"The Dawn that Rose from Fire"

Day 8 of Novel November- Alenyah faces a difficult decision.

Please read previous chapters first!

Chapter 5

A snarling Valka awaited her outside. She rushed past her coat hanging by the door, her boots snatched in one hand. She swiped the packs and weapons off the bench outside, and they clattered to the ground. She sank, heavily, and Valka sank with her, placing her bear sized head onto as much of Alenyah’s lap as she could fit. The moonlight silvered the Fylgja’s fur, and Alenyah buried her face in the warm pelt.

She would not cry while sitting meters away from Stoneborn, but she tried to calm her breathing. A massive, lolling tongue licked what it could reach of her arm, and she pulled away with a watery laugh.

“Eeeww,” she shook off the spittle.

Valka gave a chuff that sounded suspiciously like disapproval and nudged her again until Alenyah gave in and leaned her forehead against the hound’s skull. The night air bit at her skin, sharp and clean, a mercy after the stifling heat of the lodge. Her wrist still ached. Her pride ached worse.

The Fylgja huffed, the sound low and steady, as if reminding her to breathe. The moon hung heavy and unblinking over The Vale.

“We should go home,” Alenyah spoke into the hum of crickets. Valka snuffled her lap and rose. As Alenyah stood, her gaze fell on her mother’s sword- her sword, leaning against the wall. She reached out and refastened the heavy weight to her belt before mounting her Fylgja.

The cottage door swung open.

“So, you’re leaving?” Berin held the map in his hands, his expression lost. “You won’t come with us?”

Alenyah gazed down at him. She could see the weave of music and life swirling around him, tinged with notes of sorrow and the smallest drop of hope. She hated to disappoint him.

Looking away, she said, “You never asked me to come with you. I’m sorry I barged in on your party.”

Valka turned, ready to travel up the path home.

“Wait!” Berin called after her. He stepped onto the step, closing the door behind him. She felt the prickle of eyes watching them from the window. Alenyah told herself she was a leader of her people and could not respond by giving them a rude gesture.

The Rhea trudged over to her and handed her the map. He laid a hand gently on Valka’s saddle.

“I thought it was about finding the right Songstones before, but…I don’t think we can do this without you.”

Alenyah closed her eyes. A wind rose from the north, stirring the trees, carrying with it a faint, haunting hum — a vibration that made her bones ache. For a heartbeat, Alenyah could almost hear the Song beneath it, restless and waiting.

Berin continued. “Hating him won’t bring your mother back, you know?”

Her eyes snapped open, and she spoke without thinking.

“Doing this won’t bring Laila back, either.”

Berin flinched, and his hand dropped. He stepped away, and Alenyah regretted the sheen of tears in his eyes.

“I don’t even know what you think I can do,” she said finally, her voice rough. “You want me to sing to the Great Wyrm? I don’t know how to tame something born of ruin. I don’t even know if I can stop the corruption.”

Berin swallowed hard. “Neither do I.” He looked up at her, eyes glinting with moonlight. “But we can’t keep hiding from it. Every season, this Blight creeps further. The rivers die. The Vale won’t last another century.”

Alenyah stared at him — at the lines of exhaustion carved into his young face. It wasn’t courage driving him. It was despair dressed as resolve.

Her hand found Valka’s ruff. The Fylgja tilted her head, whining low, as if urging her to listen to something unseen. The hum from the north was still there — faint, fragile, like a thread pulling at her chest.

“This is a fool’s errand,” Alenyah said, but there was no heat in her words. Just weariness. “You have no plan. No Singer’s Song that could bind a creature like that.”

Berin gave a crooked, helpless smile. “Then I suppose we’ll have to make one.”

“We could all die,” she continued. Berin’s smile broadened.

“It’s likely.”

Alenyah’s gaze turned east, toward her people’s lands. She had thought they were at peace, she could keep them hidden from the dangers in the North, and maybe- the Corruption of Menerith would cease to spread. New Singers would be born, and together, they could rebuild.

Apparently that wasn’t in the Maker’s plan. She sighed, more tired than she had ever been.

“I can’t just leave Eirethan,” she gestured towards the distant settlement, whose light she could faintly see dotting the hills. “Not on a whim. I would need to seek the Elder's counsel, choose someone to take my place and run the patrols.”

“Those are just details, Alenyah,” Berin said. “Besides, we are spending the next few days here making preparations. You have time.”

Berin went back inside, leaving Alenyah in the chill of the mountain night. The door shut softly behind him, and for the first time since the shouting began, silence returned to The Vale.

She stood there for a long while, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her mother’s sword. Valka looked back and nudged her leg, a low whine deep in her throat.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” she murmured. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Valka gave a soft chuff, and Alenyah felt the vibration echo through her ribs. She reached up, and touched the Songstone that hung around her throat. Her own childish laughter and her mother’s soothing, happy voice wrapped around her. She wondered what her mother would say now. Probably something about duty to her people and setting her own needs aside.

Alenyah nudged Valka forward towards Eirethan. The Fylgja began walking, and Alenyah cast a final glance over her shoulder at the cottage. Silhouette in the window, she saw Kaelen watching her go, felt his eyes on her shoulders. She turned away, and they cantered towards what fragile home they had managed to build.



By the time Alenyah and Valka crested the last rise above Eirethan, the horizon had paled to ash. Mist curled low across the valley, veiling the clustered roofs and wind-bent trees. Smoke lifted thin and straight from the chimneys, the faint scent of peat and pine threading the cold.

They had made it home before sunrise, though the word home felt brittle on her tongue.

Valka slowed as they entered the main path. Lanterns still burned along the watchposts, their orange glow winking through fog. The sentries bowed their heads in greeting but did not speak. Perhaps they sensed the exhaustion in her.

Alenyah slid from the Fylgja’s back, her knees stiff, her wrist throbbing from the night before. She let her hand brush Valka’s fur in silent thanks and turned toward the meeting hall. Valka headed towards the empty Fylgja dens after Fey’ri removed the saddle.

The mist curled thick and pale through the valley of Eirethan, wrapping the clustered homes in a cold, fragile veil as the sun rose. The meeting hall was simple, half built into the side of a hill, supported by seven massive wooden beams. The roof swept upwards towards the sky as if in prayer. Alenyah kept rooms above the hall, illuminated by two great windows that the sun illuminated each day. She was so tired that she almost stumbled as she mounted the wooden steps, smoothed by a century of wear.

The inside of the hall was circular, tables surrounding a great fire altar in the middle which glowed with embers and red coals. The smoke swirled lazily up through a hole in the ceiling. Luckily, it was empty, and Alenyah was able to reach the stairs at the back, set behind a large wooden chair. She would call it a throne, but Alenah had never felt important or strong enough to call it that. Once upstairs, she shucked off her cloak, letting it drop to the floor before collapsing onto her bed fully dressed. She was asleep almost immediately, and blessedly, it was dreamless.