Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 28: Chapter 28
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 28: Chapter 28. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The next morning, dew clung to the Anderson estate’s eastern training field — a wide expanse of packed soil, ringed by trees, their branches thick with the sound of morning birdsong. The sky was a soft amber haze, sunlight barely breaking through the leaves.
Dahlia stood barefoot on the center stone, her breath even, her long braid swaying as she stretched with fluid grace. The field smelled of pine, old leather, and something faintly floral — the trace of magic never fully leaving her.
Markus stepped into the circle, his movements measured. He adjusted the worn wraps on his forearms, the leather still carrying sand from a mission long past. He was used to preparing alone. But not this time.
Eliot leaned against a tree nearby, arms crossed. “You sure you want to spar with her?”
“She asked,” Markus replied, calm.
Christian arrived just behind him, still in sweatpants, a chipped coffee mug in one hand and a quarterstaff balanced in the other. “She’s fast,” he said casually. “And has a tendency to end fights before they begin.”
“She does that,” Theo muttered, crouched beside a bench, tying a boot. “Once parried me so hard I questioned my life choices.”
“I don’t want to fight her,” Markus said, stepping into the field. “I want to understand her.”
That silenced everyone.
Even Antonio, watching from the porch, tilted his head with quiet interest.
Dahlia’s eyes softened, curious. “Then don’t hold back.”
They circled.
Markus moved like someone who had long ago stopped fighting for ego. He studied her — not her strength, but her center. The rhythm beneath her stillness.
Dahlia flowed. Pivot. Slide. A soft flick of her fingers deflected a strike that hadn’t yet come. She was instinct, patience, and grace forged into something dangerous — not violent, but undeniably powerful.
He struck high — slow, testing. She caught his wrist mid-air, her fingers gentle but unmoving.
He ducked beneath her counter, rolled, and came up again with a smile twitching at the edge of his jaw. Not smug — impressed.
From the sidelines, Theo whispered to Amy, “Okay… he’s not bad.”
Amy leaned forward, squinting. “She’s not even breathing hard.”
“She never does,” Eliot said. “That’s what makes it unnerving.”
They clashed again. Dahlia swept low. Markus leapt back — not quite fast enough. Her foot tapped his shoulder before he landed. A clean touch. A message.
“Nice,” he muttered, rolling to his feet.
Dahlia gave a soft shrug. “The earth tells me where you’ll be.”
He paused. “Does it really?”
She met his gaze, then nodded slowly. “Not in words. It’s… like standing in water. Every ripple tells a story. Where someone’s weight is. Where the tension lies. Where fear pools.”
Markus stepped back, just enough to see her whole form.
“Your power’s not just in your hands,” he said.
Dahlia blinked. “No?”
He pointed, tracing the curve of her foot, her stance, the almost-invisible shift of her hips as she breathed.
“It’s in how you move. You fight like someone who feels everything under their feet. Like the earth whispers to you.”
Silence settled around the field.
Even Antonio nodded, quietly.
Christian took a thoughtful sip of coffee. “You see more than most do,” he said to Markus.
Markus glanced at him. “I’ve spent years watching what people try to hide. In battle, hesitation is louder than shouting.”
“And in Dahlia?” Amy asked from the bench, eyes wide.
Markus looked at Dahlia again.
“She doesn’t hesitate,” he said. “She listens.”
Dahlia tilted her head slightly. “You fight like someone who protects others first.”
He smiled, small and sad. “Only thing I ever learned that mattered.”
Dahlia stepped forward, her expression softening. “Then maybe we both fight to protect. But I protect with growth. You protect by shielding.”
Markus stood still for a moment. Then he offered his arm, open-palmed.
“No more tests,” he said. “Just teach me.”
Dahlia hesitated — just a heartbeat — and took it.
Not as a challenge.
As a promise.
From the porch, William watched, stroking his beard.
“They’ll balance each other,” he murmured to Antonio.
Antonio gave a single nod. “If he doesn’t break first.”
William smiled. “She won’t let him.”
