Tiny Raven

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Chel Maxfield writes stories about the quiet moments that break people open and the fragile magic that holds them together. A lifelong storyteller and artist, she explores themes of loss, transformation, and connection across both fantasy and contemporary worlds. When she’s not writing, she’s usually sketching, crocheting, or rewatching her favorite animated films. She lives in San Francisco with too many notebooks and not enough shelf space.

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  • Chapter 27: Shattered Safety*

    Dionys hoisted Stella up, her small body going rigid in his arms before collapsing, folding against his chest. She didn’t cry. She just shook, her breath hitching in tiny, sharp gasps against his neck, her fingers locked around Lieutenant Pebblepants so tightly her knuckles had gone bloodless white. The stone was smeared red. Not her…

  • Chapter 26: The Line*

    Stella sat on the bare dirt where the inner camp ended. There was no wall, no fence, just a line of white stones that Askarion had placed down. On this side, she belonged. On that side, she was “removed before sunset.” The sea was right there. She could see it through the gap between tents,…

  • Chapter 25: Summons*

    When Stella woke up, it was to silence. Usually, the seagulls would have been yelling, fighting over breakfast scraps. But today they were just sat, quiet, watching the soldiers with their heads tilted, like they were waiting for something to jump out and bite them. She sat up in the blankets. Alessia was already awake,…

  • Chapter 24: Intuition*

    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.…

  • Chapter 23: The Wolf*

    Stella bounced on her toes at the edge of the training yard. Dionys knelt before her, holding a wooden dagger. A copy of the one he had made Alessia. “Really?!” Stella asked as she reached for the blade. “For me!?” Dionys grunted, his eyes focused on Stella’s grip. Alessia perched on a nearby bench, ankle…

  • Chapter 22: Steps to Victory

    Dionys had been gone since dawn, training the newest recruits. When he returned, he found the tent empty, the bedroll cold. His first thought was battle-sharp instinct: Gone. Taken. His fingers found the hilt of his dagger before logic caught up. Then he heard the laughter, just outside the tent. He pushed through the flap.…

  • Chapter 21: Cold Dawn, Warm Hearth

    Odrian woke with the dawn, clutching empty air and thoroughly resenting it. The dagger he’d reached for wasn’t there. Nor was the warmth of a body pressed into his side, nor the soft, dangerous weight of certainty that had settled over him sometime after midnight. Canvas roof. Smoke in the air. War camp. He lay…

  • Chapter 20: Blades and Beads

    Alessia was going to set the tent on fire if Askarion didn’t let her up soon. She had been in bed for days, with her ankle a throbbing mess of stitches and poultices. She was losing what was left of her godsdamned mind. Stella had taken to her role as “warden” with terrifying enthusiasm, threatening…

  • Chapter 19: Unshackled

    Alessia sat beside the fire with Stella, building rock towers on the ground near her. She looked at the shackle around her ankle. For the first time in years, she thought about removing it. When Walus had placed it, he’d had the lock filled with molten metal and stamped with his sigil—permanently welding it closed…

  • Chapter 18: Worthy*

    The camp quieted as night fell—fires flickering low, soldiers shuffling off to rest. The four of them gathered in Dionys’ tent—Stella tucked into a nest of blankets, already half asleep. Odrian sprawled across a cushion, twirling Walus’ stolen dagger between his fingers like a bard’s prop. “So. Ten days.” His voice was light, but his…