Chapter 40 — The Ship That Never Looks Back

Oath in the Crowd

Bui Dac Sinh took the small storage chip Khe Lam had just given him, turned it around in his trembling palm, and then put it in a secret compartment he carved in the leg of an old stool, where he had hidden countless valuable things during his many years of seclusion at the edge of the Bottom Deck.

"It has it all." Khe Lam said. "Image of file 041-H, mother's renewal stamp, father's notes, and your story that I recorded, with your consent. If anything happens to me or Bach Van, you are the only one who will still keep the whole story."

"I'll keep it carefully, just as I've kept your mother's card for the past nineteen years." Bui Dac Sinh said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "But little girl, I hope you understand, I don't want to be the one to tell this story for you. I want you to be the one to tell it yourself, one day, in front of everyone who needs to hear it."

Khe Lam nodded, feeling the weight of those words — not just a dissipation of real risk, but also a reminder of the responsibility she was shouldering, not just for her family, but maybe, one day, for many more people.

The next evening was the monthly Destination Ceremony, a ritual Khe Lam had attended regularly all his life without ever really thinking deeply about its meaning until recent months. The main observation hall of the Root Layer was filled with people, thousands of residents standing facing the large glass windows overlooking the ship's bow, where a strip of simulated stars glittered in the distance, representing the eternal and unchanging direction of Origin.

She stood next to her grandmother, feeling the familiar warmth from her shoulder, while Trinh Yen My and Ha Dinh Khiem stood nearby with the other members of the Tuan Re Group, all of them looking toward the high platform where the members of the Star Dao Council lined up, preparing for the recitation of the Hai Trinh Sutra. Phung Bao Nhan stood next to Vu Khac Dang, both maintaining a rare solemnity compared to their usual atmosphere, and in the distance, near the area for navigators, Khe Lam caught a glimpse of Uong Khac Tram standing next to a group of classmates, her eyes, even if only briefly, seemed to be searching for someone in the crowd - perhaps Bach Van herself, standing somewhere near the area reserved for the Dome Floor, far enough away from Khe Lam that no one would suspect, but enough close enough that both can still feel each other's presence among thousands of people.

Chuong Khac Dinh stepped out, standing straight and majestic as always, his dark blue ceremonial robe falling to his heels, the hall lights illuminating his old but still sharp face. He began to read, his voice echoing throughout the hall through the amplified speaker system: "We leave not to run away, but to carry a promise — that the seeds of humanity will find new ground to germinate, no matter how long the road, no matter what sacrifices we have to make..."

Khe Lam listened to those familiar words, words she had heard since childhood, but for the first time, she heard in them a bitter irony — the promise of an unchanging path, recited by the very person who directly participated in silencing the voices of those who dared to question whether that path was truly the right path.

In the middle of the ceremony, her eyes accidentally met Chuong Khac Dinh's eyes, just for a brief moment when he scanned the crowd as is the habit of a long-time speaker. He did not stop, did not show anything special, just a glance like the thousands of other eyes he had passed in hundreds of similar ceremonies. But for Khe Lam, that moment lasted like an eternity, an invisible confrontation between a twenty-year-old girl carrying a secret for three generations, and a man who spent his whole life burying that same secret.

She didn't avoid his gaze, even though every instinct in her urged her to lower her head like so many times before. She stood straight, looking straight, for just a second, before his eyes moved again, never stopping longer than necessary, never revealing any sign of recognition. But she felt, in that very brief moment, something had changed within her—the pure fear she had felt whenever she thought of his power was now mixed with a new feeling, almost of defiance.

The ceremony ended with a collective oath, thousands of voices joining together echoed throughout the hall: "We vow to move forward, never look back, carrying the promise of our ancestors to the end." Khe Lam read along, her lips moving in the familiar rhythm, but in her heart, that vow now had a completely different meaning than what she had understood during her twenty years of life.

The ship never looked back — yes, physically, that was an indisputable fact, a structure designed only to move forward, with no engine powerful enough to reverse the course of hundreds of years. But that oath, she realized, had been twisted into something else over the past two hundred years—not just a physical acceptance, but an implicit command that forced people not to look back at their own history, not to question what had happened, not to search for the truth that was buried behind.

She looked around the crowd, thousands of faces bowed respectfully, most of them had never known and probably would never know the name Lam Chu, until the night nineteen years ago when the screams for the truth rang out and were then extinguished in silence. They lived, worked, loved, raised their children, completely believing in a story that had been carefully crafted to fit what the Council thought they needed to know. Khe Lam is no longer angry at them for that trust — she understands, more than ever, that she was once one of them, until the day a routine maintenance shift brought her to a mismatched number.

After the ceremony, when the crowd gradually dispersed, Khe Lam lingered for a while by the observation window, looking out at the distant simulated stars. Bach Van came to her side, stood quietly next to her for a moment before speaking.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly. "I saw his eyes looking towards you."

"I'm fine." She replied, her voice calmer than she expected. "Maybe it was just a normal look, nothing special. But whatever it means, I'm no longer afraid of it like before."

She turned to look at him, her gaze more steadfast than at any time since the day they first met during the Vanh Rot incident many months ago.

"I've been thinking a lot about what lies ahead." she said. "About my mother, alive or dead. About my father, who paid the price for daring to seek the truth again. About Dinh Khac Bat, about all the people who disappeared in the Night of Broken Roots whose names no one remembers. And I have decided, Bach Van — I will not stop, even though the road ahead is more dangerous than anything I ever imagined when I first found the Lam Chu coordinates in the Primeval Core."

"I know." Bach Van said, holding her hand. "I've known for a long time, maybe since the first night you told me about those mismatched numbers. You're not the type to stop halfway."

"And you?" she asked. "Are you still willing to continue with me? Even if this path could cause you to lose everything you once had—your position, your future, maybe even your father?"

Bach Van looked at her for a long time, then smiled, a smile without any hesitation. "I made my choice, long before you could ask this question. I can't go back to being a navigator who blindly trusts what I've been taught, not after everything I've seen. This ship may never turn back, Khe Lam, but I've turned back, and I won't look back again."

They stood there, hand in hand, looking out at the simulated stars in the distance, two young people carrying on their shoulders a part of the legacy of three generations of silence, now determined to break that cycle with their own hands. Behind them, the Destination Ceremony had ended, the crowd had dispersed, but the oath that had just been recited still echoed in the air, carrying a new meaning, more personal and intense than any official ceremony — the vow of two young people, not towards a distant planet they had never visited, but towards the truth that was waiting for them ahead, no matter how terrifying its shape, no matter how long and dangerous the road to find it. Whatever they had experienced along their journey had begun with a seemingly routine maintenance operation, many months ago.