Beneath the restless surface of the Kingdom of the Sea, where sunlight fractured into wavering ribbons of gold and blue, the palace of coral and pearl pulsed with life. Towers grown—not built—rose like living reefs, their walls alive with soft-glowing anemones and curling sea fans. Schools of fish scattered at the passage of guards, and the water itself seemed to hold its breath.

At the very heart of the palace, upon a throne sculpted from living coral veined with mother-of-pearl, sat Queen Coral.

Her coils were wrapped elegantly around the base of the throne, her vast SeaWing wings folded with regal precision at her sides. Bioluminescent scales traced glowing spirals along her neck and wings, flaring faintly with every sharp inhale. Her crown—an intricate lattice of coral branches and pearls—rested upon her brow, catching the light like frozen foam. She looked every bit the ruler of the oceans… and every bit the dragon who had buried daughters beneath the waves.

Around her, the royal court hovered in tense silence. Advisors clutched scrolls sealed in waterproof resin. Guards with spears tipped in venomous coral lined the chamber walls, their tails lashing slowly, uneasily. No one dared speak unless spoken to—not when the queen’s eyes burned with such storm-lit intensity.

Another daughter lost. Another knife slipped through her defenses.

Queen Coral’s claws tightened against the arm of her throne, chipping coral loose. The fragments drifted downward like snow.

“Say it again,” she commanded, her voice smooth as deep currents—and just as deadly.

The messenger, a young SeaWing barely old enough to have earned his armor, swallowed hard. “Y-your Majesty… the patrol found signs of a struggle near the outer reef. Blood in the water. No body. But the currents carried… carried her necklace.”

The necklace. Pearls she herself had chosen.

A low, broken sound escaped the queen’s throat—something between a growl and a sob—but it vanished as quickly as it came, smothered beneath centuries of practiced composure. Grief was a luxury she could not afford. Not now. Not ever.

“Clear the chamber,” Queen Coral said quietly.

No one hesitated. The court scattered at once, fins and wings churning the water as guards ushered everyone out. Even the messenger fled, relief and terror warring in his eyes. One by one, the great doors of living coral sealed shut, leaving only the queen and the echoing silence of the sea.

At last, Queen Coral allowed her posture to sag—just a fraction.

Her reflection stared back at her from the polished pearl floor: a ruler feared across Pyrrhia, a mother cursed by prophecy and blood. She remembered each daughter by name, by laugh, by the way they had swum at her side when they were small. The memories pressed in like crushing depths.

I will not lose another.

Her bioluminescent scales flared brighter, lighting the chamber in cold blue fire.

“Guards,” she snapped.

At once, elite SeaWing soldiers entered, snapping to attention.

“Double the patrols. Triple them if you must. No dragon enters or leaves the Kingdom of the Sea without my knowledge.” Her tail lashed. “If this is the work of assassins, I want them dragged before me alive.”

A pause—then, more quietly, more dangerously:

“And if this is the work of another tribe… I will have answers.”

The guards bowed and rushed off, their wake rippling through the chamber.

Queen Coral turned her gaze outward, toward the open arches that revealed the endless ocean beyond. Far above, the surface shimmered like a broken mirror. Somewhere out there, secrets swam freely—traitors, killers, perhaps even allies she had yet to test.

Her claws flexed.

Let the seas whisper. Let enemies hide behind currents and shadows.

She was Queen Coral of the SeaWings, ruler of the deepest kingdom in the world, and the ocean itself answered to her rage.

And whoever stood before her next—dragon, assassin, emissary, or unexpected visitor—would quickly learn one unchanging truth:

The sea remembers. And Queen Coral never forgives.