Chapter 340: Shifting Shore
The sea was no longer where it used to be.
Fishermen along the coasts of Elarion awoke one morning to find their boats stranded on sand that had never existed. Entire stretches of shoreline had been dragged outward overnight, the tide refusing to return. Villages that had relied on the ocean’s edge now stared out at barren, wet plains where crabs scuttled and stranded fish writhed in confusion.
And then, on the other side of the same continent, cities that had never known the sea suddenly heard waves crashing against their walls. Salt water poured into rivers, flooding farmland with brine that turned crops to rot within hours.
The world was tilting. Not by nature’s whim—but by Poseidon’s hand.
Calvess was a city far inland, famed for its dry markets and red-brick walls. No one here had seen the sea in generations—only heard of it in trade stories. But that morning, the city awoke to the sound of gulls shrieking.
By noon, salt mist rolled through its gates. By evening, a wall of water stood outside its eastern quarter, shimmering under the sunset.
The market master, a heavyset woman named Ydira, shoved her way through the panicking crowds. Merchants screamed as their spice carts toppled, children sobbed in the rising flood. The eastern gates buckled, and seawater poured in, carrying driftwood, broken shells, and something far more frightening—statues of drowned men, their forms made entirely of salt.
The crowd screamed.
"They’re moving!"
The statues cracked, seawater spilling from their hollow chests, and their heads turned toward the city with grinding slowness. Their eyes were empty hollows, but in each cavity, the glow of deep-blue light pulsed—like Poseidon’s gaze had followed them inland.
Farther south, in the once-prosperous kingdom of Tyrisse, the royal palace was already half-submerged. The king had fled to the hills with his court, leaving behind thousands who had no shelter. The waters had not receded for weeks; instead, they rose higher, weaving canals where roads once lay.
And in those canals, something began to stir.
A ship appeared—a vessel not made of wood, but bone. Its sails were stitched from whale-hide, its mast carved from leviathan spine. No oar nor wind pushed it, yet it glided silently into the drowned heart of Tyrisse.
Upon its prow stood a figure cloaked in dripping weeds. His voice carried across the water, not loud, but irresistible.
"Kneel."
The first who fell to their knees were fishermen, their eyes glazing as saltwater trickled from their mouths. Then merchants, nobles, guards—all drowning on land as though their lungs had forgotten air.
The cloaked herald raised his hands. "The sea has chosen its king once more. Poseidon walks, and all who live must bow—or be unmade."
His ship slid deeper into the city, leaving behind hundreds kneeling in flooded streets, their lips chanting one name.
"Poseidon. Poseidon. Poseidon."
Not all mortals bent so easily.
In the mountain passes beyond the drowned coasts, bands of survivors had gathered. Farmers, warriors, priests of forgotten temples—anyone who had fled the tides. Around their campfires, they whispered of the drowned cities, of the salt-statues that walked, of the herald on his bone ship.
A woman named Seris took command. A former soldier, her armor was battered, but her resolve was steel.
"Listen well," she told the ragged crowd. "The gods war above, but it is we who suffer below. If Poseidon claims the seas, then he will claim our rivers, our wells, our blood. We cannot wait for the heavens to save us. We fight. We burn. We break the tide’s servants before they choke us dry."
A murmur of agreement rippled, though fear lingered heavy.
One boy spoke up, trembling. "But he’s a god... how do we fight a god?"
Seris’s gaze hardened. "We don’t fight the god. We fight his touch here. His statues. His heralds. His drowned things. If we sever his grip on the land, maybe—just maybe—we survive long enough for Olympus or some other throne to notice us."
The crowd nodded, desperate enough to cling to even that frail hope.
And far away, Poseidon’s laughter echoed faintly through the mountain streams.
Deep beneath the mortal seas, Poseidon stirred. He did not need temples. He did not need prayers. His dominion spread not through worship, but through inevitability. Every river ran into him. Every raindrop returned to him. Every mortal heartbeat throbbed with water.
He felt Calvess drowning inland. He felt Tyrisse kneeling in salt. He felt the little camps of survivors in their mountains, clinging to hope.
For the briefest moment, the god smiled.
"Let them resist," Poseidon murmured into the black water. "Resistance teaches fear better than surrender ever could."
Around him, leviathans shifted in the trenches, vast shadows obeying their master’s will. Storms coiled like serpents, waiting to be unleashed.
Above him, he felt the eyes of Olympus turn his way. He welcomed it.
The mortal world was only the beginning.
Back in Calvess, as the salt-statues marched through the city, the final bell tolled—a desperate clang from a tower already half-collapsed. Its sound echoed across the city, carrying with it the last spark of mortal defiance.
But the sound was swallowed.
The sea rose higher.
And Poseidon’s will pressed deeper into the bones of the world.
The storm had no horizon.
Black waves rose so high they crushed the stars from view. Lightning tore across a sky strangled by clouds, yet none of it belonged to nature. It was Poseidon’s dominion now—his sea, his sky, his silence.
And in the heart of that storm, he waited.
The council’s decree had long since reached him: hunt the vessel, kill the drowned god. But Poseidon was no longer vessel. He was no longer whisper, nor shell, nor chained memory of Thalorin’s abyss. He had taken his name fully, unflinching. Poseidon had risen.
And now Olympus sent its answer.
The water churned, parting like jaws. From the breach, three figures emerged, walking on the abyss as though it were marble. Their radiance pierced the storm—Olympus had not sent pawns. It had sent executioners.
***
Authors note
Dear readers please give a magic Castle before the mgs and winwin of this month ends it will go a long way for the author
Mass Release sponsored by Pikachu boy thanks brother for your support I really appreciate you gave me the motivation to keep going