Shrouded Hearts

Chapter twelve

The dawn was a weary blush on the horizon, painting the field before the safe house in shades of hesitation.

Aria stood among the fae, her form a delicate silhouette against the emerging light, her deep brown eyes intent and piercing as she instructed them in the ways of magic that went beyond mending flesh and soothing pain. Their faces, usually so tranquil, were etched with concentration and the weight of impending conflict.

"Remember," she said, her voice a melodic whisper that somehow carried to every ear, "the power within you is more than a balm; it is a force, a feeling waiting to be unleashed."

Meanwhile, Leo moved like a shadow among the fledgling soldiers, his light blonde hair a stark contrast to the dark military attire clinging to his lithe frame. His instructions were punctuated by the sound of fists meeting palms, the soft thud of bodies grappling. His movements were precise, his demeanor stern yet infused with an occasional spark of playfulness that belied the gravity of their situation.

"Alright, Fern, keep your feet grounded," Leo said, correcting a fae whose stance was too narrow.

"Imagine you're a tree, roots deep within the earth. You can't be toppled by something as silly as wind."

Fern, a fae with eyes the color of autumn leaves, nodded earnestly and adjusted his footing. He squared off against Leo, who feigned a strike. Quick as a sprite, Fern sidestepped, using Leo's momentum to send him stumbling forward.

"Ha! Look at that," Leo exclaimed with a snorting laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We might just make a soldier of you yet!"

Their preparation stretched from the tender fingers of morning light until the sky wept stars. The fae persisted, their resilience a quiet river steadily carving its path through stone. Inside the living room, Aria and Leo sat by the fire, which cast a dance of shadows over their faces and filled the space between them with its crackling chorus.

"A little under a month," Aria said, unfurling a map across the floor. Her finger traced the route to Camp Adams, where many of her people were still held captive. "We move at dusk when they least expect us."

Leo leaned back in a chair, arms crossed, a frown creasing his chiseled features. His dark brown eyes flickered with a hesitance he couldn't fully disguise. "And if they aren't ready? These fae are gentle, Aria. You see it yourself, they can't even handle you hurting a damn bird."

"Then we teach them that sometimes, to protect, one must fight," Aria responded, her tone threaded with steel. She met his gaze, unflinching, the firelight igniting a fierce determination in her eyes.

"Even the most peaceful stream can erode a mountain, given time," she added, her voice softer now but no less commanding. "They will be ready because they must. Because we have no other choice."

Leo's silence hung heavy between them, a specter of doubt that neither could banish. Yet Aria saw only the path ahead, her vision tunneled toward salvation for her people. In that ember-lit room, with the scent of smoke and old wood enveloping them, they plotted the liberation of her people, unaware of how the morrow would test the very fabric of their alliance.

The morning sun stretched over the safe house, casting a golden sheen on the front field where all eyes were upon Leo. The tall, broad-shouldered figure stood among the fae, his white skin gleaming like a battle-standard.

"Balance is key," Leo instructed, demonstrating a fighting stance to an attentive crowd of fae. "You're not just picking berries and singing songs; you're fighters, protecting your own."

A delicate fae frowned in concentration. "But when I think of fighting, my magic fizzles out like a wet flame."

"Think of it not as extinguishing your light but igniting a fire," Leo replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Let that fire be your shield, your strength."