Wicked Depths

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

NYXARA

T he forest is crying.

Not with a sound, but with the low, guttural ache that vibrates through the roots of its trees and the veins of its leaves. I can feel it in the ground beneath my feet, the once-vibrant hum of life now twisted with fear and pain. Smoke curls through the air, invading the sanctuary of Varellith, staining the sky with angry streaks of orange and black.

The humans have come again, and this time, they’ve brought fire.

I stand at the edge of the clearing, cloaked in shadows and the weight of centuries on my shoulders. My hands curl into fists, the tips of my claws biting into my palms. Heat churns beneath my skin, my dragon’s fire clawing to be unleashed.

But I hold it back, for now. I don’t need to burn just yet.

My emerald-green eyes scan the encampment before me. The stench of human sweat and greed lingers even here, at a distance. Torches line the perimeter, their crude flames casting flickering shadows over tents and wagons laden with stolen goods. A cage hangs at the center, filled with the bodies of the very creatures I swore to protect. Their eyes wide and desperate glow faintly in the dark, pleading for the salvation I’ve failed to deliver them.

My teeth grind. This isn’t the first time humans have trespassed into Varellith, breaking the treaty that has kept our worlds separate for centuries. But this… this is a violation of the highest order. Aldric, the human king has grown bolder, sending his hunters deeper into my sanctuary, claiming what isn’t his. I’ve warned him before.

Clearly, he didn’t listen.

"Nyxara," a low, familiar voice calls, and I turn slightly to see Morrin, my bat familiar, hanging upside down from a twisted branch nearby. His leathery wings fold against his sleek, midnight-black body, the faint shimmer of emerald veins pulsing beneath the surface. His eyes glint like shards of obsidian, sharp and knowing. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper through the night, distorted and eerie, like an echo from something ancient. “They’ve taken more than creatures this time.”

“What do you mean?” I demand, my voice sharper than intended.

"In the largest tent," Morrin croaks, his voice a rasping whisper that seems to slither through the air. "A prisoner. She looks human, but she is not like the others. Her aura… it stinks of magic."

Magic? My lip curls in disdain. Humans have no right to wield magic, let alone imprison someone who carries it. Whatever they intend to do with her, it can’t bode well for Varellith—or for me.

"Show me," I command.

Morrin flutters from his perch, his massive wings slicing through the air with an eerie, near-silent grace. His black fur gleams under the moonlight, sleek and spectral. He tilts his head, sharp fangs glinting, then gives a slow, deliberate nod toward the camp.

Without hesitation, I step forward, my black lace cloak billowing behind me. The fabric clings to my pale skin, intricate patterns of shadow weaving through its folds.

Each step I take toward the encampment feels like a reminder of who I am and what I was forged to protect. My horns, curving gracefully from my head like obsidian crescents, are not just marks of my heritage but symbols of the power that courses through my blood, power that I inherited and earned. The weight of it presses against my shoulders, familiar and relentless, a mantle I never asked for but have come to embrace.

I was born in shadow and fire, a child of the ancient Bloodline of Drakara. A lineage whispered in hushed tones, feared and revered in equal measure. My mother, Queen Lysara, was a force of nature, a ruler who commanded the loyalty of the forest and its creatures with unyielding strength. She was fire embodied, her power so immense it felt like the forest itself bent to her will. And yet, even she was not invincible.

When the humans broke the first treaty centuries ago, my family paid the price. My father fell in battle, defending Varethorne and the creatures who sought refuge behind its walls. My mother followed soon after, her death a fiery blaze that consumed an entire army but left the forest scarred and me alone. I was just a child then, barely old enough to understand the weight of what had been passed to me. The crown of Drakara was thrust upon my head before I could even grow into it. The forest accepted me as its queen, its magic weaving into my soul, but I had to fight to keep it.

The humans saw my youth as a weakness, testing me with incursions and hunts, each one more brazen than the last. They thought they could conquer what was left of my family’s legacy, but they underestimated the fire that flows through my veins. It wasn’t enough to inherit my mother’s power though.

I had to master it.

Years passed in solitude, the forest my only companion. I trained relentlessly, honing my magic, growing stronger with each battle I fought and won. My claws became sharper, my Dragonfire hotter, until the humans learned to fear me as they had feared my parents. The whispers of my name spread far and wide, not just as the Queen of the Forest but as a force of nature, untouchable and unyielding.

The Dragon Queen.

Now, centuries later, I stand alone at the edge of this war once again. The weight of my lineage still rests heavily on my shoulders, but it is no longer a burden. It is a weapon, one I wield with precision and purpose.

I am the last of my line, the sole protector of Varethorne and all who live within the realm surrounding it. My parent's sacrifices echo in every step I take, every flame I summon.

I will not fail them.

I cannot.

