The slim but well-built Daki, wearing a solemn expression others would have immediately recognized as being derived from his sire, contemplated the sight before him with respectful reverence but without awe.
“What is this place, Father?”
“This is where the Naumkib come from, Daki.” Raising an arm, Ehomba swept it before him in an expansive gesture to take in all that there was to be seen. “Too long ago to remember, our people settled here and built this place. They accumulated boundless knowledge and untold riches.”
The youth looked up at him. “What happened to them?”
Ehomba patted his son on the shoulder. “When one feels one has no more to accomplish, the next thing one attains is boredom. The Naumkib abandoned this place. In ones and twos, in groups and in families, they scattered to the far corners of the world. Gradually they mingled with other peoples, and became one with them, and were content. Only a few remained behind.”
“Us,” the boy realized. “The people of the village.”
“Yes. To not forget is a great responsibility. A legacy must be looked after, Daki. Not necessarily expanded upon, or exploited, but looked after.” He started forward. “Now come, and I will show you more of yours.”
They spent the remainder of the day exploring the deserted towers, and the great library, and the majestic arenas of knowledge. Daki marveled at the walls of solid gold, and the gemstone utensils the vanished inhabitants had left behind in their silent kitchens. Together, father and son turned the pages of ancient tomes bound in sheets of solid ruby, chosen not for its beauty but for its strength and ability to protect the far more valuable paper pages that lay between those crimson covers. They visited the observatory, with its telescopes still pointed at an especially large crack in the roof of the enormous cavern, and its congruent cupola with the ceiling that showed innumerable constellations fashioned from all manner of precious stones.