Chapter 134: The gods might debate in Olympus, but soon their words would mean nothing.
The marble halls of Olympus gleamed as if bathed in eternal dawn. Clouds curled at the edges of the palace steps, golden sunlight reflecting from polished columns so tall they seemed to scrape the heavens. But beneath the brilliance, unease stirred. The gods had gathered, their seats arranged in a perfect circle around the Hearth of Hestia. Flames danced in the brazier, whispering shadows on their immortal faces.
Zeus sat upon the highest throne, his expression thunderous. He was not a god who tolerated silence for long, yet even he was content to let it stretch now. All around him, eyes flickered uneasily — eyes that had seen war, betrayal, and the return of terrors they thought buried.
Finally, it was Hera who broke the silence, her voice cold and deliberate.
"So... Poseidon has returned."
At that, the chamber rippled with murmurs. Athena, her gray eyes sharp as blades, leaned forward.
"He drowned the coast of Thessaly in a single night. His power surged through the oceans like a storm reborn. And yet—" she paused, her gaze narrowing, "—it feels... different. His aura is not as I remember."
Ares chuckled, lounging on his seat with a warlord’s arrogance. The god of war twirled a bronze spear lazily.
"Different or not, who cares? It means conflict. Mortals will tremble, kings will beg, and blood will run. That is all that matters."
"You fool," Athena snapped, her words striking like arrows. "This is not about mortal wars. I sense something within him — something older than Poseidon himself. It is as if another spirit rides his soul, wearing his form."
Zeus’s hand gripped the armrest of his throne. A faint rumble of thunder echoed above Olympus, though no storm was visible.
"Speak clearly, daughter. Are you suggesting he is not Poseidon?"
Before Athena could respond, Hades’s voice drifted from the shadows at the edge of the chamber. The lord of the Underworld rarely left his realm, but when he did, his words carried weight. His pale face was unreadable, yet his tone was edged with quiet suspicion.
"He is Poseidon — the essence of the sea still flows through him. But I too have felt the disturbance Athena speaks of. It is as though something ancient has awoken inside his vessel. Something that does not belong to him."
The gods stirred uneasily. They remembered the wars of old, when primordial beings, older than even the Titans, had threatened the world.
Hermes, ever restless, drummed his fingers on his staff.
"If this is true, it changes everything. Poseidon was always powerful, but predictable. If his essence is bound with another — a primordial, perhaps — then even Olympus may not control him."
Apollo’s golden hair gleamed in the firelight as he spoke, his voice melodic but firm.
"I have glimpsed visions in the Oracle’s smoke. The seas turned crimson, the sky split by a dark tide. A shadow rose, crowned in salt and flame. Mortals whispered his name, not as Poseidon, but as something far more terrifying."
His words made the flames in Hestia’s hearth flicker violently. A faint tremor ran across the floor of Olympus.
For a long moment, Zeus remained silent. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the mortal world stretched far below. He had ruled longer than memory itself, and yet even he knew the signs of a shifting era.
Finally, he spoke.
"If he has become a vessel for another being... then he is a threat."
The words struck like lightning.
Hera arched an eyebrow. "A threat? Or a weapon?"
The chamber stilled. Hera’s eyes glimmered with dangerous cunning.
"Think, husband. If Poseidon has been... changed, perhaps he can be used. We could bend him, direct him against our enemies. Against the Titans still lurking in Tartarus. Against those who whisper rebellion among the mortals. Even against the Fates themselves, should they grow insolent."
Zeus glared at her, but he did not dismiss the thought. Not yet.
Athena’s hand curled into a fist.
"You would gamble Olympus on a being we cannot understand? That is not strategy, that is folly."
"And yet strategy often demands risk," Hera replied smoothly.
At that, a new voice joined the debate — softer, yet filled with authority. Hestia, goddess of the hearth, rarely spoke in these councils, but when she did, even Zeus inclined his head. Her eyes glowed with the warmth of eternal fire, though sorrow lingered in their depths.
"You speak of Poseidon as though he were merely a tool. But remember — he is your brother. Whatever change has come over him, he is still bound to the sea, to the order of the world. If you turn against him too quickly, you may break the balance we all depend on."
"Balance?" Ares sneered. "Let balance drown. War thrives in chaos."
"War thrives until the world collapses beneath it," Athena countered sharply.
As their voices rose, a subtle movement caught the council’s attention. A figure stood at the very edge of the circle — silent until now. Artemis, goddess of the hunt, had listened without a word. Her bow rested at her side, her eyes cold and distant, like a hunter tracking prey.
When she spoke, her voice was clear as moonlight.
"You are all asking the wrong question. It is not whether Poseidon is a threat to Olympus. It is whether he is a threat to the world itself. The seas answer only to him. Should he fall to corruption, mortals will not survive what follows."
Her words silenced even Ares.
For a moment, all the gods sat in uneasy reflection.
Then Zeus rose from his throne, his form towering, crackling with divine power. The air thickened, heavy with his presence.
"Enough. We will watch him. If he is still our brother, he will prove it. If he has become something else... we will strike him down before the world is consumed."
The decree fell like thunder.
Yet even as the council dissolved, whispers rippled through the marble halls of Olympus. None of the gods fully trusted each other — and each was already plotting.
Hera, her lips curved in a faint smile, considered how Poseidon’s power might weaken Zeus’s grip.
Athena, grim and calculating, wondered what strategies she must weave to counter a foe like him.
Hades, silent once more, returned to his shadows, though unease clung to him like smoke.
And Apollo lingered by the hearth, eyes haunted by the vision of crimson seas.
But it was Artemis who slipped away without a word, her bow in hand. She had made her choice. She would watch the seas herself, from the wild places where no god’s throne could reach. For if Poseidon was no longer truly Poseidon... she would hunt him.
Far below, the mortal world shuddered as waves crashed against the shores, stronger than they had in centuries. Fishermen spoke of voices in the deep, of shapes moving beneath the waters that were not fish, nor whale, nor anything of this earth.
And in the heart of the ocean, Poseidon himself stood upon the shifting tides, his trident glowing faintly. His eyes gleamed with power, but within them flickered something darker — a shadow that did not belong, a whisper from before time.
The gods might debate in Olympus, but soon their words would mean nothing. For the sea had chosen its king, and he was no longer bound by their will.