Odrian didn’t want to be here—not on the Tharon coast, not in this war camp, and certainly not tracking some thief through the forest in the middle of the night.
But the thief had finally slipped up, leaving a trail of coins—his coins—scattered through the underbrush. Intermittent enough to slow him, but frequent enough to lead him on.
The thief had been plaguing the Aurean camps for months. At first, it was barely noticeable—men swearing they’d left drachmae on a table, cooks claiming they’d made more than what remained. Supply counts off by one or two.
It was as reliable as the tides.
Once or twice a week, another soldier would approach him or Dionys. Something missing. Coin, jewelry—anything small and valuable.
But tonight, the thief had slipped.
They had stolen from him.
He’d left his own coin purse as bait—somewhere unattended, ripe for the taking. He’d cut a hole in the bottom: small enough to miss, large enough to shed coins when jostled.
His trap had worked.
Now came the consequences.
After tonight, the thief would be dealt with. He could stop fielding complaints and get back to winning this gods-damned war.
He just had to catch them.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia’s bare feet barely whispered against the forest floor as she darted away from the Aurean camp. Over her shoulder she’d slung a simple canvas sack, heavy with food and—more importantly—medicine.
Stealing the medicine had been the hardest part, forcing her to be patient when every instinct screamed to hurry. She’d waited until the old healer had gone to the latrines, leaving the healing tent unguarded.
She’d grabbed everything she could use.
Honey, garlic, bitterroot, and fresh linen bandages for her own wound. Feverfew and willow bark for Stella’s fever. A bundle of laurel leaves and some incense to sacrifice to Apollo.
She hoped it would be enough. That she’d guessed right about the herbs.
She hadn’t wanted to take too much—leaving plenty for the Aurean troops—but Stella came first. She knew nothing of herblore. Her husband, Walus, had forbidden her to learn it, claiming it wasteful when they had his physicians for such things.
Alessia had known the real reason: to keep her subservient. Too ignorant to risk escape.
He’d been wrong.
After what felt like hours, Alessia reached the dilapidated shack at the edge of Aurean territory. A fisherman’s shelter, probably, before the war. Abandoned for years now.
The roof held. The walls blocked the worst of the winds. After caves, burned-out villages, nights in the open—it felt godsent.
Alessia ducked inside and went straight to the nest of stolen blankets where a still figure lay.
The girl was small for her age, thin as a spear shaft. Her breathing came labored—too shallow, too fast. Alessia pressed the back of her hand to the child’s forehead.
The fever had climbed.
She tossed the coin purse with the others she’d stashed, then gathered the rough sack and settled behind Stella, pulling the sleeping child into her lap.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Odrian stepped into the shack, silent as a hunting wolf, his blade drawn but lowered. The scene inside stopped him cold.
The thief wasn’t what he expected—not a hardened criminal or a deserter. Instead: a gaunt young woman cradling a sick child.
Odrian’s lips thinned, but the sharp edge of his anger dulled. A thief he could handle. This was something else entirely.
He cleared his throat, keeping his voice low and controlled.
“So. You’re the one robbing my men blind.”
He spoke in Aurean, watching for comprehension. The words held no heat, only weary curiosity.
His gaze flicked to the child—a little girl, far too young for this war. His stomach twisted. She was a year or two younger than his own son, waiting for him back in Othara.
“Stealing from Aurean soldiers is punishable by death.” He filled the doorway, blocking her only exit.
Odrian’s gaze darted between the fevered child and the hollow-eyed woman. Tharon, almost certainly. His hand tightened on his sword’s hilt.
“Yet here you are, feeding a child with stolen rations—” He switched to Tharon. “Explain. Quickly.”
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia tensed.
For a moment, she hesitated, debating which language to use. It could be useful to conceal that she understood both.
Or it could lead to a noose.
“We were starving. We needed food.” Her Aurean carried a slight accent.
Stella’s eyes fluttered open, glazed with fever. They brightened as she recognized Alessia.
