The tent was organized chaos. Maps pinned with daggers, a half-strung bow in the corner, and Dionys sprawled across a bedroll, gripping a spear even in sleep.
Odrian didn’t hesitate. He nudged Dionys’s ribs with his foot.
“Wake up, we’ve got guests,” he said. He shot a wry glance at Alessia. “One has a demon’s wit and the other hoards rocks like a dragon hoards treasure.”
Dionys jolted awake instantly, his spear coming up in a trained motion. He lowered it just as quickly when he recognized Odrian.
He looked at Alessia and Stella once.
“Stealing children now, are we?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. He was already pushing himself upright, grabbing a waterskin. He handed it to Alessia without hesitation, then turned to rummage for a clean cloth.
“Next time,” he grumbled at Odrian, “wake me before bringing thieves into our tent.”
Stella stirred, coughing softly. Her fingers twitched, reaching.
Alessia worried her lip with her teeth. Stella’s breathing was shallow and quick, her skin alarmingly warm.
A faint whimper escaped the child.
Alessia reached into her satchel and pulled a threadbare rag doll from the mess of rocks. She placed it in Stella’s now-still hands.
Odrian watched the doll settle into Stella’s grip, her fingers curling around it even in unconsciousness. His expression softened.
Then it was gone. He cleared his throat. The moment passed.
“Dionys. The Thasari physician left you a fever remedy yesterday, right? Where’d you stash it?”
He was already stepping toward their supplies, shoving aside a tunic to dig through a chest of salves and herbs.
Dionys pulled a small clay jar from the chest nearest him and tossed it to Odrian. “Willow bark, chamomile, poppy sap, and honey. Mix it with watered wine. Should break the fever fast, if she can keep it down.”
His thumb brushed against Stella’s forehead. “Light dose. She’s small.”
He glanced up at Alessia, his voice dropping. “Has she been like this long?”
“Fever started a little over a day ago. Before that, she was coughing, but she usually gets coughs this time of year, when the air changes.”
Odrian paused mid-motion, his hands freezing over the watered wine.
His head snapped up, gaze sharpened to a blade’s edge.
“Coughs ‘this time of year’?” he repeated slowly, each word too careful. “You mean every autumn? Reliable?”
Something in his stance shifted–alarm, tension. He and Dionys exchanged a loaded glance.
Before Alessia could answer, Odrian crossed back to her, crouching eye-level with Stella’s flushed face. His fingers hovered near the child’s lips. Not touching. Assessing the rhythm of her breaths.
“Describe the cough,” he rasped. “Dry? Wet? Worse at night? Where were you last autumn?”
The unspoken fear hung thick in the tent.
Plague.
Alessia blinked, then understood.
“Dry, worse as the day goes on.” She lowered her voice as she answered the final question. “Until six months ago, we’d never left the city. It’s not something she caught from either the shack or Ellun.”
Odrian’s shoulders loosened marginally, not quite relief but something close. “City air is thicker than Hephaestus’s forge smoke,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He held the jar toward Dionys, measuring water and wine again. “The willow bark will still help. We can give her honeyed water after, unless you want her screaming curses worthy of Ares himself.”
He gave a quick, tired smirk as he pushed the fabric back from his arms. “I had a cousin like that. Weak lungs. He’d all but cough them up every autumn. Saltwater baths helped.”
Alessia’s fingers tightened on the blanket.
Odrian hesitated, then added quietly, “You won’t go back to Ellun, not while the war lasts. That’s not negotiable.” He was silent for a beat, then continued grudgingly, “If you need something from the city, tell me first.”
Alessia nodded in acceptance. “I don’t want to go back to Ellun anyway. There’s nothing there for us anymore.”
Just a monster who would kill them both if he could only get his hands on them.
Odrian hummed, thoughtful. More acknowledgment than agreement.
But he didn’t press for more information.
“Dionys will tend to your girl.” He nodded toward the taller, broader man, who was already preparing a dose of medicine for the child. “And if the little terror wakes mid-dose, tell her it’s ambrosia stolen from Zeus himself. That always worked on my son.”
Dionys rolled his eyes.
Alessia grinned, tired but confident.
“I can get her to take it willingly.”
Then, instead of trying to give Stella the dose while she slept, Alessia woke her.
“Starlight,” she asked softly. “Would you like a story?”
Stella stirred at her mother’s voice, whimpering softly. Her dark lashes fluttered open just enough to meet her mother’s eyes. Her tiny fingers curled tight around her doll, and she gave a weak, trusting nod.
Always eager for stories, even half-asleep and burning with fever.
Especially then.
“I thought you might,” Alessia said with a smile. “How about Little Star? I have a new story, if you’d like to hear it.”
Stella’s fever-glazed eyes brightened immediately at the mention of Little Star, her small shoulders shifting as she tried to sit up despite her exhaustion. The movement made her cough, dry and rattling, but she managed a wobbly, eager smile.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Long ago, a little star fell from the sky.
She was small and afraid, and the other stars were far, far above her.
She wanted to go back to them.
But first, she had a long journey ahead.
As Little Star searched for her way back to the sky, she began to lose her glow. She didn’t know why. She only knew that day by day, she was dimming. She felt tired and achy. Too hot, even while she shivered as if caught in a midwinter storm. It was hard to breathe, and she coughed so much her ribs ached. She knew something was wrong. As she journeyed, her glow diminishing, she came across a clever Fox.
“Mister Fox,” she said, “I am losing my glow, fading away. Do you know anyone who can help me?”
