Tiny Raven

Something was wrong.

The thought snapped Alessia awake before the tent flap moved. She sat up, already reaching for the knife under her pillow before her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Then she saw them.

Aurelius filled the doorway, Stella clutched to his chest, her face buried against his neck.

Not loud. Not her.

Shoulders hitching, her fist white-knuckled around the dagger.

Alessia’s heart dropped.

She was moving before Aurelis spoke. Her ankle flared as she limped across the rushes to meet them, her hands outstretched.

Aurelius shifted Stella toward her without a word, careful of the blade, waiting until Alessia had her before letting go.

Stella clung to her immediately, face buried against her neck.

Home.

Her breath hitched against Alessia’s skin.

“The wolf,” she mumbled. “It was on his shield, Mama. Big teeth. Like him.”

“New recruit. Mikarnes. Wolf sigil.” Aurelis rumbled.

Dionys was already upright. Spear in hand, between them and the door.

His gaze swept over Stella, then to Alessia, and in two strides, he was behind her, steadying her before her ankle gave. His jaw locked tight enough to make his teeth ache.

“Sit,” he said, low. His hand pressed firm at her back. Not a suggestion.

Alessia sank down, pulling Stella with her.

Dionys didn’t move from his position.

“She didn’t freeze. Dropped it. Picked it back up.”

Aurelis tapped the wooden dagger in Stella’s fist.

“Told me she’s going to stab him when she’s grown.”

Alessia went still.

Stella squeezed her eyes shut, the image burning. Chain, blood, the sound it made when Alessia walked–

Stella’s stomach twisted.

Aurelius stepped back, but he stayed in the doorway. Blocking it.

“Wants close perimeter,” he said. “Says she’s guarding you from inside.”

His jaw tightened.

“She’s unharmed.”

Then quieter, “She remembers.”

“I’m guarding,” Stella said, forcing her head up.

She slid from Alessia’s lap and planted herself between her and the door, legs wide, dagger pointed down.

“No wolves allowed.”

Her chin wobbled.

“I’m a rockslide. I’m loud.” A breath. “And I have Lieutenant Pebblepants for backup.”

Her gaze dropped to the bandage on Alessia’s ankle.

No chain.

Good.

“You’re safe,” Stella said. “I won’t let him get you.” Her grip tightened on the dagger. “I’ll stab him lots.” She nodded hard. “Uncle Auri said so.”

Alessia’s fists clenched. Just once.

“The wolf is gone,” she whispered into Stella’s curls, her voice cracking on the word. She pulls Stella back into the safety of her arms. “You’re safe, Starlight. I’m safe. He isn’t here. He can’t get past them.”

She forced her voice steady, even as her hands shook. “You did good. You came back to me. That’s what matters.”

She tightened her grip. “You’re the fiercest rockslide I’ve ever seen.”

She glanced up at Aurelis, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, for bringing her home.”

She pressed her forehead to Stella’s, ignoring the pain in her leg, the way her vision swam from adrenaline. Ignoring the rage and terror of knowing Walus’s shadow reached her even here.

“Breathe, Little Star,” Alessia said gently. “Just breathe with me.”

Stella’s teeth chattered and she clenched her jaw to stop them.

“In,” Alessia said, and Stella sucked in a big gulp of air—dust and salt and the metal of Dionys’s spear.

“Out.” Stella blew out hard, huffing like the blacksmith’s bellows.

Her fingers hurt from squeezing the dagger so tight, but she couldn’t let go. The wood was smooth where Dionys had sanded it, and it smelled like the oil he used on his swords.

It smelled safe.

Stella pressed her face back into Alessia’s neck, just to check she still smelled like her and not like the bad room with the chains.

“You’re hurt,” she mumbled against Alessia’s shoulder, feeling her shake. “Your ankles doing an ouch.” She pulled back and looked down at Alessia’s bandaged foot, her eyes blurring. “You shouldn’t be on the floor, Mama. Aurelis says warriors need to conserve strength for battles.”

