Page 1 of Wicked Depths

Chapter

One

NYXARA

The 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 desperateglow 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 hishead, 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.

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