granting clairvoyance

  to its bearer—is bold.

  —I’ve studied that

  felt piece in detail—the bird head, the feline body.

  It’s the most important finding from the site. It completes some of

  my theories about protective beings among the Scythians and the

  Pazyryk. I know my ideas are daring, but I feel I’m on the right

  path. It might open new doors.

  —Have you thought of a

  name?

  —Süyek-K?g B?rü

  —Ksenia replied, her smile deepening the intensity of her dark

  eyes.

  —The Bone of the Blue

  Guardian… how clever!

  A quiet cough interrupted them as they examined the amulet’s

  image on the screen.

  —Ksenia, there’s a somewhat strange man asking for you

  —announced Valentina—. He’s

  waiting at the entrance.

  The two women exchanged puzzled looks. Lyudmila moved toward the

  windows, and Ksenia joined her, observing the man carefully.

  —Did he say his name?

  —Yes. Something like

  Captain Alexander.

  —Interesting —Lyudmila remarked—. A

  soldier interested in history. They never cease to surprise me.

  Ksenia descended the grand staircase of polished gray-white

  dolomite. She couldn’t deny it: she felt a strange anticipation

  about the soldier who had come looking for her.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  As she approached him, his figure sharpened. A soft shiver ran

  through her—as if her body remembered something her mind had not

  yet caught up with. A small knot formed in her stomach. And the world

  went still when he looked at her, holding her with his gaze.

  Alexander felt warmth spread through him at the sight of her. Her

  Mongolian features surprised him; he had imagined someone completely

  different. Her small, slightly plump figure and agile movements

  radiated familiarity and confidence.

  It felt as if he had known her before. Something ancient.

  Unresolved. Perhaps tied to another life—one that belonged to

  Siberia in a way he never would.

  Ksenia extended her hand, and Alexander shook it gently.

  —Good morning. I’m

  sorry to trouble you. My name is Alexander Viktorovich Bondarenko. I

  am… well, I was…

  a captain of artillery. But that doesn’t matter now.

  —Nice to meet you. I’m

  Ksenia Arsenova, ethnography professor here. How can I help you,

  Captain?

  —I heard you on a

  radio program…

  —Ah, yes—my

  interview with Irina Mirova. Did you like it?

  —Yes. Very much.

  That’s what I wanted to talk about… if you have time.

  —Would you like a

  coffee, Captain?

  —Please… call me

  Sasha. That’s what everyone calls me.

  They walked along Lenina Avenue. The young birch trees, their

  leaves still tender and almost transparent green, trembled in the

  light breeze.

  Ksenia led him to Stárogo Mosta Café, near the

  Old Bridge. It was famous among students for its electric stove and

  blueberry pie.

  They took a table by the large windows. Morning light entered in a

  golden diagonal, scattering warm reflections across the dark wooden

  floor.

  Only a few people were there: two students with laptops, an

  elderly couple reading the Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and a man

  drinking black tea at the bar. The soft hum of voices created a calm

  atmosphere.

  Ksenia noticed Sasha’s hands trembling slightly as he picked up

  the menu. She sensed turmoil in his life, visible too in the depth of

  his green eyes.

  —Would you like a

  cappuccino?

  —Without sugar, thank

  you.

  Ksenia went to the counter and greeted the young barista in a dark

  green apron, someone she clearly knew. Soon, the soft hiss of

  steaming milk filled the air.

  When she returned:

  —Do you come here

  often? Sasha asked.

  —Sometimes,

  she replied, looking around. It’s

  a good place to start something… or to understand it.

  With their coffees on the table, Ksenia stirred sugar into hers

  and guided the conversation:

  —So, how can I help

  you, Captain?

  —In the radio program,

  you spoke of blue spirits—guardians of great nomadic lineages. Do

  you believe they’re real?

  —It’s not an easy

  question. Let’s say we have clear archaeological

  indications that point to symbolic belief in them.

  —Could they have

  survived until today?

  he insisted.

  —There’s nothing

  that rules it out. Why?

  —Because they saved my

  life. But I can’t explain now. I’d like to see you again… and

  tell you everything.

  —Well… we can meet

  another day.

  —May I call you?

  —Better give me your

  number. I’ll contact you.

  Ksenia stood to pay at the counter. She saw his reflection behind

  her in the mirror beside the coffee machine, and something twisted in

  her stomach—pity, and an inexplicable whisper of danger.

  Sasha handed her a small note.

  —This is my number.

  Please call me. It’s very important… and

  I might have something interesting for you.

  Limping slightly on his right leg, he walked out the door.

  Tomsk, founded in 1604, is one of the oldest cities in Siberia

  and stands as a bridge between past and present. Its wooden streets

  and historic universities carry echoes of centuries of history, while

  its proximity to the Altai Mountains and the Siberian steppes

  connects it with the ancient routes of the Pazyryk, who inhabited

  these lands between the 5th and 3rd centuries BCE. The city

  represents a fascinating contrast: the calm and order of urban

  life against the harshness and mystery of the steppe, where nomads

  herded horses, sheep, and goats, built kurgans, and wove trade

  networks that spanned continents. In Tomsk, the academic

  world—laboratories, museums, archaeological research—meets the

  mythical and spiritual, reminding us that souls can recognize each

  other across time, and that secrets preserved beneath the ice are

  still waiting to be uncovered.