She looked around, eyes flitting from Dionys, who looked ready to stab someone with his spear, to Odrian, who was watching her. Then to Aurelis who was still blocking the door.

She sniffed hard, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“I dropped it,” Stella said, her voice cracking. “Patrian said not to drop it but I did and the wolf was looking—”

She hiccupped, clutching the dagger tighter. “But I picked it up! I didn’t cry loud, just quiet! That’s allowed. Aurelis said warriors can cry if it’s quiet and they still stand.”

Alessia huffed something between a sigh and a laugh.

“You can cry.”

Stella reached into her pocket and pulled out her rock. She held him up to Alessia’s face like a shield. “The Lieutenant says we need to get you back to the bedroll. Strategic positioning. He’s very smart about battles.”

She looked up at Aurelis, her chin wobbling again. “Can you carry Mama? Her ankle’s broken without the metal and she’s not s’posed to walk.”

“Done,” Dionys said before Aurelis could respond. His voice gravel and iron, stripped of anything soft. He didn’t wait for Alessia’s protest—didn’t give her the chance to insist that she could walk, that she was fine, that her ankle wasn’t screaming beneath the bandages. He knew that voice. He’d used it himself.

He handed Aurelis his spear and was beside Alessia in two strides, one arm sliding beneath her knees, the other banding around her back. He lifted her, careful of her wounds, cradling her against his chest like she might shatter if he moved too fast.

Stella’s hand caught the edge of his chiton, her eyes wide and fierce and terrified beneath the bravado.

“You lead, warrior,” he said with a nod toward the bedrolls. “Point the blade. I’ll carry the package.”

He didn’t smile. She didn’t need them. She needed order, structure, something to hold onto while the world shook.

“You held the line,” he said. “That’s enough.”

He carried Alessia to the bedrolls and lowered her down beside Odrian with a gentleness that felt foreign to him, then straightened to face Aurelis.

“The recruit.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Name. Now.”

“Theron. New spear from Mikarnes.” Aurelis stepped aside from the doorway just enough to let Dionys see his face. “Didn’t know. thought wolf meant ‘fierce’.” he jerked his chin toward Stella, still clutching her mother’s chiton, wooden dagger pointed at the ground as she continued to hold the line. “Not that.”

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “Sent him to the western picket. Told him if he showed that shield inside camp again, I’d melt it down his throat.” He folded his arms, bulk blocking the morning light. “He pissed himself. Lesson learned.”

He looked past Dionys to where Alessia was cradling Stella, whispering something soft, both of them still shaking.

“Already told the quartermaster,” he said, his voice a rough murmur meant only for the warlord’s ears. “No wolves on shields. No howling on banners. Stripped from the armor, too.” He paused. “She won’t see it again. Not in this camp.”

“Make it total,” Dionys said, low enough that Stella wouldn’t hear the threat beneath the words. “Every shield. Every banner. Burn the cloth.”

He turned his head, pinning Aurelis with his gaze.

“Next time, don’t send him to the picket. Bring him to me.”

Aurelis nodded. “She’s strong. Didn’t break. You’re raising a soldier.”

Dionys paused, his jaw tightening, molars grinding behind his short beard, before he looked back at Stella.

“She’s not a soldier,” he said, the words rough. He took a step closer to the bedrolls, his shadow falling over them both like a cloak. “She’s Formicari.”

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

The tent was quieter with Aurelis and Dionys gone.

Not silent, never silent, but the sharp edges had dulled. Stella’s breathing had evened out, soft and damp against Alessia’s shoulder, her fingers curled in the fabric of her chiton.

Dionys had settled her on the bedroll and stayed long enough to make sure her hands stopped shaking.

Then longer.

Then, finally, he left. Not far, never far.

Aurelis had gone with him.

The tent felt… bigger without him in it.

Alessia didn’t move.

She sat with her back against the support pole, Stella half-curled in her lap, one hand tangled in her hair, the other resting over the small weight of the dagger still clutched in her grip.

She hadn’t been able to take it from her.

Not yet.

Across the tent, Odrian watched.

