"The Dawn that Rose from Fire"

Day 12 of Novel November- Alenyah, Kaelen, and Berin make a decision.

Continuance of Chapter 8

The talking ceased, and the doors to the hall boomed shut. Alenyah closed her eyes for a moment and listened. Rather than discord, the Maker’s Song was steady, almost the hopeful breath of flutes. Raising her gaze to Korith and Berin, she inclined her head.

“We are all here for the same reason,” Alenyah rose and spread her arms. “With that in mind, let us keep in mind that we must do this as one, or we will not succeed at all.” She turned towards Kaelen’s party.

“Our Ironwood trees have sickened, and our lands are soon to follow.” She looked at Korith. “We are running out of time.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “The blight is spreading through our forges and veins of ore. The mountain cries the same way your trees do. We are bound by the same corruption.”

Korith rose and swept to the middle of their circle. “Little more than a century ago, the Crags and the Reach fell to the destruction of the Great Wyrm. In that time, we have all tried to rebuild. Some-” His grey eyes rested on Alenyah. “Have focused more on stability rather than righting the wrongs done to both of our peoples.”

Wren leaned forward suddenly in his seat. The Harmony of Law sneered, “It was not the Fey’ri who committed these wrongs. If our Resonant had lived, she would have sent the Wyrm crashing from the sky. There would not have been a beast left to destroy the Crags, and our Ironwoods would still stand.”

Alenyah expected Kaelen to argue- to deny as he did a few nights ago. Her head turned towards him, and while his hands white knuckled the arms of his chair, he remained still. Perhaps, they’d both learned their lesson that night, she thought.



His black hair was tied behind his head in a low ponytail, enhancing the lines of his neck and powerful shoulders. Those amber eyes were shuttered under his dark lashes with sorrow or secrets- she did not know.

“We can trade accusations until the moon drowns in the sea,” he said, his tone sharp but steady. “But blame does not mend the world. The wyrm’s corruption spreads while we bicker over ghosts.”

For a heartbeat, silence pressed down on the hall — taut, vibrating like a bowstring.

Alenyah leaned forward, her voice soft but commanding. “Enough.” The air thrummed faintly around her, and even the windchimes outside seemed to still.

She turned to Kaelen. “You said the corruption runs through your forges. How deep?”

Kaelen’s amber eyes lifted to hers at last. The air burned between them. “To the roots of the mountain. Our forges gutter and dim. Ore and gems are shattering even under our careful care. It is… like a silence spreading through stone.”

Coren’s brow furrowed. “Then the same silence that eats our soil has reached your heartfires.”

Kaelen nodded grimly. “Yes. Whatever this blight is, it does not know the borders of Rhea or Stone. It knows only to consume.”

Wren exhaled harshly. “Then why come to us? What can you gain from dragging the Resonant into your doom?”

Korith turned, the glint of steel flickering in his eyes. “Because she is the only one who can Sing the Great Wyrm. When she last saw the beast, she was young- untested, but time and leadership has strengthened her resolve.”

Foxran snorted, almost derisively. “She still hasn’t even attempted to sing the Great Wyrm, though, has she? Maybe it’s strengthened her resolve, but its not softened her temper!”

He was clearly still sore about her pulling that knife, she mused.

“Berin,” she interrupted. “Tell the Harmonies what you know.” And she pulled out the map he had handed her days ago. She descended the steps, and he hopped out of his chair. He shook a little, and she placed her arm on his shoulder, steadying him. His brown eyes met her green ones, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Then she turned and returned to her throne.

Clearing his throat, Berin unrolled the map.

“Harmonies,” he began. “I know the Rhea did not suffer as you have. We lost no one in the Fall, but we gave you safe haven here in our lands. The stagnation of the Great Wyrm threatens us all, and I hope,” he raised his eyes to them, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I hope, you will not let my people suffer the same fate.”

He drew from his pocket the Songstone Seth had located, and braced for the collective uproar.

“Where-” Tharion uttered stiffly. “Did you get that?”

Berin’s eyes flicked to Seth who answered shortly, “North.”

“That belongs with our people,” Vaelen said. Her eyes were on the obsidian disc, and sadness lined her eyes. “I do not know what you would hope to gain from this.”

“I had hoped to find a chord strong enough to tame the Wyrm.” Berin said lamely. Wren laughed out loud. “It’s true!” Berin snapped.

“I had my suspicions but as far as we knew, the Singers strong enough to tame one such as the Great Wyrm were long gone.”

Alenyah tried to not flush with shame. Berin continued.

“My wife, Laila, was not so sure. She died to a fever, a sickness no healer could sate. It took her quickly, but,” he swallowed. “It was brutal, and she suffered. That was only three years ago. I believe it was the beginnings of the lesser wyrms corruption touching The Vale.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Berin,” Sareth said. “But you have no proof.”

“We need none,” Korith intoned. “As the corruption has reached all of us now. This is the failing of the Fey’ri.”

“Our fault?” Tharion bristled.

“Legend tells the Maker created our people to cleanse the Song of Menerith’s corruption. To slay any corruption creature who would rise to twist the verse into what it should not be. We have instead hidden in this countryside for a century, and the world is no better for it.”

The air in the Hall grew taut again — the kind of silence that thrummed, alive and waiting to break.

