Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 42: Chapter 42

The Anderson residence had never felt so quiet. The warmth of the halls, once filled with laughter, felt still. The shadows of missing voices lingered in the corners. Dahlia was gone. And this time, they didn’t know how long it would be.
In the west wing sunroom, Eliot stood by the glass doors, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the estate’s garden. The flowers Dahlia had grown still bloomed, stubborn and golden in the summer light. They hadn’t wilted, not yet.
Behind him, William sat in his favorite leather chair, a wool blanket tucked over his legs, a cup of tea gently steaming in his hands. His face was thinner than before, his movements slower.
“Eli,” he said quietly, watching the eldest Anderson son in profile. “You’re carrying it all now.”
Eli nodded without turning. “I know. Dad asked me to step in.” A pause. “He’s needed elsewhere. And Dahlia… well. I don't think she'd want us frozen.”
William coughed softly, chest rattling. “She wouldn’t. That girl’s heart is made of roots and steel. But she’ll need us when she returns.”
Christian walked in from the adjoining study, unbuttoning his doctor’s coat for the last time. He folded it over the back of the couch with a solemnity that felt ceremonial.
“Last rounds are done,” he said quietly. “I turned in my badge this morning. Signed off all my patients to Dr. Kwon. She asked if I was dying.” He offered a thin smile.
Theo leaned in the doorway, strapping his leather satchel closed. “And what did you say?”
“I said the world needed flowers more than surgeons right now.”
Theo chuckled, but the mood stayed heavy. “Well, I fly out at midnight. Madagascar’s not exactly a tourist spot right now, which makes it perfect for confusion. I’ve got seeds from the greenhouse, and Dahlia’s old sandals—left scuff marks in the clay. Should help the story if anyone comes sniffing.”
Eli finally turned around. “We’ll need to time our moves carefully. Theo, once you land, wait three days before spreading the trail. Christian, your flight to Shanghai is in thirty-six hours. Don’t go near the embassy. Plant along the mountain temples—somewhere the locals believe in healing already.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “And what are you doing, Eliot? Sitting here playing dispatch?”
“No,” Eliot replied. “I’m meeting with Dad in the old armory. He left me the contingency scroll. Said the garden’s protection system may need to be activated if they track us here.”
William’s eyes narrowed with recognition. “The scroll… Haven’t seen that since Antonio and I hid the first trail after we adopted her.”
Christian sat down beside him, placing a hand gently over William’s. “We might need to go that far again, Grandpa.”
The old man closed his eyes briefly. “Then God help us.”
In the Kitchen
The kitchen was alive with hushed movement. Lila, the housekeeper of twenty years, had tears in her eyes as she prepared tea for the brothers. Next to her, Micah—Eliot’s quiet assistant and botanist—sorted flower samples into vials marked “Andean,” “Sahelian,” and “Temperate.”
“I don’t like this,” Lila whispered to him. “These boys don’t belong out there alone.”
“They’re not boys anymore,” Micah murmured. “They’re guardians now.”
She shook her head and handed him a bundle wrapped in linen. “Dahlia’s scarf. It still smells like her. Give it to Eliot. He won’t ask for it, but he’ll need it.”
Later That Night – The Old Armory
Antonio was waiting in the subterranean armory room. His face was pale, drawn with stress and weeks of sleepless nights. He was surrounded by old maps, relics of the Anderson legacy. On the table before him was the blackwood box—the contingency scroll, sealed with their sigil.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked Eliot.
Eli nodded and stepped forward. “She’s my sister. And she’s in the wind. You taught us to prepare.”
Antonio’s jaw tensed. “This isn’t just preparation. This is war.”
He broke the seal. Inside, hand-inked instructions, counterspells, blood-drawn sigils from the family archives. Plans to activate the Garden’s true shield—a kind of natural cloaking spell that required immense energy, some of it from the family itself.
Antonio’s eyes flicked over the parchment, then to Eliot. “One cost is life force. Mine. William’s. Maybe even yours.”
“I’ll pay it,” Eliot said quickly.
Antonio gripped his shoulder. “You already are.”
Upstairs, Before Departure
Christian zipped his medical kit, now filled with pollen packets, dried petals, and a portable press. Theo stood beside him in matching travel gear, both brothers wearing dark clothes, minimalist watches, and ID-free passports.
“You good?” Christian asked.
Theo nodded. “Scared. But ready. And if we’re being honest…” He looked away. “I hate that we have to lie about her. Spread her light in the dark.”
Christian pressed a hand to his back. “It’s not a lie. She’s real. Her healing is real. Her heart is real. We’re just protecting the truth.”
From the hallway, Lila called, “Boys, come say goodbye to your grandfather!”
In William’s Room
William sat propped in bed, Theo kneeling by one side, Christian by the other. Eliot stood in the doorway. William’s voice was rough now, his eyes more glass than sky.
“Don’t forget what we are,” he whispered. “Not just fighters. Not just protectors. We’re gardeners. We plant things. We tend.”
“We remember,” Christian said, voice breaking.
“Watch the world,” William murmured. “Because one day, she will come back changed. And you must be ready.”
He took Eliot’s hand. “And you… don’t become your father. Be better.”
“I will,” Eliot said, steady as stone.
As the jets took off that night—one to Madagascar, one to China—the Anderson home dimmed. The bloom garden was locked and warded. Eliot stepped into his father’s shoes. William slept under soft linen, his breath slow, each exhale a thread growing thinner.
And across the world, Dahlia was somewhere unknown… petals trailing behind her like sparks from a hidden fire.