He hadn’t said anything since the moment Stella came in.

Hadn’t joked. Hadn’t filled the space with his absurdity.

He had just watched.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Alessia huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“Go away.”

He didn’t move from where he leaned against the low table, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“You’d miss me,” he said absently.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would,” he said. “Eventually.”

The silence stretched.

Stella shifted, a small, restless movement. Alessia’s hand tightened instinctively in her hair, anchoring her.

Odrian’s gaze flicked to it. Noted it.

“She handled it,” he said.

Alessia’s jaw tightened.

“She’s five.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not—” She stopped, exhaling through her nose, “She shouldn’t have to handle that.”

“No,” Odrian agreed. “It isn’t.”

That took the edge off of Alessia’s response before it could form.

He tilted his head slightly, watching her more closely.

“But she did.”

Alessia didn’t answer.

Her fingers brushed the back of Stella’s neck, feeling her warmth, the steady pulse.

Alive.

Here.

Safe.

“She said she’d stab him,” Alessia said finally.

Flat. Controlled.

Like it didn’t matter.

Odrian’s mouth twitched.

“She also said she has a lieutenant named Pebblepants.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

He pushed off the table, crossing the tent slowly. Not crowding, not looming, just closing the distance enough to matter.

“You heard him in it,” he said.

Not a question.

Alessia’s shoulders went rigid.

“I heard myself,” she snapped.

Odrian paused.

That was new.

He reassessed.

“Did you?”

She looked down at Stella, at the way her small hand still clutched the dagger even in sleep.

“At that age?” she said quietly. “I didn’t hesitate.”

There it was.

Not fear of the father.

Fear of herself.

Odrian’s expression shifted, just a fraction.

Interest, not amusement.

“And that went well for you,” he said.

Dry. Not cruel.

Alessia let out a sharp breath.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m agreeing.”

That stopped her.

He crouched across from her, closer to her level but not reaching. Never assuming.

“You survived,” he said. “You adapted. You did what you had to do.”

He smiled at her, gently.

“And you hate that you had to.”

Alessia’s throat tightened.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Odrian’s gaze dropped briefly to Stella.

Then back to Alessia.

“She’s not him,” he said.

There it was.

Clean. Certain.

Alessia shook her head immediately.

“You can’t know that.”

“I can,” he said.

“How?”

“Because she asked to go to you.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Alessia’s grip faltered.

Odrian didn’t soften. Didn’t press.

Just continued.

“He would have stayed with the knife,” he said. “She came back to you.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Alessia swallowed.

“She wanted to protect me.”

“Yes.”

“She wanted to hurt him.”

“Also yes.”

Both things at once.

Odrian held her gaze.

“That’s the difference,” he said.

Alessia looked away.

Her fingers traced the line of Stella’s knuckles, the small callouses forming where she gripped the dagger.

“She likes it,” she said, quieter. “The training. The way it feels.”

Odrian’s mouth curved, not a smile but recognition..

“Of course she did.”

Alessia’s head snapped up.

“That’s not—”

“That’s not evil,” he cut in, calm. “That’s competence.”

He leaned back slightly, giving her space again.

“People like being good at things,” he said. “Even unpleasant things.”

A pause.

“Especially when those things make them feel less helpless.”

That hits closer to the truth than she wants.

Alessia’s shoulders sagged.

“I don’t want her to become…” she trailed off.

She didn’t say it.

Didn’t have to.

Odrian finished it anyway.

“Dangerous?”

“Yes.”

He considered that.

“She already is.”

Alessia went still. Not breathing. 

“But so are you,” he added, almost lazily.

That breaks it.

Just enough.

“You don’t get to choose whether she’s dangerous,” he said. “You can only guide what she does with it.”

Alessia looked down at Stella again.

Her small body, stubborn grip, the way she slept like she’d fought something real and won.

“She said she’d stab him,” Alessia whispered.

Odrian shrugged lightly.

“She says a lot of things.”

“That wasn’t—”

“I know,” he said.

A beat. 

“That one might stick.”

