Chapter 38 — The Last Seed Keeper

The Sand Dome Archives was a low building, much more modest than the ornate glassworks near the center, built of bricks fired from local sand, with small windows designed to limit direct light—a difference Khe Mien noticed as soon as she entered, and Lai Ba Nguyen, who greeted them at the door, explained the reason before she could ask.

“Light damages old paper faster than anything else, except humidity,” said he, a thin, salt-and-pepper-haired man wearing glasses with thick lenses crafted by hand, apparently from the Cat Dome's own eyewear workshop. "Sorry for the obscurity, but it's necessary to preserve what we have."

Inside, tall wooden shelves line the walls, filled with books, scrolls, and carefully numbered boxes of documents—a scale of storage that reminds Khe Mien of her own Granary, though instead of seeds, it holds fragments of the memories of a lost world.

"Mr. Cau Bach Shenh said you are interested in history before the Great Change," Lai Ba Nguyen said, leading them to a long table in the middle of the room. "What specifically, if I may ask?"

Khe Mien took the metal badge out of her pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. “We found this,” she said, “along with some other documents, from a survivor who kept them for twenty years. We want to know more about the organization mentioned there.”

Lai Ba Nguyen took the piece of metal, and as soon as his eyes touched the symbol engraved on it, his face changed — not fear like Dai Van Cuong, but the intense scholarly excitement of someone who had just found the final piece of a puzzle he had been pursuing for many years.

"I've been waiting to see the real thing about this symbol for more than ten years of research," he said, his voice shaking with excitement. "I've only seen it through handwritten copies that aren't entirely accurate, in a few fragmentary documents kept here."

He stood up with agility beyond his years, walked to one of the highest shelves, took down a box of old documents, and spread out on the table a series of pages that he had carefully copied from originals too fragile to be handled frequently.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a page, “is what I have pieced together about the Thien Ho Group, from various sources over the years—fragments from the ruins, accounts passed down orally through generations of traders, and a few other rare documents brought in by caravans to trade.”

Khe Mien, Bach Lam, and Ngan The Binh bent down to examine the pages, while Diem Quynh and Kien stood behind them, also tensely watching.

"According to what I can piece together," Lai Ba Nguyen explained, his voice changing to the demeanor of a scholar presenting his findings, "Thien Ho used to be one of the largest corporations in the world before the Great Change, operating in the field of climate resource management — water, energy, arable land — on a global scale. They were trusted by many national governments to coordinate projects to respond to climate change, under the slogan 'protecting the sky for all. everyone'."

"But they didn't do it right," Khe Mien said, recalling the documents found in Dai Van Cuong's box.

"That's right," Lai Ba Nguyen confirmed, nodding seriously. "From the pieces of documents I found, it seems that the closer it got to the Great Change, the more disagreements within Thien Ho became between those who wanted to publicly warn and take urgent action, and those who wanted to keep it secret to protect the group's interests. The second camp, sadly, seems to have prevailed."

"You said Root Grain Warehouse," Khe Mien interjected, unable to hold back. "Have you heard about it? A giant seed storage facility, said to have been built by Thien Ho?"

Lai Ba Nguyen looked at her, a new light flashed in his eyes. "Do you also know about the Root Store?" he asked, his voice filled with surprise. "I've heard many versions of that legend over the years, from various trade groups, but have never met anyone who could confirm it with a source more reliable than rumor."

"My teacher once told me," Khe Mien said. "She said it might be in the Upper Arch, but no one has ever seen it with their own eyes."

"That matches what I've heard," Lai Ba Nguyen said, nodding slowly. "If the Root Store really exists, and if it really was built by the Heavenly Guardians before the Great Cataclysm with the aim of preserving agricultural biodiversity for the future, then the biggest question is not whether it exists, but who is in control of it today, and for what purpose they are using it — or not using it. What is the meaning other than being an instrument of power rather than a legacy to humanity?"

That question made Khe Mien cold, because it accurately reflected the anxiety that had been simmering inside her since the day she left the Green Dome—anxiety about hoarding instead of sharing, about power based on scarcity being maintained instead of being eliminated.

"And then?" Bach Lam asked, his voice tense, bringing the conversation back to the original question about Thien Ho's fate after the Great Transformation.

"After that, everything became much more ambiguous," Lai Ba Nguyen admitted. "But there is a pattern I've noticed across various sources: the earliest established and best-equipped Arches after the Great Cataclysm, especially the Upper Arches, seem to have direct connections to high-ranking personnel of the Heavenly Guardians. It's no coincidence that the families leading the most powerful Arches today have technology, resources, and organization that are superior to the rest."

A heavy silence spread throughout the room, with only the slight sound of flipping papers as Lai Ba Nguyen continued to search for more documents.

"Do you have any direct evidence?" Ngan The Binh asked, his voice cautious as usual. "A specific name, a family name, a clear identification?"

Lai Ba Nguyen shook his head, a regretful expression appeared on his face. "No," he admitted. "That is the biggest limitation of my research. I have enough pieces to form a strong hypothesis, but not enough to prove it with certainty, indisputable. The Central Council at the Upper Dome has always tightly controlled all information about its own origins and history. Any researcher who has tried to dig too deep has encountered strange obstacles — documents disappearing, interviews canceled at the last minute, sometimes even statements. Informal warning to stop."

“That sounds like an indirect confirmation,” Khe Mien said, her voice cold.

"Maybe," Lai Ba Nguyen agreed. "But it could also just be the normal prudence of any government that doesn't want its history to be scrutinized too closely. I'm a scholar, Ms. Khe Mien. I've learned that the gap between an attractive hypothesis and a proven truth is the most dangerous gap into which anyone seeking knowledge can fall."

Khe Mien nodded, accepting that warning, even though in her heart, the feeling continued to grow that these disparate pieces, although incomplete, were pointing in the same direction.

"Can I copy these documents for you?" she asked Lai Ba Nguyen. "Not the original — I understand the value of keeping them safe here — but a copy, so we can continue our research on the way back."

“I'm happy to do it,” Lai Ba Nguyen said, a warm smile appearing on his thin face. "Honestly, it's been years since anyone cared deeply enough about my work to deserve it. Most visitors come here for a passing curiosity, then return to the more practical concerns of daily life. You're the first person in a long time who's made me feel like this archival work is truly meaningful."

He spent the rest of the afternoon carefully copying the most important pages of documents in neat handwriting, while Khe Mien and Bach Lam sat back, continuing to ask questions, memorizing every little detail the old scholar could provide — the names of several other Domes suspected of being connected to Thien Ho, fragmentary descriptions of the old group's internal organizational structure, and a list of other locations in Dong Tro where similar symbols had been reported.

As the sun began to set, dyeing the light through the small windows of the Archives into long orange-yellow streaks on the tile floor, Lai Ba Nguyen handed Khe Mien a thick stack of papers, carefully tied with hemp rope.

“This is all I know,” he said, his voice solemn. "Take it with care, and if one day you find more than I can offer, I hope you'll remember this old man in a dark room who spent his life waiting for the right person to pass on what he knew."

“I will remember,” Khe Mien said, taking the pad of paper with both hands, feeling its weight not just physically but also with the weight of a new promise, superimposed on the one she had given to Dai Van Cuong just a few days before.