Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 82: Chapter 82
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 82: Chapter 82. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The air was thick with heat and static.
Derek crouched beside the old generator shed, listening. Something had shifted in the wind — not animal, not storm. Human.
A snap of brush. A low voice. The crunch of boots.
He stood slowly and stepped into the clearing as headlights flicked on. A battered truck rumbled through the rusted gate, two motorbikes flanking it. Men climbed out — half a dozen, armed with bolt cutters, crowbars, and rifles slung too casually.
One, taller than the rest and draped in a camouflage vest, walked forward, his scarred face catching the moonlight.
“Evening,” he called, grinning. “Didn’t think anyone was still haunting this dump.”
Derek didn’t move. “This place is protected. Keep driving.”
The man laughed, low and oily. “By who? You?” He nodded to his crew. “Soft hands. Soft boy. Probably feeding pigeons and calling it charity.”
They began to fan out — yanking open sheds, pulling on corroded wiring.
Derek inhaled slowly and whispered to the ground beneath his breath.
Somewhere in the trees, wings stirred. Claws clicked on stone. The dry grass hissed with movement.
The scarred man paused as a low growl echoed from the shadows.
Then the lion emerged.
He Stepped into the clearing, fur glinting gold under moonlight, muscles coiled, eyes burning.
One of the men stumbled back. “Boss…”
But the leader held his ground. “It’s just a lion. We’ve got rifles.”
Derek stepped forward, voice low but firm. “You’d better hope that’s all we have.”
The wind shifted. From the trees came the sound of rustling — no longer wind, but legs and wings and claws. A ring of creatures emerged into the clearing:
A sleek hyena with eyes like silver.
A dozen meerkats, their stances defiant.
Two massive vultures circling above, silent and sharp.
A serval with tufted ears and a scar across its nose.
Even the insects answered — fireflies blinking in rhythmic pulse, casting eerie shadows across the scavengers’ faces.
The leader’s smirk cracked.
“What the hell is this?”
“They’re my friends,” Derek said simply. “I don’t control them. But I asked them to stand with me.”
He placed a hand gently on the lion’s mane.
The lion didn’t roar. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped closer, chest to chest with the man, hot breath washing over his collarbone.
The man trembled. “It’s just an old zoo…”
“No,” Derek said. “It’s a sanctuary. For things that should never have been caged. For creatures who remember every face that came to hurt them.”
One of the scavengers dropped his bolt cutters. “We’re leaving. I’m not messing with this.”
Another backed away, muttering prayers under his breath.
The leader looked around, sweat gleaming on his forehead — saw the eyes in the grass, the claws in the dark, the lion inches from his throat.
He spat once to the side. “This ain’t worth the copper.”
They fled. All of them. Back into their truck. Back through the gate. Back into the night.
—
Afterward
Derek knelt beside the lion as it let out a slow, steady breath and sank back onto his haunches.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
The lion looked at him — and dipped his head once.
From the trees, the hyena barked once and disappeared. The other animals followed, fading back into the dark, their message delivered.
—
Derek crouched beside the old generator shed, listening. Something had shifted in the wind — not animal, not storm. Human.
A snap of brush. A low voice. The crunch of boots.
He stood slowly and stepped into the clearing as headlights flicked on. A battered truck rumbled through the rusted gate, two motorbikes flanking it. Men climbed out — half a dozen, armed with bolt cutters, crowbars, and rifles slung too casually.
One, taller than the rest and draped in a camouflage vest, walked forward, his scarred face catching the moonlight.
“Evening,” he called, grinning. “Didn’t think anyone was still haunting this dump.”
Derek didn’t move. “This place is protected. Keep driving.”
The man laughed, low and oily. “By who? You?” He nodded to his crew. “Soft hands. Soft boy. Probably feeding pigeons and calling it charity.”
They began to fan out — yanking open sheds, pulling on corroded wiring.
Derek inhaled slowly and whispered to the ground beneath his breath.
Somewhere in the trees, wings stirred. Claws clicked on stone. The dry grass hissed with movement.
The scarred man paused as a low growl echoed from the shadows.
Then the lion emerged.
He Stepped into the clearing, fur glinting gold under moonlight, muscles coiled, eyes burning.
One of the men stumbled back. “Boss…”
But the leader held his ground. “It’s just a lion. We’ve got rifles.”
Derek stepped forward, voice low but firm. “You’d better hope that’s all we have.”
The wind shifted. From the trees came the sound of rustling — no longer wind, but legs and wings and claws. A ring of creatures emerged into the clearing:
A sleek hyena with eyes like silver.
A dozen meerkats, their stances defiant.
Two massive vultures circling above, silent and sharp.
A serval with tufted ears and a scar across its nose.
Even the insects answered — fireflies blinking in rhythmic pulse, casting eerie shadows across the scavengers’ faces.
The leader’s smirk cracked.
“What the hell is this?”
“They’re my friends,” Derek said simply. “I don’t control them. But I asked them to stand with me.”
He placed a hand gently on the lion’s mane.
The lion didn’t roar. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped closer, chest to chest with the man, hot breath washing over his collarbone.
The man trembled. “It’s just an old zoo…”
“No,” Derek said. “It’s a sanctuary. For things that should never have been caged. For creatures who remember every face that came to hurt them.”
One of the scavengers dropped his bolt cutters. “We’re leaving. I’m not messing with this.”
Another backed away, muttering prayers under his breath.
The leader looked around, sweat gleaming on his forehead — saw the eyes in the grass, the claws in the dark, the lion inches from his throat.
He spat once to the side. “This ain’t worth the copper.”
They fled. All of them. Back into their truck. Back through the gate. Back into the night.
—
Afterward
Derek knelt beside the lion as it let out a slow, steady breath and sank back onto his haunches.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
The lion looked at him — and dipped his head once.
From the trees, the hyena barked once and disappeared. The other animals followed, fading back into the dark, their message delivered.
—
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