Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

While Dahlia’s days were filled with laughter, sweets, and seaside sunsets, her mornings and evenings told a different story. Behind the warmth of the Anderson estate, training had become a rhythm — part ritual, part discipline — and Dahlia absorbed it all with the quiet intensity of someone who knew her future would depend on it.
With Antonio – Martial Arts and Discipline
One foggy morning, Dahlia groaned as she rubbed sleep from her eyes, trudging barefoot onto the dew-soaked lawn.
“You look like a very tiny zombie,” Antonio said dryly.
She yawned. “Do zombies train at dawn?”
He smirked. “The smart ones do.”
They sparred in slow, careful bursts. Antonio adjusted her posture gently, correcting the twist in her hips, the bend in her elbows.
“Balance isn’t just physical,” he said, holding her shoulders square. “It’s mental too. If your head is a mess, your body won’t follow.”
Dahlia puffed out her cheeks. “Then I should be doing backflips with how calm you are all the time.”
Antonio raised a brow. “Oh? Ask Uncle Theo how many chairs I broke when I was your age.”
“Really? Like… on purpose?”
“Mostly. Sometimes they broke themselves after I lost my temper.”
She laughed, then fell silent as they circled again.
“Daddy,” she asked quietly, “what if I’m too gentle for all this?”
Antonio lowered his stance. “Gentle doesn’t mean weak. You’re learning how to choose your strength, not just swing it around. A blade of grass can crack concrete if it grows long enough.”
She nodded, eyes thoughtful. “Okay. Then I’ll be grass.”
“You’ll be sunlight,” he corrected, tousling her hair.
With Eliot – Stealth, Observation, Camouflage
Eliot watched from the shadows as Dahlia crept silently behind a column.
“She’s learning,” he murmured to himself, impressed.
Suddenly, Dahlia sneezed.
The gardener turned.
Eliot slapped a hand over his face.
Later, she returned, sniffling.
“Pollen ambush,” she grumbled.
“You blew your cover with a sneeze?” Eliot said, mock scandalized.
“I’m allergic to spying,” she sniffed dramatically.
He handed her a tissue. “Lesson one: always know your terrain. Lesson two: next time, bring antihistamines.”
They rewound the footage together.
Eliot pointed to her crouching behind the hydrangeas. “See that? Good cover. But then you closed your eyes too long.”
“I was concentrating!”
“Next time,” he said, tossing her a black beanie, “channel your inner cat. Silent. Graceful. And possibly carrying vengeance.”
She blinked. “Do I hiss too?”
“Only if cornered.”
With Christian – Lies, Misdirection, Social Strategy
Christian sprawled on a velvet couch like a cat in the sun, sipping lemonade.
“Okay, princess of petunias,” he said. “What’s your story if someone finds petals under your bed?”
“I… I spilled my tea?”
He groaned. “No no no. That’s a confession, not a cover. Try again.”
She crossed her arms. “Maybe I just like sleeping near flowers!”
Christian sat up. “That’s almost perfect. Add a sprinkle of weirdness and people stop asking questions. Trust me — mystery is protection.”
Dahlia gave him a long look. “You’re just making this up as you go, aren’t you?”
Christian grinned. “Exactly. And you believed me. Which means it’s working.”
Later, they practiced facial expressions in the mirror.
“Raise your eyebrows,” he said. “Now pout. Now squint like you’re suspicious.”
“I look like I smelled a bad shoe,” Dahlia said.
“Perfect. That’s your spy face.”
With Theo – Reading People, Mental Agility
They played chess with jellybeans as pieces. Every time Dahlia lost a pawn, Theo made her answer a riddle.
“What has no mouth but can scream, no arms but can hold, no legs but can run?”
Dahlia frowned. “…Is it me on Monday mornings?”
Theo laughed. “Close. A river.”
He leaned back, watching her move her queen too quickly. “That was emotional. Are you playing the board, or your feelings?”
She froze. “Both?”
“That’s the trick,” he said gently. “You lead with heart — but you calculate with mind.”
She looked at the board. “Then I’ll sacrifice this bishop.”
Theo smiled. “Now that’s strategy.”
Afterward, he handed her a wrapped box.
“What’s this?”
“A lockpick kit. Training-grade.”
Her eyes lit up. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “But only for practice doors. And Christian’s bedroom as a last resort.”
With William – Nature, Medicine, and Purpose
The greenhouse was humid and bright, every leaf shining under the sun.
William held up a shriveled stem. “This plant is dehydrated. What does it need?”
“Water?”
“Not just water. Attention.”
He guided her fingers over the veins of a leaf. “Everything that lives sends signals. The earth hums when it’s ready to bloom. Listen.”
She closed her eyes.
A flower beside them stirred.
William smiled. “You feel it?”
“It’s… warm. Like someone’s smiling at me.”
“They are,” William said. “Plants don’t talk like we do — but they remember kindness.”
They planted side by side in silence until Dahlia said, “Grandpa… do you think I’ll be ready someday?”
He took her hand.
“You already are. The question is — ready for what? That’s the journey.”
Dahlia looked down at her hands. “They glow. I can fix things. But sometimes I’m scared I’ll break something instead.”
William leaned close. “Even healers need healing. That’s why you have us.”
Then, with a wink, he added, “And if the world ever doubts you… just remind them you can grow daisies in your sleep.”