“You’re back!” she whispered hoarsely, her small hands clutching at Alessia’s sleeve.
Then she noticed Odrian looming in the doorway, sword gleaming.
She curled into Alessia’s side, frightened—but only for a moment. Then she lifted her chin. Her voice wobbled, but she glared at Odrian like he was any other soldier trying to scare them.
“Don’t yell at Mama!” she croaked. “She only took food ‘cause I’m sick! And if you’re mean to her, Hermes’ll turn you into a frog!”
She proclaimed the curse with all the conviction of a five-year-old who truly believed the god of thieves was secretly her friend.
Then she coughed weakly into her sleeve, ruining her bravado.
Alessia hushed her, rubbing circles on her back.
Odrian exhaled sharply, torn between annoyance and amusement. He sheathed his sword, though his tone remained stern.
“Your little protector has a lion’s heart,” he didn’t quite mutter. “But invoking the gods won’t shield you from consequences.”
He stepped fully into the shack, taking in the makeshift pallet, the chipped bowl of water, the flush on the girl’s face… how light the sack of stolen items looked to be feeding two hungry mouths.
He tallied it all.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.
“Three questions. Answer truthfully, and I may forget I found you. Lie, and my mercy ends.” He paused. “How long have you been stealing from my camp? Does she have anyone in Tharos who would ransom her? And why target my provisions?”
The last question came out almost offended, as if the theft had been personal.
“Three, maybe four months for all the Aurean camps,” Alessia said, holding up a single finger to show which question she was answering. She lifted a second. “That’s … complicated. Not on her own, but both of us together? Yes.” She lifted the third finger. “Luck. I rotate camps. Got lucky tonight, I suppose.”
A dry chuckle escaped him. He rubbed at his temple—half exasperated, half impressed.
His fingers found the pouch at his belt, where he’d collected the stolen coins as he found them.
“Rotating targets so no single commander notices a pattern,” he observed. “Clever. Reckless.”
He crouched to Stella’s level, studying her fever—then stood abruptly. “You’ll repay your debt. You speak Aurean like a native. You clearly know camp routines. You’re useful. Work for me—gathering information, translating—and no one hangs you for theft.”
He tossed a hunk of bread from his own rations onto the pallet. “Starting now. Names. And tell me where your father is—before I change my mind.”
Stella’s eyes widened like an owlet’s as Odrian loomed closer. But instead of cowering, she bared her teeth—all stubborn defiance despite her trembling. Her hands curled into fists, ready to fight Odrian himself.
Then the bread landed beside her, and her starving body betrayed her. She scooted closer, sniffing—but she didn’t reach for it. She looked to Alessia.
“…Mama says I shouldn’t talk to bad men.” Her gaze flicked to Odrian’s sword, then back to his face. She squinted at him suspiciously. “Are you a bad man?”
Odrian’s lips quirked as he spared Alessia a sideways glance.
The girl was clearly her mother’s daughter.
He knelt, deliberately setting his sword aside. He allowed the tension to bleed from his shoulders—not into carelessness, but into something like resigned amusement.
“I’m the worst man you’ll ever meet.” He said it solemnly, but his eyes glinted with something that undercut the threat. “But today? Today I’m just a man who wants your Mama’s help.” he nudged the bread closer to her, “A man who knows hungry heroes deserve supper.”
He turned to Alessia, his voice quieter. “She needs medicine. I have some in my tent.” A pause as he glanced at Stella. “But the questions still stand.”
His voice hardened—not a threat but a reminder that debts got paid.
Alessia reached out and handed the bread to Stella.
“Alessia.” She gestured at herself, then at her daughter. “Stella.” She paused, thinking how to answer his other question. “As for my father—I don’t know if he’s even alive. He sold me when I was twelve. Haven’t seen him since.”
Stella took the bread eagerly, nibbling at it with the careful restraint of a child used to making rations last.
Her bright eyes never left Odrian’s face, darting between him and her mother like she was waiting for a trick—the moment he lunged or snatched the bread back.
