Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 60: Chapter 60
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 60: Chapter 60. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The Garden – Late Afternoon
The sun stretched low across the sea, laying gold across the waves. Dahlia sat on a circle of moss in the heart of the garden, humming softly as her hands coaxed a cluster of daffodils into a slow, swaying bloom. Their yellow faces turned toward her, basking in her voice like sunlight.
Her hair had grown in loose curls now, drifting like vines over her shoulders. Her skin shimmered faintly in the golden hour, the glow soft and steady—not as bright as it once was, but quietly constant, like a lantern hidden beneath leaves.
She sang nonsense words, stringing syllables like petals on a thread, and the plants leaned closer.
Behind her, the garden gate creaked.
Dahlia didn’t turn.
But she felt who it was.
Mira stepped softly into the clearing. She didn’t speak, just lowered herself into the grass beside Dahlia and sat with her arms around her knees.
They stayed like that a while, the girl humming, the mother watching.
Then Dahlia stopped singing.
She looked at Mira—not with anger, not even with sadness. Just with knowing.
“Why were you afraid?” she asked quietly. “Why did you leave me?”
Mira’s throat tightened. Her hands gripped her sleeves. “I was afraid… of what would happen to you. Because I knew exactly what would happen.”
Dahlia’s eyes were steady. “Tell me. Please.”
The garden grew still.
A hummingbird, mid-flight, paused as if holding its breath.
Mira’s Past – Fragmented Memory
“I was born into Echelon,” Mira began, her voice slow, like peeling back a wound sealed in ice. “Not by name, but by blood. My father never knew what they did to me—my mother disappeared after I was born. I was raised in the white rooms. Raised by silence. By data. By men in suits who never smiled.”
Dahlia's eyes didn’t blink.
“They found something in me,” Mira continued. “Not power, not at first. But potential. I scored off the charts for genetic markers they couldn’t explain. They tried... everything. Isolation chambers. Stress exposure. Neural recalibration. They said it was training. I thought it was love.”
She turned her head away. “I was eleven when the experiments started. He—he was their leader. Everyone called him the Artisan. He said I was his ‘finest design.’”
Dahlia reached out slowly and took Mira’s hand. “You don’t have to say it all at once.”
But Mira did.
“He said I was meant to carry something forward. A child. That my DNA could amplify latent abilities. He told me it was for the future of humanity. That I was chosen. I was fifteen when the pregnancy experiment began.”
Dahlia’s hand tightened around hers.
“I didn’t even know what it meant to be a mother,” Mira whispered. “I didn’t get to choose. But you came anyway. You were real. You were mine.”
Mira looked up at the sky through the canopy.
“I escaped before they could take you. Hid in the forests. Changed names. Hid again. Gave birth in a burned-out clinic on the outskirts of a rebel zone. You didn’t cry much. You just… glowed. Only for a few seconds at a time. But then, when you were five months old, you lit up the whole room like morning.”
Dahlia blinked, soft and wide-eyed. “So that’s why.”
“That’s when I knew,” Mira said, voice shaking. “It worked. The experiments… the genes… something awakened in you. I wasn’t scared of you, Dahlia. I was terrified for you.”
She let the silence settle for a long moment before finishing. “So I left you at a hospital. It was clean. Quiet. Safe. I watched from across the street for days. I waited to see if anyone suspicious came. But no one did. You were just another baby in the system. And I… I ran.”
Dahlia whispered, “You left so they wouldn’t find me.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think you could keep me safe?”
“No,” Mira said, pain naked in her voice. “Because I was broken. I had nothing. No allies. No money. I had already burned my only trail. If they caught me, they’d take you. You’d become their project. And I would have given them everything they wanted.”
Dahlia was quiet for a long time. Then she said:
“You could have come back.”
“I know,” Mira whispered. “And I didn’t. Because I thought… maybe you’d be okay without me.”
