Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 47: Chapter 47
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 47: Chapter 47. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
Nightfall – The Shadow Signal
The wind changed first.
Then Derek woke with a start, clutching his chest.
Something ancient rippled beneath his skin—a low hum behind his ribs, like a drumbeat in reverse. Rain stirred beside him and let out a low growl. The island pulsed, just once, like a heart bracing for pain.
He ran barefoot across the sand, heart pounding.
“Dahlia!” he shouted. “It’s here. The shadow signal.”
Dahlia, kneeling in the moonlit garden, snapped her head up. She had been humming softly to the flowers—until now.
Mira appeared in the doorway of the hut, already lacing up her boots. “I felt it too. Kessler’s not far.”
The Clearing – The Choice
Dahlia stood. “We stay.”
Mira’s expression twisted. “We leave.”
“No.”
“You’re not thinking straight—”
“I’m finally thinking clearly,” Dahlia said, voice sharp as thorns. “I’m done running like some hunted thing. This is our home. I made it. I breathed life into it. If they come, they’ll come through me.”
Mira stepped closer, jaw clenched. “They’ll burn this island to ash. They’ll take Derek. They’ll bleed you dry and label it medicine.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No,” Dahlia whispered, fists trembling, “but I’m more afraid of losing myself.”
Markus stood in the shadows, silent until now. “You don’t understand what Echelon can do. They don’t stop. They don’t sleep. I barely escaped with my life—”
“And yet you found me,” Dahlia snapped. “So maybe I’m meant to fight.”
“You’re not a weapon,” he said, stepping toward her. “You’re a healer.”
“I can be both,” she said. “Don’t ask me to run when I finally have something to protect.”
The Shelter – The Divides
Derek, pale and shaken, stood by the fire. “I don’t want to leave either. But I’m scared, Dahlia.”
She walked to him slowly, took his hand. “So am I. But courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the choice to stay anyway.”
Mira looked at both of them—tired, fierce, too young to be this brave. She sighed, defeated. “Then we get ready. All of us.”
Markus exhaled and moved toward Derek. “If you’re calling them, start now. They’ll need time.”
Derek nodded and stepped outside, into the wild night.
He closed his eyes.
Rain pressed against his leg. Then, from the trees, came shadows. A jackal with a scarred eye. A hawk with torn feathers. A wild boar limping from an old wound. Dozens more—beasts he’d touched, tamed, healed.
The air thrummed with their presence.
“I remember all their names,” Derek whispered.
Markus placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Good. Then they’ll remember yours.”
The Garden – The Roots of War
Meanwhile, Dahlia walked barefoot across the clearing, whispering in a tongue older than fire.
Where she stepped, the earth shifted.
Flowers sprouted in seconds—bright blue spirals lined with needles, glowing vines that wrapped around trees like serpents, thorned petals that pulsed like heartbeats.
She crouched and sang a low melody—soft, minor, grieving.
Around her, blossoms opened like eyes.
Mira watched from the perimeter, awed despite herself. “You’re planting a battlefield.”
“No,” Dahlia replied, not looking up. “I’m planting consequences.”
Markus stood back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between them. “These plants… they’ll fight?”
Dahlia nodded. “Some entangle. Some burn. Others bite. Eliot helped me design them years ago—defensive strains. We never thought I’d need them.”
He stepped forward cautiously. “Teach me which ones to avoid.”
Dahlia looked up at him. For the first time since he washed ashore, her eyes softened. “You’re not trying to stop me anymore?”
Markus exhaled. “No. I’m trying to survive with you.”
Midnight – Final Preparations
Mira stood at the lookout cliff, spyglass in hand.
“They’re coming,” she said without turning. “One helicopter. Maybe two. Boats will be close behind.”
Derek fed a hawk from his palm. “Should I… I don’t know, build traps?”
“No,” Markus said. “Let the land do its part. You guide the beasts. Let her shape the battlefield.”
Inside the shelter, Dahlia packed vials of powdered petals, seeds, and salves. She looked at a photo tucked in her pocket—faded but still whole. The Andersons. Eliot. Christian. William.
She kissed it once and placed it by the door.
Rain growled. Mira drew a blade.
Markus loaded a flare gun.
Derek crouched beside the jackal and whispered something in its ear.
And Dahlia stepped into the center of the clearing—where her power bloomed—and waited for the storm.