Her chewing slowed as Alessia spoke of her father. Silently, she scooted closer to Alessia, pressing against her side.
“Mama doesn’t like talking about that,” she said, clutching the last bite of bread protectively. She held it out to her mother—a silent You eat, too passing between them. Then, with the ruthless logic of a child, “If you’re really not bad, you should get the medicine first. Then we’ll see.”
A beat of silence before she added, “…And maybe more bread.”
Odrian barked a laugh—sharp and genuine.
Slowly, he leaned forward, forearms on his knees, meeting Stella’s unwavering glare.
“Alright, little strategist,” he conceded. “Medicine first. Then we’ll discuss the terms of your mother’s employment.”
He couldn’t resist adding, with mock gravity: “Though if you start demanding my rations as tribute, I’ll have no choice but to remind you who the king here is.”
His tone lacked any bite. If anything, there was something approving in the way he watched her—this fierce, half-starved scrap of a girl who hadn’t backed down from him. His gaze slid back to Alessia.
“So,” he said, standing. “Are you ready to come with me?”
It wasn’t really a question.
Alessia felt the familiar urge to push back, then swallowed it. Pushing had never made men kinder.
She sighed and rose. “Give me a moment to gather our things.”
Stella stiffened instantly, her eyes widening. Her small hand shot out, catching Alessia’s sleeve.
“No, no, no!” Her voice pitched higher, frantic. “Don’t go with him, Mama! He’s lying!”
She whirled on Odrian, wild-eyed, bread forgotten. She scrambled to put herself between Alessia and the king. Her breath came too fast—no longer stubborn defiance, but raw panic.
“He wants to take you away!” Her words tumbled out in a terrified rush. “Liketheotherbadmendid!”
She was shaking violently, tears streaking her flushed cheeks.
“Stell—Stell! Stella!” Alessia’s voice was sharp, trying to anchor her daughter. But Stella was already slipping past her.
Then Stella’s knees simply gave out. Fever and panic taking her all at once. She folded forward.
Alessia caught her without thinking, arms tightening as if she’d been waiting for this moment all along.
For a heartbeat, Odrian went utterly still.
Then he moved—too fast, almost clumsy. His sword hit the ground as he lunged forward, hands outstretched. He stopped only when he saw Alessia had her.
His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking.
“Enough.” The word rasped out, rough. He yanked the woolen cloak from his shoulders and thrust it at Alessia. “Wrap her. Quickly. We leave now.”
No room for negotiation
He turned before Alessia could speak, scanning the trees beyond the shack with lethal focus. His voice dropped to a hiss. “You said you hadn’t seen your father. Who are the men she fears?”
“I haven’t seen mine.” Alessia laid Stella down on the nest of blankets. “Hers is a different story.” She looked up at Odrian. “The ‘bad men’ she’s talking about are Tharon soldiers.”
Odrian’s expression darkened. For a heartbeat, there was something dangerous in his posture—the stillness before a spear found its mark.
He exhaled sharply.
“Tharon soldiers.” He repeated the words like a curse. His gaze flicked to Stella’s unconscious form, then back to Alessia. “Fine. New terms.”
He swept his sword up in one fluid motion and strode to the doorway, pausing only to glare over his shoulder—not at Alessia, but at the shadows beyond her, as though daring Tharos’s ghosts to follow them.
“You’ll both stay in my tent, under my authority.” He paused. “The girl gets treated, you work off your debt, and when this war ends—“ He hesitated. “I’ll see you both safely away from here. That’s my oath to you.”
Alessia slung the strap of a worn leather satchel over her shoulder, grunting softly when she stood and realized it was heavier than it should have been. A quick glance inside confirmed her suspicion—Stella had been collecting rocks.
They had a deal: Stella could keep a “handful.” Alessia would have to clarify that she meant her hand, not a Titan’s.
“Gods, Stell,” Alessia muttered with an exhausted fondness. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
She couldn’t leave them behind. If she left even one of the “special” ones, Stella would be inconsolable. She would demand they come back for it.