Dahlia sat very still. The daffodils at her feet trembled. Wind stirred the leaves like breath.
“And then you came back,” she said.
“I heard whispers years later,” Mira nodded. “Rumors of a girl healing soldiers. A girl who sang to vines. I knew it was you. But by then, I didn’t know if I deserved to be your mother.”
“You didn’t come to the house.”
“I watched from afar. For years. You had Antonio. You had Amy. You had a family. And I… had shadows.”
A pause.
Then Dahlia asked, “Do you still?”
Mira looked up, startled.
“Have shadows?”
Mira hesitated. “Yes.”
Dahlia reached over and gently placed a flower crown on Mira’s head, woven with small firelilies and soft moss.
“Then maybe it’s time to let the sun in.”
A Voice Behind Them
“You were strong to survive,” said a voice behind the trees.
They turned to see Markus, standing with a basket of peaches he’d picked from the far side of the island. He’d been listening. Quietly. Respectfully.
“But you’re even stronger now,” he said, stepping forward, “because you told her the truth.”
Mira met his gaze, a flicker of tension in her jaw. “You don’t know what I was made into.”
“I know what you chose to become,” Markus replied. “And you came back. That’s what matters.”
Elsewhere on the Island – Background Characters Stir
Children from the village nearby continued tending the edges of the garden. One girl, Elira, overheard the conversation from afar and whispered to her brother, “Is that her mama?”
“Maybe,” he whispered back.
“She looks sad.”
“She was sad,” he replied. “Now she’s just… finding herself.”
A village elder passed by and placed a carved bird figurine at the edge of the garden, murmuring a blessing for truth spoken and wounds aired.
Back inside the garden, Dahlia stood up, vines brushing her ankles, flowers blooming behind her footsteps.
She walked to Mira and knelt in front of her.
“I don’t remember everything yet,” she said softly. “But I think I’d like to try.”
“To remember me?” Mira asked.
“No,” Dahlia replied, placing her hands on Mira’s cheeks. “To know you, so tell me what happened next."
The sun stretched low across the sea, laying gold across the waves. Dahlia sat on a circle of moss in the heart of the garden, humming softly as her hands coaxed a cluster of daffodils into a slow, swaying bloom. Their yellow faces turned toward her, basking in her voice like sunlight.
Her hair had grown in loose curls now, drifting like vines over her shoulders. Her skin shimmered faintly in the golden hour, the glow soft and steady—not as bright as it once was, but quietly constant, like a lantern hidden beneath leaves.
She sang nonsense words, stringing syllables like petals on a thread, and the plants leaned closer.
Behind her, the garden gate creaked.
Dahlia didn’t turn.
But she felt who it was.
Mira stepped softly into the clearing. She didn’t speak, just lowered herself into the grass beside Dahlia and sat with her arms around her knees.
They stayed like that a while, the girl humming, the mother watching.
Then Dahlia stopped singing.
She looked at Mira—not with anger, not even with sadness. Just with knowing.
“Why were you afraid?” she asked quietly. “Why did you leave me?”
Mira’s throat tightened. Her hands gripped her sleeves. “I was afraid… of what would happen to you. Because I knew exactly what would happen.”
Dahlia’s eyes were steady. “Tell me. Please.”
The garden grew still.
A hummingbird, mid-flight, paused as if holding its breath.
Mira’s Past – Fragmented Memory
“I was born into Echelon,” Mira began, her voice slow, like peeling back a wound sealed in ice. “Not by name, but by blood. My father never knew what they did to me—my mother disappeared after I was born. I was raised in the white rooms. Raised by silence. By data. By men in suits who never smiled.”
Dahlia's eyes didn’t blink.
“They found something in me,” Mira continued. “Not power, not at first. But potential. I scored off the charts for genetic markers they couldn’t explain. They tried... everything. Isolation chambers. Stress exposure. Neural recalibration. They said it was training. I thought it was love.”
