Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 64: Chapter 64
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 64: Chapter 64. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The Island – The Garden
Dahlia stood barefoot in the center of the Garden, the firelilies opening around her in slow succession. The garden whispered her name, sensing something shifting.
“I need to go,” she said, finally.
The garden went still.
Amy froze halfway through plaiting a vine braid into Dahlia’s hair. “Go… where?”
“To find the child,” Dahlia replied. Her voice didn’t tremble. “The one Echelon marked. The one they whispered about.
Across the room, Antonio’s face darkened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“You’ve just come back, from that cocoon,” Jack said, arms crossed but gentle. “You barely had a month to rest.”
“I don’t want rest,” Dahlia replied quietly. “I want answers.”
Amy grabbed her hand. “You need rest. You were in a cocoon for weeks, Dahlia. You just remembered everything. Please don’t throw yourself into another storm.”
Dahlia looked at her, pained. “Amy… what if it is my sibling? Out there. Alone. Like I was.”
A silence fell.
Mira sat near the open doorway, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “They told me the experiments failed,” she said hoarsely.
“But they lied,” Dahlia said. “Like they always did.”
Christian leaned forward. “Even if there’s truth to it, Echelon’s been dismantled. Every record wiped, every base leveled. We don’t have a trail.”
“Not yet,” Eliot said, voice quiet but serious. “But I’ve been getting strange pings. Remote data fragments. There’s something… someone… encrypted with the old designation code: Bloom-2.”
Amy’s voice cracked. “That doesn’t mean it’s a child.”
“It means something survived,” Dahlia said. “And if it’s what I think it is, I need to find them before the wrong people do.”
Antonio stood, the father in him rising sharp. “No. You’ve given enough. Your life. Your memories. You don’t need to chase ghosts.”
Dahlia’s eyes shimmered, not with power but with pain. “I was that ghost once. Floating through hospitals, orphanages. I know how it feels to be forgotten.”
Jack looked between them all, torn. “What if it’s a trap? You walk into another Echelon cell and we lose you again?”
“I won’t go alone,” Dahlia said, and turned to Derek. “I need you.”
Derek, already standing, nodded instantly. “I’m in.”
Antonio stepped in between them. “Derek, no. You’re still a kid. Your gift—”
“Is mine to use how I choose,” Derek said fiercely. “I’m not just some symbol. I want to help. I have to.”
Amy stared at Dahlia, pleading. “We’re your family. Stay. Just a while longer.”
“I’ll send letters,” Dahlia said softly. “Updates. Flowers that talk. Whatever it takes.”
Amy shook her head, tears brimming. “That’s not the same.”
“No,” Markus said from the shadows, finally stepping forward, “but it’s better than silence.”
All eyes turned to him.
“If you won’t let her go alone,” Markus said slowly, “then let me go with them. I’ll keep them safe. I’ve done it before.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened. “You’re asking me to let all three of you disappear again?”
“I’m asking you to trust us,” Dahlia said. “You taught me how to choose mercy. Now let me choose purpose.”
The silence was thick. Mira stood, crossed the room, and placed a hand on Antonio’s shoulder.
“I let her go once,” Mira whispered, “to save her. Maybe this time… I let her go to save someone else.”
Antonio closed his eyes.
Amy turned away, tears spilling freely now.
Christian sighed. “Fine. But we track you constantly.”
Theo chimed in. “And you wear those biometric bracelets I built.”
Eliot nodded. “And you call in every day.”
Jack stared at them, then finally sighed and handed Dahlia a pack he’d hidden under the table. “I had a feeling. I packed your things. Just… don’t die.”
Dahlia hugged him hard. “Not today.”
She turned to Amy last.
Amy didn’t speak. Just hugged her so tightly it hurt.
Then she placed something in Dahlia’s hand: a tiny glass pendant with a sunflower etched inside.
“Sunbloom Day,” Amy said brokenly. “Don’t forget again.”
“Never,” Dahlia whispered. “You’re the part I’ll always remember first.”
Derek slung his bag over his shoulder. “So. Where do we start?”
Markus held out a single black envelope. “Here. One last data fragment from the Echelon files. Found it during cleanup.”
Dahlia opened it, and a picture slid out.
A child. Eyes glowing faintly blue. A birthmark like a flower stem curling up her wrist.
Below it, a note in cold print: “Prototype 2 – designation: Orchid.”
Dahlia’s breath caught.
She looked back at the family one more time.
Then, with Derek and Markus at her side, stepped off the garden path and back into the world.