Honest. Not comforting.

Alessia closed her eyes.

For a moment.

Just a moment.

Then opened them again.

“What if I can’t…” she started, then stopped.

Odrian didn’t help her finish. He didn’t rescue the thought. She forced it out anyway.

“What if I can’t stop it?”

There it is.

The real fear.

Odrian was quiet for a long moment.

“You won’t,” he said.

Alessia’s head jerked up.

“What?”

“You won’t stop it,” he repeated. “And you shouldn’t.”

That sounds wrong.

Feels wrong.

“But you can shape it.” He held her gaze. “You already are.”

Alessia frowned.

“How?”

He nodded toward Stella.

“She came back,” he said again. “That wasn’t training.”

That was bond. Not blood.

Alessia’s breath hitched.

Just slightly.

Odrian straightened, rolling his shoulders like the conversation had taken more out of him than he’d admit.

“She’ll listen to all of you,” he said. “Him. Dionys. You.”

A faint, crooked smile touched his mouth.

“Poor child.”

Alessia huffed, soft and tired.

“Gods help her.”

“They won’t,” Odrian said. “They have terrible taste in favorites.”

That almost earned a real breath of laughter.

Almost.

He stepped back, giving her space again.

Letting the moment settle instead of filling it.

At the flap, he paused.

“Alessia.”

She looked up.

“She is not him,” he said again.

Quieter this time. Less certain. More… chosen.

Then he slipped out into the morning light.

Leaving her with Stella.

And the knife.

And the choice.

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

Stella woke in pieces.

First her hand—reaching, grabbing a fistful of Alessia’s chiton.

Then her breath, hitching once before it settled.

Then the rest followed.

She pushed up slowly, curls tangled, eyes still heavy, and pressed her face into Alessia’s shoulder like she needed to check.

Still her. Still warm.

Still safe.

Alessia’s hand came up immediately, fingers sliding into her hair.

“I’m here, Little Star.”

Stella nodded against her, then leaned back enough to look. Her gaze dropped to Alessia’s ankle.

Bandaged. Clean.

No chain.

She traced the edge of it with one careful finger, brow furrowing.

“Why did he hurt you, Mama?”

Alessia tensed, not answering immediately.

Stella waited.

“Because he chose to.” Alessia said finally.

Stella frowned.

“That’s dumb.”

A breath slipped out of Alessia, almost a laugh, thin and surprised.

“Yes,” she agreed softly. “It is.”

Stella considered that, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Uncle Auri says if someone hurts you, you hurt them back.”

Alessia’s fingers paused in her hair.

“Sometimes,” she said. She didn’t soften it.

Didn’t deny it either.

“But that’s not the first thing.”

Stella tipped her head.

“What is?”

Alessia shifted, enough to bring her closer, grounding her with the weight of her arm.

“You get away,” she said. “You stay alive.”

She squeezed Stella’s shoulders.

“Then you decide what matters.”

Stella squinted at her, trying to fit the pieces together.

“…hurting him matters.”

There it was.

Alessia held her gaze.

“Right now,” she said, “it feels like it does.”

Not wrong.

Not right.

Just true.

Stella nodded, satisfied.

“I don’t like him,” she said.

“Good,” Alessia murmured.

Stella leaned back into her, smaller now, the sharp edges worn down.

“…I like you better.”

Alessia’s hand tightened briefly in her hair.

“Good.”

A quiet beat passed.

Stella’s fingers twisted tighter in her chiton.

Holding.

Just in case.

“I’m still gonna stab him when I’m big,” she mumbled, already drifting again.

Alessia closed her eyes.

Not fighting it.

Not agreeing.

Just… holding her.

“We’ll see,” she said softly.

Stella hummed, content with the answer.

Her breathing evened out again, warm and steady against Alessia’s side.

Alessia didn’t move, didn’t sleep.

She just sat there, one hand in Stella’s hair, the other resting lightly over her wrist, feeling the small pulse there.

She came back.

Alessia bent her head, pressing her lips briefly to Stella’s curls.

And held on.