And out in the field, the soil beneath their feet warmed with quiet energy — the kind not meant to burn or wound…
…but to heal.
Dahlia stood barefoot on the center stone, her breath even, her long braid swaying as she stretched with fluid grace. The field smelled of pine, old leather, and something faintly floral — the trace of magic never fully leaving her.
Markus stepped into the circle, his movements measured. He adjusted the worn wraps on his forearms, the leather still carrying sand from a mission long past. He was used to preparing alone. But not this time.
Eliot leaned against a tree nearby, arms crossed. “You sure you want to spar with her?”
“She asked,” Markus replied, calm.
Christian arrived just behind him, still in sweatpants, a chipped coffee mug in one hand and a quarterstaff balanced in the other. “She’s fast,” he said casually. “And has a tendency to end fights before they begin.”
“She does that,” Theo muttered, crouched beside a bench, tying a boot. “Once parried me so hard I questioned my life choices.”
“I don’t want to fight her,” Markus said, stepping into the field. “I want to understand her.”
That silenced everyone.
Even Antonio, watching from the porch, tilted his head with quiet interest.
Dahlia’s eyes softened, curious. “Then don’t hold back.”
They circled.
Markus moved like someone who had long ago stopped fighting for ego. He studied her — not her strength, but her center. The rhythm beneath her stillness.
Dahlia flowed. Pivot. Slide. A soft flick of her fingers deflected a strike that hadn’t yet come. She was instinct, patience, and grace forged into something dangerous — not violent, but undeniably powerful.
He struck high — slow, testing. She caught his wrist mid-air, her fingers gentle but unmoving.
He ducked beneath her counter, rolled, and came up again with a smile twitching at the edge of his jaw. Not smug — impressed.
From the sidelines, Theo whispered to Amy, “Okay… he’s not bad.”
Amy leaned forward, squinting. “She’s not even breathing hard.”
“She never does,” Eliot said. “That’s what makes it unnerving.”
They clashed again. Dahlia swept low. Markus leapt back — not quite fast enough. Her foot tapped his shoulder before he landed. A clean touch. A message.
“Nice,” he muttered, rolling to his feet.
Dahlia gave a soft shrug. “The earth tells me where you’ll be.”
He paused. “Does it really?”
She met his gaze, then nodded slowly. “Not in words. It’s… like standing in water. Every ripple tells a story. Where someone’s weight is. Where the tension lies. Where fear pools.”
Markus stepped back, just enough to see her whole form.
“Your power’s not just in your hands,” he said.
Dahlia blinked. “No?”
He pointed, tracing the curve of her foot, her stance, the almost-invisible shift of her hips as she breathed.
“It’s in how you move. You fight like someone who feels everything under their feet. Like the earth whispers to you.”
Silence settled around the field.
Even Antonio nodded, quietly.
Christian took a thoughtful sip of coffee. “You see more than most do,” he said to Markus.
Markus glanced at him. “I’ve spent years watching what people try to hide. In battle, hesitation is louder than shouting.”
“And in Dahlia?” Amy asked from the bench, eyes wide.
Markus looked at Dahlia again.
“She doesn’t hesitate,” he said. “She listens.”
Dahlia tilted her head slightly. “You fight like someone who protects others first.”
He smiled, small and sad. “Only thing I ever learned that mattered.”
Dahlia stepped forward, her expression softening. “Then maybe we both fight to protect. But I protect with growth. You protect by shielding.”
Markus stood still for a moment. Then he offered his arm, open-palmed.
“No more tests,” he said. “Just teach me.”
Dahlia hesitated — just a heartbeat — and took it.
Not as a challenge.
As a promise.
From the porch, William watched, stroking his beard.
“They’ll balance each other,” he murmured to Antonio.
Antonio gave a single nod. “If he doesn’t break first.”
William smiled. “She won’t let him.”
And out in the field, the soil beneath their feet warmed with quiet energy — the kind not meant to burn or wound…
…but to heal.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 28. Continue reading Chapter 29 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.