And despite his words, Alessia wasn’t sure that would be an option.
Besides, Stella had so few things of her own. Alessia refused to take her daughter’s belongings. Not without a good reason.
Even if those belongings were just river rocks.
She sighed, set down the satchel, and knelt beside one of the rotting floorboards. Three pouches lay hidden beneath. One—thin and small—she slipped into the satchel. The other two she tossed to Odrian.
“Everything I took. Except the food.”
Odrian caught the pouches one-handed, weighing them before tucking them into his own belt. He was less interested in their contents than he was in Alessia’s actions. His sharp eyes tracked the way she hesitated before handing them over.
“You’re missing one.” Not a question—a reminder that honesty was part of the deal. But he didn’t press. Not yet.
“Mine.” Alessia slung the satchel over her shoulder. “Mementos. A silver ring from my mother. An old drachma from a friend.”
Odrian studied her. The weariness in her posture. The stubborn set of her jaw. The way her arms tightened around Stella.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Keep it.” The words came out gruff, but with an unexpected edge of something softer underneath. “A man who steals a mother’s last memento doesn’t deserve to call himself king.”
His gaze flicked to the shadows outside—lingered too long, as if expecting Tharon soldiers to materialize from the darkness. He jerked his chin toward the path.
“Stay close. If I tell you to run—run.”
He paused. “If magic still holds any weight in this wretched war, swear to me that ring carries no enchantment.”
Not a demand. A condition.
Too many had been undone by cursed trinkets.
Or blessed ones.
Alessia chuckled. “My mother used to say it would guide me home.” She shook her head. “But no—it isn’t enchanted.”
“Good.” The word was sharp. Too sharp—as if the thought of magic had long since frayed his patience. He exhaled through his nose, twisting his signet ring absently. “The gods toy with us enough without cursed heirlooms.”
He led them out, his strides deliberate. Not slow enough to coddle Alessia’s burden, but not so fast that she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Every few steps he glanced back—not at Alessia, but at Stella’s slack face.
The child’s fever wasn’t his concern. The way her fingers twitched in her sleep, trying to cling—that shouldn’t be his concern, either.
He shook off the thought and asked the first thing that came to mind: “Your people. Tell me about them.”
“My father sold me when I was twelve to clear gambling debts. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”
Odrian made a sound low in his throat—half scoff, half grim understanding. “Typical. A Tharon with the morals of a jackal.”
The venom in his voice wasn’t for Alessia, but for the faceless man who had traded his own blood for coin.
“Good riddance, then,” he said, quieter, as they neared the edge of the Aurean camp.
Then, practical again—because he couldn’t help himself: “And your mother?”
“Not much. She never spoke about her life before Ellun. She was Aurean—that’s all I know. Her name was Nysa.” She sighed. “She got sick when I was a child. Never recovered. She died when I was ten—long before the war.”
Odrian’s steps slowed. Just slightly, as if the words had caught him. His clever tongue failed him. He knew sickness. Knew loss. But to voice either would be too much like an apology, and Odrian, King of Othara didn’t apologize to thieves.
Not even grieving ones.
He adjusted their path, veering toward a thicker copse of trees where the shadows would hide them better. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before—not gentle, but stripped of its edge.
“May she rest well in Elysium.”
Before Alessia could respond—or worse, thank him—he added, “My tent’s ahead. Dionys will be there. Try not to startle him unless you want a spear at your throat.”
Deflection and a warning. Even kind gestures had their limits before dawn.
Alessia snorted. “I’ll do my best not to announce my presence with thunder and lightning.”
Odrian let out a sharp, unexpected laugh. Genuine amusement cutting through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. For the first time since entering the shack, his shoulders relaxed.
“Careful,” he pushed aside the tent flap, gesturing her in. “If you’ve got jokes like that, I might actually enjoy your company.”
Odrian lingered after Alessia ducked into the tent. The weight of the decision settled on him—a burden he hadn’t asked for.
He hadn’t meant to keep them.
That, he realized, no longer mattered.
Tiny Raven 
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