Maya's boots crunched over sun-bleached plastic as her team crested another dune. Ten years of expeditions, and all they'd found were the bones of cities and endless stretches of waste. The world had become a museum of humanity's mistakes.

"Two hours of oxygen left," Carter warned through the comm. Even with their advanced filters, the air outside remained toxic—another gift from their ancestors' carbon addiction.

That's when Zara screamed.

Through her goggles, Maya saw it: a shimmer of impossible green in the valley below. Not the sickly artificial green of the algae farms, but real, living plants.

"It's not on any maps," Carter whispered, checking his tablet.

They descended carefully. The valley's walls had hidden it from satellite imaging, creating a microclimate that somehow survived the Great Die-Off. Maya's hands trembled as she took readings. The air here was different—cleaner.

Inside a cave at the valley's edge, they found the answer: an old climate scientist's hidden lab. Journals detailed decades of work—genetic modifications to help plants survive the new climate, secret experiments conducted while governments still denied the crisis.

"Look at this," Zara said, holding up a sealed container. Inside, hundreds of seeds waited in suspended animation. Each was labeled with a code that matched entries in the journals.

"They're not just survivors," Maya realized, reading the notes. "They're healers. These plants were engineered to clean soil, purify air, restore balance. All they needed was time to mature."

Carter grabbed her arm. "Maya, there's more." He pointed deeper into the cave where rows of hydroponic gardens grew more seeds, an endless chain of life stretching into the darkness.

That night, as they secured the valley's coordinates, Maya wrote in her log: "Today we found more than an oasis. We found our ancestors' apology, and with it, a way home."

In her pocket, she carried a single seed, its genetic code designed to turn poison into life. Tomorrow, they would begin planting.