She turned her head away. “I was eleven when the experiments started. He—he was their leader. Everyone called him the Artisan. He said I was his ‘finest design.’”
Dahlia reached out slowly and took Mira’s hand. “You don’t have to say it all at once.”
But Mira did.
“He said I was meant to carry something forward. A child. That my DNA could amplify latent abilities. He told me it was for the future of humanity. That I was chosen. I was fifteen when the pregnancy experiment began.”
Dahlia’s hand tightened around hers.
“I didn’t even know what it meant to be a mother,” Mira whispered. “I didn’t get to choose. But you came anyway. You were real. You were mine.”
Mira looked up at the sky through the canopy.
“I escaped before they could take you. Hid in the forests. Changed names. Hid again. Gave birth in a burned-out clinic on the outskirts of a rebel zone. You didn’t cry much. You just… glowed. Only for a few seconds at a time. But then, when you were five months old, you lit up the whole room like morning.”
Dahlia blinked, soft and wide-eyed. “So that’s why.”
“That’s when I knew,” Mira said, voice shaking. “It worked. The experiments… the genes… something awakened in you. I wasn’t scared of you, Dahlia. I was terrified for you.”
She let the silence settle for a long moment before finishing. “So I left you at a hospital. It was clean. Quiet. Safe. I watched from across the street for days. I waited to see if anyone suspicious came. But no one did. You were just another baby in the system. And I… I ran.”
Dahlia whispered, “You left so they wouldn’t find me.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think you could keep me safe?”
“No,” Mira said, pain naked in her voice. “Because I was broken. I had nothing. No allies. No money. I had already burned my only trail. If they caught me, they’d take you. You’d become their project. And I would have given them everything they wanted.”
Dahlia was quiet for a long time. Then she said:
“You could have come back.”
“I know,” Mira whispered. “And I didn’t. Because I thought… maybe you’d be okay without me.”
Dahlia sat very still. The daffodils at her feet trembled. Wind stirred the leaves like breath.
“And then you came back,” she said.
“I heard whispers years later,” Mira nodded. “Rumors of a girl healing soldiers. A girl who sang to vines. I knew it was you. But by then, I didn’t know if I deserved to be your mother.”
“You didn’t come to the house.”
“I watched from afar. For years. You had Antonio. You had Amy. You had a family. And I… had shadows.”
A pause.
Then Dahlia asked, “Do you still?”
Mira looked up, startled.
“Have shadows?”
Mira hesitated. “Yes.”
Dahlia reached over and gently placed a flower crown on Mira’s head, woven with small firelilies and soft moss.
“Then maybe it’s time to let the sun in.”
A Voice Behind Them
“You were strong to survive,” said a voice behind the trees.
They turned to see Markus, standing with a basket of peaches he’d picked from the far side of the island. He’d been listening. Quietly. Respectfully.
“But you’re even stronger now,” he said, stepping forward, “because you told her the truth.”
Mira met his gaze, a flicker of tension in her jaw. “You don’t know what I was made into.”
“I know what you chose to become,” Markus replied. “And you came back. That’s what matters.”
Elsewhere on the Island – Background Characters Stir
Children from the village nearby continued tending the edges of the garden. One girl, Elira, overheard the conversation from afar and whispered to her brother, “Is that her mama?”
“Maybe,” he whispered back.
“She looks sad.”
“She was sad,” he replied. “Now she’s just… finding herself.”
A village elder passed by and placed a carved bird figurine at the edge of the garden, murmuring a blessing for truth spoken and wounds aired.
Back inside the garden, Dahlia stood up, vines brushing her ankles, flowers blooming behind her footsteps.
She walked to Mira and knelt in front of her.
“I don’t remember everything yet,” she said softly. “But I think I’d like to try.”
“To remember me?” Mira asked.
“No,” Dahlia replied, placing her hands on Mira’s cheeks. “To know you, so tell me what happened next."
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 60. Continue reading Chapter 61 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.