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The change is effortless. It always has been. I exhale, and a burst of Viridian Wrath—green fire that burns hotter than any earthly flame—spills from my maw, curling into the night. The sky welcomes me as I launch into the air, my wings slicing through the darkness. From above, the world lookssmall.The castle, the forests, the borders where human filth dares trespass. And somewhere beneath it all, in the heart of my keep, a little siren waits.

Unchained.

But neverfree.

I smirk, banking hard to the right, the roar of my wings shaking the sky. She thinks I will pay her price. That she has power over me. That she can win.

But she forgets…

Ialwayswin in the end.

Chapter

Four

VAELA

Savage - Bahari

Iwake to the sound of scurrying.

Tiny claws scraping against stone, the faint rustling of fur brushing the floor. Rats.

A flicker of irritation curls through me as I roll onto my side, the lumpy excuse for a bed doing nothing to soften the stiffness in my limbs. I blink against the dim light, taking in the scattered droplets glistening on the uneven stone floor. A dark stain spreads from where my basin once stood, its contents wasted.

The little vermin knocked it over.

A slow, steady breath hisses between my teeth. I push myself up, my movements fluid despite the stiffness in my muscles. The shadows skittering along the edges of the room pause, beady black eyes watching me warily.

"You little pests," I murmur, voice thick with disdain. One of them lets out a high-pitched squeak. I move faster than they expect, sweeping my foot forward, sending one of the creatures tumbling. The rest scatter, disappearing into the cracks of the walls. I let out a slow sigh, rubbing a hand over my face.

I feel… weaker.

Not helpless—never helpless—but diminished. My magic is still there, coiled inside me like a serpent waiting to strike. But it is muffled, smothered by the enchanted walls of this cursed place. And now, with no water nearby, my connection is even thinner, fraying like a thread stretched too far.

Still, I have to try.

I kneel beside the darkened stone, pressing my palm against the cool surface where the water once pooled. The droplets that remain pulse faintly in response, trembling beneath my touch.

Come on.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, letting my magic stretch outward, pushing against the weight of the wards. The pressure is suffocating, thick as the ocean depths, but I have learned to navigate through pressure, through restraint.

A flicker of power stirs.

The dampness lifts, curling up my fingers in a delicate tendril, barely more than a whisper of water.

Pathetic.

But even the smallest drop can become a storm in the right hands. I learned that long ago. The memory rises, unbidden—a flicker of the past pushing through the present. I had been young, too young to understand that magic was something to be feared. I remember the first time my mother tested me.

We stood in the throne chamber of Aqueira, my home beneath the waves, where the coral spires twisted like frozen flames and the bioluminescent glow of the deep pulsed against the glassy walls. The sea churned above us, heavy and vast, a kingdom that stretched far beyond sight.

She had been watching me closely that day. Too closely.

"Summon it," she had said, reclining against her throne of woven kelp and carved pearl.

I had barely been past my first century then, my power still raw, untamed. The water stirred at my command, sluggish but obedient, rising in soft, uncertain waves.