The trees whisper as I pass, their branches trembling as though eager to aid me. They know me. They trust me. I am their queen, their protector. The air around me crackles with the promise of fire, my magic coiling beneath my skin, ready to strike.

I was born of shadow and flame, forged in loss and vengeance. And tonight, the humans will remember why the Bloodline of Drakara is never forgotten.

T he camp is chaotic and poorly organized, with a scattering of guards barely paying attention to their surroundings. Their laughter grates on me as they drink and boast of their so-called triumphs. The creatures they’ve captured—a mix of dryads, sylphs, and a terrified nymph—lie bound and bruised, their once-brilliant forms dimmed by iron chains and despair.

They’ll be freed before the night ends, but it’s the tent Morrin spoke of that holds my attention right now. Its canvas is larger and reinforced, standing apart from the others as if its contents require special care. Two guards stand outside the tent, their armor dull and streaked with soot, catching faint flickers of firelight. I slink closer, keeping to the shadows, the forest cloaking me as I listen.

“Did you hear what she said to the captain?” one of them mutters, his tone low and uneasy.

“Yeah,” the other snorts, shifting his weight. “Going on about how we’re all gonna pay. That she’ll drag us to the depths when she gets loose. Creepy as hell, but what do you expect from a sea witch?”

The first guard scowls, his lip curling. “She wasn’t just saying it to scare him. You saw the way she was looking at him—batting those eyes, whispering all sweet-like. She wanted it. Could see it clear as day in the way she moved.”

The second guard lets out a harsh laugh. “You’re an idiot. She’s the Sea Witch. That’s her thing—luring men with the promise of a good time before she drags them under. She doesn’t want anything but to see you dead, your soul locked in one of those creepy-ass pearls stitched to her bodice.”

“Still doesn’t mean she’s not a hell of a sight,” the first one counters, his voice dipping into something darker. “That hair, those eyes… and that body. Damn shame to keep her all chained up. She’s got that dangerous kind of look, you know? Exotic, like she could ruin your life, but you’d thank her for it.”

“Yeah, right before she guts you and strings you up as her next trophy,” the second sneers. He shakes his head, adjusting his grip on the spear. “She’s not some woman you can have fun with. She’s a monster. Pure and simple. And if you’re dumb enough to fall for her tricks, you deserve what you get.”

“Maybe,” the first says, a smirk creeping across his face. “But what a way to go.”

The second guard rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath as they fall silent. Their words hang in the air, twisted with both disdain and perverse fascination.

My claws twitch at my sides as I absorb their words, my fury simmering just beneath the surface. These men are cowards, fools blinded by their desires and their hatred. They think themselves safe behind their weapons and numbers, but they’ve clearly forgotten the price of stepping into Varellith. And as for their prisoner… their fascination, their fear—it all tells me what I need to know. Whoever is inside that tent is more than just bait or leverage. She’s dangerous and powerful and has already started playing her games. I smirk, my fire curling at my fingertips. If these men think they’re in control, they’re about to learn how wrong they are.

A prisoner with a spine. Interesting.

Morrin lands beside me, his wings brushing my shoulder. “She’s strong,” he murmurs. “But there’s anger in her magic. It feels… ancient.”

Ancient magic. My curiosity deepens, and so does my resolve. Whoever this prisoner is, the humans are desperate to contain her for their precious king. That makes her valuable and dangerous.

It also makes her mine.

I step out of the shadows and let my fire unfurl. The moment I do, everything erupts into chaos. Half a dozen guards whirl to face me, their torches and steel clattering together in a frantic attempt at defense. It’s already too late. A searing green blaze floods my palms, racing across the ground in a crackling wave. Their armor warps and melts like wax under the heat, filling the air with the sickening stench of burnt flesh. Panicked screams echo in the clearing, but I don’t flinch. My fire is precise, sparing the large canvas tent behind them even as the rest of the encampment scorches under my wrath.

To my right, I hear wings beating furiously. Morrin dives in from above, shrieking as he rakes his tiny claws across an unsuspecting guard’s eyes. The man howls, stumbling backward, only to be swallowed by the edge of my inferno. Another guard charges at me from behind, sword raised high, but I spin on my heel and rake my claws across his chest. He drops with a guttural groan, the glow of my Dragonfire licking at the corners of my vision.

A trio of soldiers rush in, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. I take a step back, inhaling a deep breath of night air laced with smoke and fear. My lips peel back in a snarl. I exhale, and Viridian Wrath explodes from my throat in a torrent of emerald flames. They hardly have time to scream before they’re reduced to silhouettes collapsing in the blaze. The fire wreaths my body like a living thing, dancing along my arms, trailing from my horns. It’s intoxicating—raw power demanding to be unleashed.

