Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 33: Chapter 33

The van was quiet.
Markus drove, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Antonio sat in the passenger seat, scanning a thick dossier of background intel. In the backseat, Dahlia stared out the window, heart a tangle of confusion, betrayal, and curiosity. Amy sat beside her, fingers gently interlaced with hers.
“She had a son,” Antonio said, not looking back. “Ten years old. Derek. Registered under an alias. Homeschooled. No medical records in the last two years. Practically invisible.”
“And he talks to animals?” Amy asked quietly.
Antonio flipped the page. “Not just talks. Tames. Calms wild things instantly. Was spotted once making a pack of feral dogs sit like trained hounds in an alley.”
Dahlia’s voice was soft. “She came for me because he’s sick.”
Markus grunted. “Not because she missed you.”
Amy’s hand tightened on Dahlia’s.
“She still left me,” Dahlia said, barely above a whisper. “She left me in a hospital wrapped in a towel with a name I gave myself.”
No one had a reply to that.
The Safehouse – Pine Hollow
It looked like nothing from the outside — just a rundown cottage in a forgotten wood. But the moment they stepped in, it became clear it was anything but.
Metal-reinforced walls beneath fake plaster. Emergency tunnels. Ration storage. Security cameras disguised as lanterns. And weapons — clean, organized, frequently used.
A woman stood in the center of the living room, framed by soft light and silence.
She looked like Dahlia. Older, harder, but the resemblance was there — especially in the eyes. Wild things. Soft-spoken storms.
“I didn’t know how else to find you,” she said.
Markus stepped in front of Dahlia immediately. Amy beside him.
Antonio’s voice was calm. “You tracked us. You bypassed our wards. That’s more than ‘not knowing.’ That’s calculated.”
“I had to protect Derek,” she replied, gaze sharp. “I didn’t come for forgiveness. I came for help.”
Dahlia stepped forward slowly. “You left me. Why?”
Her mother flinched — the faintest flicker — but stood her ground.
“You were glowing,” she said. “In the hospital crib. Vines sprouting through the tile. I thought they’d take you. Use you. I panicked.”
“You abandoned me.”
“I hid you.”
The air turned thick. Amy moved to speak but stopped.
Then a sound — a low growl.
They turned.
In the hallway stood a boy — ten, barefoot, with shaggy dark curls and a hawk perched on his shoulder.
Derek.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just stared.
Animals circled his feet — a black cat, a fox kit, a raven. All quiet. Still. Watching.
“That’s your sister,” their mother whispered.
“You said she left,” Derek said, voice flat.
“I said I had to make a choice,” she corrected gently.
“You lied.”
He didn’t move, but the raven flared its wings slightly.
Markus reached for his knife without drawing it. Amy braced herself.
Dahlia stepped forward, slowly.
“I didn’t leave you,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you existed.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”
A pause.
Then Dahlia crouched and touched the floor with her palm.
A single blue daisy grew through the hardwood, slow and luminous.
The hawk on his shoulder tilted its head.
Derek stared.
But then — he turned and ran.
Later That Night – The Fire Circle
They found him outside by the fire pit, arms crossed, animals forming a quiet circle around him like sentinels.
Dahlia came alone. Amy waited in the shadows. Markus and Antonio stayed inside, pacing. Their mother was sharpening a blade silently at the kitchen counter, jaw tight.
“You’re not what I expected,” Derek said, still facing the flames.
“I wasn’t expecting a brother either,” she replied.
“You glowed like she said,” he muttered. “But she lied about everything else.”
“She was scared.”
“She trained me to fight,” he snapped. “Taught me how to hide. I don’t even know how to be a kid.”
Dahlia sat beside the fire, a few feet away. “Neither do I.”
Silence.
“I thought you’d come here and try to take me,” he said suddenly. “Rip me out of my world.”
“I’m not here to take anything,” Dahlia replied. “Just to know you.”
Another long pause.
“Are you gonna die if you heal me?” he asked, voice very small.
She blinked. “What?”
“Mom said you had to pour your soul out. That healing takes pieces of you.”
Dahlia’s heart twisted.
“It does,” she said gently. “But not all at once. And I decide who’s worth the petals.”
He looked at her for the first time.
Really looked.
“And… am I?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
The fire popped, and the fox crawled into his lap. The hawk took off, soaring into the moonlit sky.
Inside – The Misunderstanding
Meanwhile, inside, Amy and their mother clashed.
“You don’t get to come back now and expect trust,” Amy said sharply.
“I didn’t come for trust,” their mother replied, evenly. “I came for healing. That’s all.”
“You should’ve come years ago.”
“And lost them both?”
“You still might.”
Their mother finally snapped. “I carried Dahlia in my body. I gave her a name. I bled for her. Who are you to speak like this?”
“I’m the one who stayed.”
The silence that followed felt like thunder had paused just before breaking.
Then Markus stepped in from the hall, calm but cold.
“If you ever raise your voice at her again,” he said, “you’ll regret it.”
Their mother’s gaze flickered to his stance — quiet, trained, dangerous.
She backed down.