The wind changed first.
Then Derek woke with a start, clutching his chest.
Something ancient rippled beneath his skin—a low hum behind his ribs, like a drumbeat in reverse. Rain stirred beside him and let out a low growl. The island pulsed, just once, like a heart bracing for pain.
He ran barefoot across the sand, heart pounding.
“Dahlia!” he shouted. “It’s here. The shadow signal.”
Dahlia, kneeling in the moonlit garden, snapped her head up. She had been humming softly to the flowers—until now.
Mira appeared in the doorway of the hut, already lacing up her boots. “I felt it too. Kessler’s not far.”
The Clearing – The Choice
Dahlia stood. “We stay.”
Mira’s expression twisted. “We leave.”
“No.”
“You’re not thinking straight—”
“I’m finally thinking clearly,” Dahlia said, voice sharp as thorns. “I’m done running like some hunted thing. This is our home. I made it. I breathed life into it. If they come, they’ll come through me.”
Mira stepped closer, jaw clenched. “They’ll burn this island to ash. They’ll take Derek. They’ll bleed you dry and label it medicine.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No,” Dahlia whispered, fists trembling, “but I’m more afraid of losing myself.”
Markus stood in the shadows, silent until now. “You don’t understand what Echelon can do. They don’t stop. They don’t sleep. I barely escaped with my life—”
“And yet you found me,” Dahlia snapped. “So maybe I’m meant to fight.”
“You’re not a weapon,” he said, stepping toward her. “You’re a healer.”
“I can be both,” she said. “Don’t ask me to run when I finally have something to protect.”
The Shelter – The Divides
Derek, pale and shaken, stood by the fire. “I don’t want to leave either. But I’m scared, Dahlia.”
She walked to him slowly, took his hand. “So am I. But courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the choice to stay anyway.”
Mira looked at both of them—tired, fierce, too young to be this brave. She sighed, defeated. “Then we get ready. All of us.”
Markus exhaled and moved toward Derek. “If you’re calling them, start now. They’ll need time.”
Derek nodded and stepped outside, into the wild night.
He closed his eyes.
Rain pressed against his leg. Then, from the trees, came shadows. A jackal with a scarred eye. A hawk with torn feathers. A wild boar limping from an old wound. Dozens more—beasts he’d touched, tamed, healed.
The air thrummed with their presence.
“I remember all their names,” Derek whispered.
Markus placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Good. Then they’ll remember yours.”
The Garden – The Roots of War
Meanwhile, Dahlia walked barefoot across the clearing, whispering in a tongue older than fire.
Where she stepped, the earth shifted.
Flowers sprouted in seconds—bright blue spirals lined with needles, glowing vines that wrapped around trees like serpents, thorned petals that pulsed like heartbeats.
She crouched and sang a low melody—soft, minor, grieving.
Around her, blossoms opened like eyes.
Mira watched from the perimeter, awed despite herself. “You’re planting a battlefield.”
“No,” Dahlia replied, not looking up. “I’m planting consequences.”
Markus stood back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between them. “These plants… they’ll fight?”
Dahlia nodded. “Some entangle. Some burn. Others bite. Eliot helped me design them years ago—defensive strains. We never thought I’d need them.”
He stepped forward cautiously. “Teach me which ones to avoid.”
Dahlia looked up at him. For the first time since he washed ashore, her eyes softened. “You’re not trying to stop me anymore?”
Markus exhaled. “No. I’m trying to survive with you.”
Midnight – Final Preparations
Mira stood at the lookout cliff, spyglass in hand.
“They’re coming,” she said without turning. “One helicopter. Maybe two. Boats will be close behind.”
Derek fed a hawk from his palm. “Should I… I don’t know, build traps?”
“No,” Markus said. “Let the land do its part. You guide the beasts. Let her shape the battlefield.”
Inside the shelter, Dahlia packed vials of powdered petals, seeds, and salves. She looked at a photo tucked in her pocket—faded but still whole. The Andersons. Eliot. Christian. William.
She kissed it once and placed it by the door.
Rain growled. Mira drew a blade.
Markus loaded a flare gun.
Derek crouched beside the jackal and whispered something in its ear.
And Dahlia stepped into the center of the clearing—where her power bloomed—and waited for the storm.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 47. Continue reading Chapter 48 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.