Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 29: Chapter 29

That evening, the west fields glowed molten gold beneath the sinking sun, light filtering through the rows of tall grass and wildflowers. In the old barn, where the air always smelled of leather, dust, and memory, Markus sat cross-legged on a low bench, oiling a training staff with quiet focus. His movements were practiced, but careful — like someone used to tending things that break.
Dust motes drifted in the shafts of sunlight, spinning in the warm hush.
Antonio stepped inside without sound. His presence filled the room before his footsteps did. There was no ceremony in his movements — only weight.
Markus didn’t look up. “She told you about this morning.”
Antonio’s voice was low, steady. “She didn’t have to.”
Silence stretched.
“You were military,” Antonio said finally. Not a question.
Markus nodded, continuing to oil the grain of the staff. “Special recon. Five years. Mostly black ops. Extraction and silence.”
Antonio stepped closer, boots thudding softly on the barn floor. “Then you understand discipline. You understand secrecy. What’s at stake here.”
“I do,” Markus said, meeting his eyes now. “Better than most.”
Antonio’s eyes — dark iron, unblinking — lingered.
“And you understand how fast the wrong people would tear this family apart for what Dahlia can do.”
Markus didn’t flinch. “They wouldn’t even wait to ask her name. I’ve seen it. People in suits. People with flags. People with gods.”
A pause. The barn creaked faintly as wind shifted outside.
Antonio crossed his arms. “Then you’ll understand when I say — if you ever put her in danger, if you even lean the wrong way—”
“I won’t,” Markus said, quietly, firmly. Not defensive. Not proud. Just sure. “She’s not a mission to me.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward — not to threaten, but to test. His presence pressed in, silent and towering, like a wall that had weathered every kind of siege.
Markus didn’t move. Just held his gaze.
“She’s a miracle,” he said. “And I’ve seen enough blood and orders and collateral damage to know one when I see it. I don’t want her weaponized. I want her safe.”
Antonio’s hand brushed the edge of an old sparring dummy — its leather torn in places, its stuffing spilling out. He looked at it without seeing.
“You say that now,” he said. “But everyone breaks somewhere.”
“I’ve already broken,” Markus replied. “That’s why I know what not to do.”
Antonio turned his head slightly. “And what if it’s her choice to go into danger? To lead?”
“Then I’ll follow,” Markus said. “But I won’t push. I won’t pull her from the soil that made her.”
Something subtle shifted in Antonio’s face. Not softening — but calculating.
“You remind me of myself,” he said finally. “Before the war. Before I realized some things grow stronger when you stop gripping them so tight.”
Markus gave a slow nod. “Then maybe we’re both learning to loosen the grip.”
Another silence fell. Not heavy now — contemplative.
Antonio exhaled slowly, like releasing something old and hard that had coiled inside his ribs for too many years.
“You watch her,” he said. “But don’t cage her. She wasn’t meant to be protected from the world. She was meant to bloom inside it — and change it.”
Markus didn’t smile, but something in his shoulders eased.
“She already is.”
They didn’t shake hands.
But when Antonio turned to leave, he paused at the barn door — wide open to the golden field — and looked back over his shoulder.
“She likes jasmine tea,” he said. “When she’s tired. She won’t ask for it, but she’ll need it after healing.”
A beat.
Markus nodded. “Thank you.”
Antonio said nothing. But he left the door open.
And Markus sat alone a moment longer, the training staff resting across his lap, the smell of oil and earth grounding him in something new:
He wasn’t here to fight.
He was here to belong.