Chapter 86 — The Last Seed Keeper

The alliance's army stretched across the Plain of Ashes like a slow river in the ashes, farther than anything Khe Mien had ever imagined when she was a young Seedkeeper who first stepped out of the gates of the Green Arch—more than two hundred men from five member Arches, along with carts carrying medical supplies, water, and food, moving under the gray sky of a gathering sandstorm on the horizon.

“We will be near the Salt Dome border late tomorrow,” Bach Lam said, walking beside Khe Mien at the head of the group, his eyes constantly scanning the surrounding terrain with a wariness that had become instinctive after many years of living on Dong Tro. “It is the most dangerous stage before we reach the neutral ground around the Upper Dome.”

Kien, now in command of a small group of young warriors trained from various Dom members, rode closer, his face carrying a seriousness that had become familiar since the death of Ngan The Binh. “The reconnaissance team ahead reported no signs of an ambush,” he said, “but they did find traces of a small group, probably no more than five people, moving parallel to us about a mile away.”

"Could be Kish Ba Hoanh's scouts," Bach Lam said, his voice sharp with calculation.

"Or maybe it was Son Ba Dat," Khe Mien said, recalling information about the fugitive that the border patrol had reported a few days ago. "He said he would try to get back in touch if he found more useful information."

Her prediction was confirmed that evening, when the reconnaissance team brought back a young, skinny man, wearing old civilian clothes but still showing traces of a hastily stripped black leather armor, his hands raised high to show he was not carrying weapons.

"I'm Son Ba Dat," he said, his voice shaking with tension as he was led before Khe Mien and Bach Lam by the command campfire. "I served in General Kich Ba Hoanh's army, until last week."

"Why did you leave the ranks?" Bach Lam asked directly, his eyes did not leave the young man, still maintaining a necessary vigilance even though he had heard the previous report.

Son Ba Dat lowered his hand slowly, and in the flickering light of the campfire, Khe Mien saw something in his eyes — not the simple fear of a fugitive trying to survive, but a much deeper torment. “I was present at the attack on a small settlement, four months ago,” he said, his voice slow as if each word weighed heavily. "I was ordered to burn their food warehouses. I did, because I was taught that it was a necessary order to maintain order. But I still remember the children's cries as they saw their family's only source of survival burn before their eyes."

He stopped, took a deep breath before continuing. "Then I heard the news about Ngan The Binh — how he sacrificed his life to save a group of strangers at Vom Soi. I began to wonder why someone who had no obligation to those people was willing to die for them, while I, in the name of duty, was willing to burn down the homes of innocent people. I couldn't continue living with that question anymore."

A heavy silence fell around the campfire, and Khe Mien felt a complicated feeling in her heart—not easy forgiveness, for she knew full well what the hands of the man before her had done, but not outright contempt either, for she recognized in that confession a sincerity that she had learned to recognize over months of dealing with both liars and those who truly sought a different path.

"What do you want from us?" she asked finally.

"I don't ask for forgiveness," Son Ba Dat replied, his voice more steadfast. "I just want to do something meaningful, to make up for it, even though I know nothing can truly make up for what has been lost. I know the Salt Dome's defenses well, I know the weaknesses in the patrol system along the border, and I know that more and more soldiers like me are starting to doubt whether Khong Ba Truc and Kich Ba Hoanh are really protecting us, or just using us as tools in a war that is not theirs."

Bach Lam exchanged a long look with Khe Mien, both weighing the weight of this proposal. "If you are lying," Bach Lam said finally, his voice carrying a clear warning, "or if anyone in our party is in danger because of the information you provide, there will be no mercy for you."

"I understand," Son Ba Dat replied, not avoiding at all.

"Then prove it," Khe Mien said. "Not with words, but with actions. Walk with us, not as a warrior who is immediately trusted, but as one who seeks redemption. Time and actions will determine whether you are worthy of that trust or not."

Son Ba Dat nodded, a mixture of relief and determination evident on his face, and as the group continued that night to discuss the route ahead, he provided detailed information about the locations of the Salt Dome guard posts along the border, helping Bach Lam adjust the route to stay away from the most dangerous areas.

The next day, as the column continued to move through a strip of barren land near the border, the forward reconnaissance team spotted a small Salt Dome patrol, about eight men, moving in the opposite direction, seemingly unaware of the presence of the much larger Allied army approaching.

“We can avoid it completely if we change direction,” Kien reported, pointing to the map spread across the saddle. "But it will take another half day."

"Or we can face each other directly," Son Ba Dat said, his voice hesitant but still speaking. "I recognized the leader of that patrol group - a non-commissioned officer named Vinh Ba Khang. He was also one of the people who whispered doubts about Kich Ba Hoanh's orders, although he never dared to openly like me."

"Are you suggesting we try talking instead of fighting?" Bach Lam asked, doubt evident in his voice.

"I am suggesting," Son Ba Dat replied, "that if we have to confront, let me try first, alone, to see if unnecessary bloodshed can be avoided, before either side has to draw their weapons."

Khe Mien considered the proposal for a tense moment, realizing that this was the first real test of Son Ba Dat's new loyalty, as well as a rare opportunity to prove that the path of alliance did not always have to be through violence. “Okay,” she said. "But we will be close, ready to intervene if necessary."

Son Ba Dat walked towards the patrol group alone, both hands raised, and from a distance, Khe Mien and the rest of the group watched in extreme tension as he conversed with the patrol leader, the hand gestures and body language of both sides difficult to read from afar. The conversation lasted nearly fifteen minutes full of suspense, before Son Ba Dat turned around, waving his hand to signal safety.

"They won't report our presence," he said upon his return, breathing a sigh of relief. "Not because they've changed sides completely, but because they're tired of this war too, and don't want any more bloodshed in an unnecessary encounter. That's probably the best I can offer you right now."

Khe Mien nodded, feeling a cautious relief spread within her, and as the army continued its journey under the falling dusk over Dong Tro, she looked toward the distant horizon where the Upper Dome was still hidden behind the curve of the earth, knowing that every step now was bringing them closer to the moment her entire journey had been silently leading towards, since the first day she held a seed in the palm of her hand, so many years ago.

That evening, when the group stopped camping next to a low rock strip that blocked the night wind, Doanh Ba Thong found Son Ba Dat who was sitting alone at the edge of the camp, separated from the rest of the group as if he still hadn't allowed himself to feel like he belonged here. He sat down next to the young man, saying nothing for a long time, just looking at the darkness of Dong Tro stretching out before him.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Son Ba Dat asked finally, his voice carrying a bitter self-questioning. "I once stood on the other side, holding a torch and setting fire to the things that should be protected."

"I used to be scared," Doanh Ba Thong replied, his voice calm. "For many years, I've been afraid of myself, because I've been silent for too long about things I know are wrong, just because staying silent is safer than speaking up. The difference between you and someone who can never redeem himself is not in what happened in the past, but in whether you are willing to face it or not, and I think, tonight, you proved that more than you thought."

Son Ba Dat did not respond immediately, just nodded slowly, and in the faint light of the campfire left from the dying pile of coal, two men who once stood on opposite sides of the same war sat quietly together, each carrying their own part of the burden of the past, but looking towards a future they both hoped would be different.