Shrouded Hearts

Chapter ten

Aria stood amidst the congregation of fae, her stance resolute as she delivered the proclamation that cleaved through the serenity like a sword through silk. "I will teach you to fight with your powers," she declared, her voice echoing with a gravity that belied her carefree nature. The morning air, once thick with the sweet scent of dew-laced grass, now bore the weight of her words.

Murmurs rippled through the gathered assembly like a disturbed creek, reflecting their dismay. "We are creatures of peace," one protested, the timbre of his voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. "Our essence is to nurture, not to harm."

"True," Aria conceded, her eyes sweeping over them like the gentle touch of sunlight. "But even the most gentle stream carves its own path through the stone. We can remain true to our nature and still rise to protect it." Her soft features hardened with the steely resolve of one who had seen the shadows cast by war.

With her decree hanging in the air, she turned from the unrest and strode towards the old safe house that had become their reluctant haven. As she walked, her fingers trailed along the crumbling walls, coaxing life from decay. Vines erupted at her touch, entwining around the structure with the tenacity of warriors. Trees sprouted from the earth, their branches intertwining to fortify the cottage against intruders. The old oak door, which had welcomed countless weary souls, now vanished behind a tapestry of green as Aria's magic wove its protective embrace.

Continuing her silent vigil, Aria's fingertips danced across the barren front yard, her emotions guiding the spell. Wildflowers blossomed in her wake, vibrant hues piercing the desolation like beacons of hope. She watched, captivated, as each petal unfurled—a testament to the power that thrummed within her veins. The sanctuary bloomed before her eyes, transforming the stark reminder of their plight into a testament to resilience.

For a moment, amidst the burgeoning oasis, Aria allowed herself a fleeting smile—one tinged with both pride and sorrow. Here, under the guise of beauty, lay their bulwark against the encroaching darkness. A rampart woven from the very essence of life, standing defiantly in the face of looming threats. And though the flowers swayed gently in the breeze, Aria knew they were but fragile sentinels in a world that demanded steel. The fae watched in astonishment, happiness blooming within them like the flowers in the grass.

The shadows lengthened across the field, stretching like spectral fingers towards the solitary oak that stood tall and resolute in the corner. It was an impromptu creation, born from Aria's deep magic—a stark reminder of a past encounter, where danger had pressed close and Leo's presence had been both a threat and a salvation.

Aria's gaze lingered on the tree, her brown eyes tracing the familiar contours of its brown bark, the sturdy limbs that mirrored the one against which Leo had once held her—his body a shield from the soldiers' relentless pursuit. The memory brought forth a melancholic smile, the edges of her lips curling with a sadness she couldn't quite name. Her heart knew, though; it recognized the odd beauty in the replicated oak, understood that it wasn't merely a tree but a symbol of tangled emotions.

Her reverie was interrupted by the crunch of boots on the freshly sprouted flowers. Leo appeared, his silhouette defined by the dying light, his thick blonde hair catching the last glimmers of the sun. Their eyes met, and without a word, he crossed the distance between them, his dark brown eyes reflecting a silent acknowledgment of the tree's significance.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Aria's voice was barely above a whisper, her words floating into the air like dandelion seeds carried by the wind.

"It's a tree," Leo deadpanned.

Aria felt the weight of his gaze before she saw it, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that made her stomach clench. She forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to back down or show any sign of weakness.