Wren rose half out of his seat, his voice slicing through the tension. “You speak boldly for one who abandoned his kin, Korith. You forfeited your right to lecture us when you left Eirethan.”

Korith’s jaw tightened, but his reply was steady. “And yet I return to find the same blindness that drove me away. You call it exile; I call it seeing the world as it is.” His silver-threaded hair caught the light, and for an instant his eyes gleamed — not in anger, but in sorrow. “The corruption has reached your doorstep, Wren. Pretend otherwise if it comforts you.”

“Enough,” she said quietly. The word carried weight. The hum of the Song laced her voice — faint, commanding, and ancient. The echo of something greater filled the space until even Tharion’s indignation faltered.

Alenyah’s gaze swept across them all. “We cannot keep arguing over who failed first when the world itself is unraveling. You call Korith exile; I call him proof that the Maker’s Song still stirs beyond our borders.”

Tharion frowned. “You would trust him?”

“I would hear him,” she answered. “If we cannot bear to hear truth, we do not deserve to sing it.”

A brittle silence followed.

She stepped down from her throne and moved to where Berin still stood beside the map. Her voice softened. “If the Songs still answers, then there’s still harmony left to find. Perhaps the Maker has not turned from us after all.”

Korith’s voice lowered, rough with conviction. “Then the Song must be sung again — not whispered in fear. The Reach is not lost, Resonant. It’s waiting for you.”

Alenyah met his eyes — and in them saw both her mother’s faith and her people’s doubt staring back.

“The Great Wyrm won’t be tamed by faith alone,” she said.

Kaelen finally rose and approached. He gently took the map from Berin, tracing the routes with his fingertip. Alenyah stood beside him, their shoulders almost touching. She reached forward, her fingers tugged at a corner of the map.

“It won’t be faith that tames it,” he told her. “It will be all of our voices, the sweat of all our backs.” He turned towards her, and she fought the urge to step away. She tilted her head up at him.

“Will you trust the Stoneborn to guide you there? The journey is long, and there are many perils. The paths have all grown treacherous in the past century, the wild twisted without the Fey’ri guarding the North.”

There was no blame in his eyes but maybe the faintest stirrings of hope. Fear curled in her heart as Mirael’s words returned to her. She would walk where Silence began, and she had no idea what that meant.

“I will help you slay this beast,” she said softly. “If you can get us there. If we make it.”

His breath came out in a sigh, and his eyes closed with relief. She realized it was likely she had not been the only one burdened with the future.

“But-” she continued. His eyes opened in confusion. “I need some assurances first.” Kaelen’s brow furrowed, and she gestured towards Sareth who swept towards them.

“If you please,” Sareth gestured the rest of the Stoneborn over. “I will need you all to sign as witnesses.”

“Sign what?” Seth said warily. Even so, he and Tavren approached, alongside Foxran.

A small table was brought forward, and Sareth laid out a long contract.

Kaelen blinked as the parchment unfurled across the small table, the wax seal of Eirethan glinting in the lamplight.

“A contract?” he asked quietly. A flash of hurt shone in his eyes. Alenyah swallowed uncomfortably.

“I believe it necessary,” she stated.

Sareth’s quill moved with deliberate care, marking where signatures and sigils would go. “The Harmonies and Stoneborn will witness,” she intoned.

Kaelen’s eyes flicked from the parchment to her. “You think we would abandon the Fey’ri?”

“I think,” she said, her voice measured, “that promises fade faster than songs.”

Tavren gave a short, uneasy laugh, glancing at Berin. “Is this truly necessary? We came here at great risk—”

Alenyah’s gaze met theirs, cool and clear. “So did I. You ask me head into a battle I may not return from. If I fall, the Reach must not fall with me.”

There was no anger in her words — only the weary cadence of someone who had watched too many hopes turn to ash.

Kaelen stepped closer, his jaw tightening as he read the elegant, careful script. The terms were plain:

that the Stoneborn would not retreat to their mountain keeps once the Great Wyrm was slain;

that they would aid in rebuilding the Reach;

that they would share their forges, their provisions, and their protection until the Fey’ri could stand again;

and that if the Resonant perished, her people would not be left leaderless in the wild.

Kaelen looked up from the parchment. “You planned for your death.”

“I planned for what comes after,” she said softly. Even after the violence and rage that simmered between them, the distrust from an uneasy past, they shared their sorrow. For a heartbeat, something flickered between them — understanding, sharp as grief.

Foxran muttered, “Stone take me, she’s worse than your scribes.” But even he looked uneasy, tracing the sigil of his people on the table’s edge.

Kaelen drew a slow breath, then reached for the quill. “If this is the price of trust,” he said, “then I will pay it.”

He pressed his name into the parchment, the ink still shimmering when Tavren followed, then Seth, then Foxran. When it was done, Kaelen looked back at her.

“And what will you pledge, Resonant?”

Her hand brushed the parchment’s edge, the faint hum of the Song stirring beneath her fingertips. “My voice,” she said. “And if the Song wills it-my life.”

The words hung heavy between them, the air thick with unspoken things.

Kaelen bowed his head, murmuring almost to himself, “Then may both our peoples remember this promise.”

The final echo of Kaelen’s name faded as the ink sank into the parchment. For a long moment, there was only the hush of breath — the waiting kind, where even the walls seemed to listen.