Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 63: Chapter 63

The Garden – One Year Later
It started with a whisper.
Then a scream.
Dahlia dropped to her knees in the garden, her fingers clawing at her scalp as a sudden splitting headache fractured through her skull. Light poured from her eyes and mouth in violent bursts. Vines trembled. Petals flared and died around her in waves of searing color.
And then—silence.
The vines surged, wrapping around her protectively, pushing away anyone who dared come close.
“Dahlia!” Amy cried, stumbling forward—only to be held back by the garden itself.
“No!” Mira shouted. “She’s hurting!”
But the vines responded like a storm, wild and unrelenting. They encased Dahlia in a massive, pulsating cocoon of emerald green and golden rootlight. It shimmered, then solidified—pulsing slowly like a second heartbeat beneath the earth.
The air turned warm and thick with magic.
She was gone.
Again.
The Garden – One Week Later
They made camp in the garden. No one left.
A hammock between the trees. A fire pit by the ferns. Bedrolls beneath the moonflowers.
They waited.
Amy sat closest, always. She sang when her voice would hold steady. Whispered stories into the air, not knowing if Dahlia could hear.
“She told me once that everything has a season,” Amy murmured. “Even silence. But this feels endless.”
Jack wandered the garden’s edges. “She’s in there somewhere,” he muttered. “She has to be. I’ve seen her come back from worse.”
Derek sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, talking softly to the small fox that refused to leave his side. “She told me not to be afraid. That the garden always knows. But I am afraid. What if she comes out and doesn’t know us again?”
Christian scribbled in a journal at night. “The vines are older than anything we’ve recorded. They’re shifting her… growing her again. I think it’s memory. I think she’s becoming whole.”
Theo paced constantly, checking vitals, mapping energy pulses, scanning for decay. “If anything goes wrong, we need to be ready. I won’t lose her. Not again.”
Eliot set up a quiet surveillance net, recording every motion of the cocoon. “There’s a rhythm. Like a countdown. But to what?”
William brewed tea and made soup no one ate. “We’ve seen miracles before. This… this is just another root taking hold.”
Markus remained still, barely speaking. He leaned against the tree closest to the cocoon, arms crossed, watching the pulse of light with hooded eyes.
And Mira, every night, whispered through the vines.
“I'm still here, my baby girl,” she said, touching the barrier softly. “I won’t run this time.”
The Garden – One Month Later
The pulse slowed.
The vines began to shift.
Amy stood slowly, voice caught in her throat. “Is it…?”
The cocoon cracked. Light streamed out.
The vines peeled back, petal by petal.
And then—
Dahlia stepped out.
Fully grown.
Whole.
Her hair, a wild cascade of deep mahogany and dark blossoms, shimmered with faint golden light. Her eyes—green and violet—were wide, clear, and so achingly familiar.
She looked down at her hands, then up at them.
“I remember everything,” she whispered.
No one moved.
Amy sobbed.
Mira collapsed to her knees.
Antonio took a slow step forward. “Dahlia?”
She turned to him. Her voice wavered. “Daddy.”
He caught her in his arms before her knees gave out.
The garden shuddered with a gentle gust of wind—as if exhaling.
Later That Evening – Around the Fire
Everyone sat in silence. Dahlia curled between Amy and Derek, a soft blanket over her shoulders. She was still pale, her voice fragile—but steady.
“I didn’t just remember,” she said quietly. “I felt everything. All of it. The orphanage. The hurt. The wonder. The first time I sang to a dying tree and it bloomed. The first time Amy held my hand.”
Amy reached for her without hesitation, tears in her eyes.
“I remember being scared,” Dahlia continued. “And then I remember you. All of you.”
Markus cleared his throat. “You were gone for a month. You… changed.”
“I grew.” She looked at him gently. “Not just older. Deeper. Like roots.”
Theo blinked. “You okay? Physically?”
Dahlia nodded. “Tired. But no pain. The garden healed me again. But this time, it didn’t just grow me. It restored what I gave away.”
Antonio looked at her for a long time. “You sacrificed your life for others. And it gave you a second one.”
Dahlia reached out and touched his hand. “I saw you in every dream. Waiting.”
Mira hesitated, until Dahlia turned to her.
“You saved me,” Dahlia said. “Even when you thought you were leaving me behind.”
Mira’s eyes filled. “I was so afraid.”
Dahlia leaned against her. “So was I. But now… I’m not.”
William poured tea. “So… what do we do now?”
Dahlia sipped from her cup, her eyes gleaming.
“We rest. We rebuild. And then… we plant.”