Dahlia stood barefoot in the center of the Garden, the firelilies opening around her in slow succession. The garden whispered her name, sensing something shifting.
“I need to go,” she said, finally.
The garden went still.
Amy froze halfway through plaiting a vine braid into Dahlia’s hair. “Go… where?”
“To find the child,” Dahlia replied. Her voice didn’t tremble. “The one Echelon marked. The one they whispered about.
Across the room, Antonio’s face darkened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“You’ve just come back, from that cocoon,” Jack said, arms crossed but gentle. “You barely had a month to rest.”
“I don’t want rest,” Dahlia replied quietly. “I want answers.”
Amy grabbed her hand. “You need rest. You were in a cocoon for weeks, Dahlia. You just remembered everything. Please don’t throw yourself into another storm.”
Dahlia looked at her, pained. “Amy… what if it is my sibling? Out there. Alone. Like I was.”
A silence fell.
Mira sat near the open doorway, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “They told me the experiments failed,” she said hoarsely.
“But they lied,” Dahlia said. “Like they always did.”
Christian leaned forward. “Even if there’s truth to it, Echelon’s been dismantled. Every record wiped, every base leveled. We don’t have a trail.”
“Not yet,” Eliot said, voice quiet but serious. “But I’ve been getting strange pings. Remote data fragments. There’s something… someone… encrypted with the old designation code: Bloom-2.”
Amy’s voice cracked. “That doesn’t mean it’s a child.”
“It means something survived,” Dahlia said. “And if it’s what I think it is, I need to find them before the wrong people do.”
Antonio stood, the father in him rising sharp. “No. You’ve given enough. Your life. Your memories. You don’t need to chase ghosts.”
Dahlia’s eyes shimmered, not with power but with pain. “I was that ghost once. Floating through hospitals, orphanages. I know how it feels to be forgotten.”
Jack looked between them all, torn. “What if it’s a trap? You walk into another Echelon cell and we lose you again?”
“I won’t go alone,” Dahlia said, and turned to Derek. “I need you.”
Derek, already standing, nodded instantly. “I’m in.”
Antonio stepped in between them. “Derek, no. You’re still a kid. Your gift—”
“Is mine to use how I choose,” Derek said fiercely. “I’m not just some symbol. I want to help. I have to.”
Amy stared at Dahlia, pleading. “We’re your family. Stay. Just a while longer.”
“I’ll send letters,” Dahlia said softly. “Updates. Flowers that talk. Whatever it takes.”
Amy shook her head, tears brimming. “That’s not the same.”
“No,” Markus said from the shadows, finally stepping forward, “but it’s better than silence.”
All eyes turned to him.
“If you won’t let her go alone,” Markus said slowly, “then let me go with them. I’ll keep them safe. I’ve done it before.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened. “You’re asking me to let all three of you disappear again?”
“I’m asking you to trust us,” Dahlia said. “You taught me how to choose mercy. Now let me choose purpose.”
The silence was thick. Mira stood, crossed the room, and placed a hand on Antonio’s shoulder.
“I let her go once,” Mira whispered, “to save her. Maybe this time… I let her go to save someone else.”
Antonio closed his eyes.
Amy turned away, tears spilling freely now.
Christian sighed. “Fine. But we track you constantly.”
Theo chimed in. “And you wear those biometric bracelets I built.”
Eliot nodded. “And you call in every day.”
Jack stared at them, then finally sighed and handed Dahlia a pack he’d hidden under the table. “I had a feeling. I packed your things. Just… don’t die.”
Dahlia hugged him hard. “Not today.”
She turned to Amy last.
Amy didn’t speak. Just hugged her so tightly it hurt.
Then she placed something in Dahlia’s hand: a tiny glass pendant with a sunflower etched inside.
“Sunbloom Day,” Amy said brokenly. “Don’t forget again.”
“Never,” Dahlia whispered. “You’re the part I’ll always remember first.”
Derek slung his bag over his shoulder. “So. Where do we start?”
Markus held out a single black envelope. “Here. One last data fragment from the Echelon files. Found it during cleanup.”
Dahlia opened it, and a picture slid out.
A child. Eyes glowing faintly blue. A birthmark like a flower stem curling up her wrist.
Below it, a note in cold print: “Prototype 2 – designation: Orchid.”
Dahlia’s breath caught.
She looked back at the family one more time.
Then, with Derek and Markus at her side, stepped off the garden path and back into the world.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 64. Continue reading Chapter 65 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.