The Fox watched her for a time.
He saw that Little Star was brave, and kind, and that she would not give up.
So he chose to help her.
“Follow me,” said the Fox, “and I will lead you to one who can help.”
The Fox knew of a powerful Sorceress, wise in potions and magic and in the quiet ways of healing. It was said the Sorceress could cure any illness. Even better, her palace was in the very forest Little Star traveled through.
When they reached the Sorceress’s palace, Little Star bowed before her.
“Great Sorceress,” she said. “My glow is fading, and I do not know why. I have been told you can help. Will you?”
Now, the Sorceress had seen Little Star’s brave and gentle heart, and so she agreed to brew a potion to rekindle her glow.
For a day and a night and a day again, the Sorceress labored in her workroom. She put many dreadful things into it, but she swore on the Styx that it would return Little Star’s glow.
The second night, she gave Little Star the first vial.
The potion smelled terrible, and tasted worse–even with honey to sweeten it! But Little Star was brave, and she had to get to the highest point of the tallest mountain so she could return to her family in the sky. And to do that, she would need her shine.
And so she took the vial from the Sorceress, uncorked it, took a deep breath, and drank it all in one biiiiiiiig gulp!
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia tipped the cup to Stella’s lips, and while she grimaced at the taste, she drank it all without complaint.
Odrian froze mid-reach, watching.
She drank it.
No screaming.
No spitting it back like a tiny, enraged harpy.
He hadn’t expected that.
Impressive.
If only Nomaros were so easily managed.
The last swallow barely cleared Stella’s lips before she stuck out her tongue dramatically, her face scrunched in betrayal.
“Th’ real Sorceress would’ve put honey in it!” she croaked.
“…Mama?” Stella asked as she lay back down. “Did Little Star make it home t’the sky?”
The words were soft. Her fingers worried the doll’s frayed yarn hair, seeking comfort in routine.
Alessia smiled down at her, brushing sweat-soaked curls from her forehead.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
The potion didn’t work immediately, and Little Star had to take more than one dose. It made her tired, and she spent much of her time sleeping over the next few days. While she healed, she stayed with the Sorceress in her palace and learned to make her own potions and elixirs, so she would never lose her glow again.
Little by little, day by day, Little Star’s glow began to come back. Until one day she woke and realized she was glowing brighter than ever before!
Grateful, Little Star left a gift of stardust for the Sorceress in thanks. She left the Sorceress’s palace and continued on her journey to find the mountain that would take her home.
And though the road was long, Little Star did not walk it alone.
Many trials and adventures still lay ahead of her, some that would change her in ways she did not yet understand. But after it all, she made it to the highest peak of the tallest mountain. At the summit, she was so close to the sky she could almost reach up and touch it. And as she looked up, she saw her family’s constellation. There they were, waiting for her, arms outstretched, smiles radiant.
And so, on wings made of moonlight and gossamer hope, Little Star leapt from the mountain and flew–up, up, up into the sky, until she found herself surrounded by those she loved, those who loved her.
Little Star had finally found her way home, brighter than she had ever been before.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia bent down and kissed Stella’s forehead softly.
“And now it’s time for this little star to go back to sleep,” she said.
Already drowsy from the medicine, Stella let out a tiny, contented sigh. Her grip on the doll loosened just a little. Her breathing evened out, the furrow in her brow smoothing–
Until at the last moment her hand fluttered up weakly to catch Alessia’s sleeve again, her voice barely a whisper, slurred with exhaustion but insistent.
“… Don’ leave ‘til I’m ‘sleep, okay?”
Odrian knew that tone.
Alessia smiled, soft and fond, and brushed her fingers through Stella’s curls.
“I’m not going anywhere, Starlight,” Alessia promised.
Something in Odrian’s chest tightened, sharp and unwelcome.
He turned abruptly, reaching for his supplies, though there was nothing out of place.
The motion was just jerky enough that Dionys raised an eyebrow.
“She’ll sleep deep now,” Odrian muttered, ignoring the hoarseness of his own voice. “The poppy does that. Rest. We’ll take the watch.”
He tossed Alessia a spare cloak–coarse but clean–and jerked his chin toward the spare bedroll. No more fanfare. No more sentiment.
“Rest,” he repeated. “You need it.”
Orders were easier than promises.
Alessia nodded once, acceptance and gratitude all rolled together, and she lifted Stella and carried her and the cloak to the bedroll. She tucked Stella in first, ensuring the girl was comfortable, then lay down beside her. Habitually putting herself between the small child and the rest of the tent. A shield–thin as it was.
She didn’t last long against the pull of sleep once she was lying down, exhaustion overwhelming her almost instantly.
Dionys watched as they settled. How Alessia positioned herself as a living barricade, the instinctive way Stella curled toward her mother in her sleep. His expression softened, just slightly.
“They stay,” Odrian murmured, his voice dropped low so only Dionys would hear it.
“Until the war ends,” Dionys agreed, too soft to wake the sleeping mother and daughter.
Odrian met Dionys’s gaze, silent for once, letting the weight of shared understanding settle between them. He dipped his chin in a subtle nod, the firelight catching on the sharp angles of his face.
He leaned back against the tent post, arms crossed.
“And if anyone comes looking for them? They’ll learn why it’s unwise to provoke the kings of both Othara and Kareth.”
Outside the tent the camp was still.
Inside, the oil lamps flickered.
For now, the fragile alliance held.
Tiny Raven 
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