“Morrin!” I shout, my voice cutting through the crackle of flames. My bat screeches in acknowledgment, swooping low across the camp. “Free the others! Get them out of here!” He flutters toward a series of crude cages stacked against a wagon, where frightened dryads, a trembling nymph, and two wounded sylphs huddle in terror. His wings beat urgently, and I can hear the frantic chittering of his attempts to gnaw or claw at the locks.

One last guard dashes forward, adrenaline fueling a desperate swing of his axe. I sidestep easily, planting a clawed hand against his back and shoving him face-first into the dirt. My fire pulses, surging along my arm, and I release a burst of heat that engulfs him in an instant. The smell of scorching leather and singed hair tangles with the haze of blood and ash swirling through the camp.

Stepping over the charred remnants, I leave the bodies behind and set my sights on the tent. Morrin’s screeches echo from somewhere behind me, punctuated by the clanging of cages. I allow myself a fleeting sense of satisfaction at the sound of splintering wood—he’s making progress. The creatures will be free in moments.

Turning back to the tent, I rip through the singed canvas with a single slash of my claws. The air inside is thick and stagnant, almost suffocating. But I feel the hum of magic pulsing through it, calling to me like an unspoken challenge. I may not know much about this sea witch or the true extent of her power, but there’s a reason she’s chained so tightly.

I intend to find out precisely why.

Inside, the first thing I notice is the glow. Pearls, dozens of them, gleam faintly from where they’re stitched into the bodice of the woman sitting in chains. Each pearl pulses faintly, as if alive.

Then I see her.

Her opal-toned skin shimmers under the faint illumination, catching every stray flicker of light and refracting it like moonbeams on still water. The subtle gleam along her arms and shoulders suggests a fragile elegance, yet there’s a quiet, hypnotic power within that luster. Her eyes—icy white-blue and unwavering—are twin shards of arctic crystal, daring anyone to look away first. Threads of silver hair cascade over her face and shoulders, braided with tiny pearls that gleam like constellations. Petite though she is, she carries herself with cool confidence, even as thick chains coil around her slender limbs. The pearl-encrusted bodice clings to her curves like a regal shield, each pearl reflecting the mysterious radiance that seeps from her very being, hinting at a tide of power waiting to break free.

“So,” she says, her voice as smooth as the sea, “the dragon queen graces me with her presence.”

I stiffen. “You know who I am?”

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Who doesn’t? Your reputation precedes you, Nyxara.”

Hearing my name from her lips sends a strange thrill of curiosity through me, though I bury it beneath my disdain. “And who are you?”

Her smile widens. “I am Vaela.”

So the sea witch who conjures dread in mortal hearts has a name after all. Vaela. The moment she speaks it, curiosity flutters within me, interwoven with caution. I only just learned of her existence, yet seeing her in the flesh, I sense the dark power that has made her a whispered legend.

“What are you doing in my forest?” I demand, stepping closer.

“Your forest?” she echoes, her tone mocking. “How quaint. I was brought here, dragon. Against my will, I might add.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why does the king want you?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she replies, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Though I doubt he’ll be in the mood to answer once he learns I’ve escaped.”

“Escaped?” I laugh coldly. “You’re in chains, siren.”

Her eyes flash. “And yet, you’re the one who walked into my trap.”

Before I can react, the air around us shifts. Water pools at her feet, dark and shimmering, and her tentacles erupt from the depths, lashing out toward me. I leap back, fire blazing to life in my hands. But even as I prepare to strike, I can’t help but admire her audacity.

“Enough!” I roar, unleashing a wall of flame. It doesn’t harm her, but it forces her magic to recede. Her tentacles retreat, leaving only the chains that bind her.

She smirks, leaning back against the post behind her. “Mmm. Fiery. I like that.”

My claws twitch with the urge to silence her, but something holds me back. There’s a fire in her eyes that mirrors my own, a defiance that refuses to be snuffed out. She’s dangerous, yes. But she’s also… compelling.

“You’re coming with me,” I say, stepping forward, my voice cold as steel.

She tilts her head, shifting in her chains with a calculated sway that’s half mocking, half seductive. “Oh? And where might we be going?”

“To my castle,” I reply. “You’re my prisoner now.”

She laughs, the sound rich and derisive. “Careful, dragon queen. You might find it hard to let me go.”

Her words are laced with that dangerously alluring tone, but I see the spark in her eyes. She hurls herself toward me with surprising speed, tentacles flaring. Heat and cold magic collide in a violent, crackling clash—my Dragonfire snarling against the crushing pull of the tide. She nearly slips from my grip, but I twist free at the last moment, driving the hilt of my blade into her temple.

She staggers, eyes flickering. There’s a final, vicious glare of defiance before her legs buckle. I seize her chain, hauling her unconscious form upright. As I drag her from the tent, the forest around us seems to shudder, its magic pulsing in time with my own.

I’ve made my move. Now, it’s only a matter of time before our deadly game truly begins.