Chapter 133: Olympus plot against poseidon 6
The skies above Mount Olympus were unnaturally restless. Clouds twisted in spirals of silver and storm, as if the heavens themselves knew something ancient had stirred. The marble pillars of the gods’ great hall rose into the sky like unyielding spears, gleaming under the light of a sun that could not break through the brewing tempest.
Inside, the air was thick with voices. Gods, lesser deities, and messengers crowded into the council chamber, their faces marked by unease. Rarely did Olympus call such a sudden assembly, but the truth was clear to all who had heard the whispers from the mortal realm.
Something had awakened beneath the seas. Something that had been buried for millennia.
At the center of the golden chamber sat Zeus, king of Olympus, his thunderous gaze commanding silence. The lightning in his eyes flickered like a storm barely restrained. His hand rested on the pommel of his staff, the crackling aura around it a warning to any who dared challenge him.
To his right sat Hera, eyes cold and sharp as carved obsidian. Athena leaned forward, her expression grave, her owl perched on her shoulder in uncanny silence. Ares paced restlessly at the far side of the room, hands itching for war. And beside the central throne, Hades himself—summoned from the depths of the Underworld—stood with his obsidian cloak draped over his shoulders, his dark eyes carrying knowledge the others lacked.
The council had not gathered like this in centuries. Not since the wars with the Titans.
Zeus’s voice finally broke the tense silence.
"Brothers. Sisters. We have a matter before us that cannot be ignored." His tone carried the weight of command. "The seas boil with power that should not exist. Poseidon has awakened—but not the brother I once knew."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered immortals. Poseidon’s name carried weight, but the Poseidon they knew had fallen long ago in the first wars of Olympus. What lived now in the mortal seas was not the god they remembered.
Athena’s gaze sharpened, her mind always hungry for patterns and truths. "This power... it is not merely Poseidon’s. It is older. I have felt it from the omens—an essence buried within him, something vast and alien. Tell us the truth, Hades. You are the only one who speaks freely with the shadows."
All eyes turned to the Lord of the Underworld. Hades did not flinch beneath their stares. His voice was calm, heavy, like stone grinding against stone.
"The mortal boy is a vessel. His name was Dominic. A fragile thing, plagued with sickness, destined to die. And yet he was chosen—or cursed—to bear something that predates us all. Thalorin."
At that name, the hall darkened. Even the fire of the braziers flickered lower, as if the mere utterance carried weight enough to suffocate light.
Hera’s lips tightened. "You speak of a myth. A fable told to scare lesser gods."
But Hades shook his head slowly. "No myth. Thalorin was real. A god not of Olympus, not of Titans, but of the primal seas themselves. The Abyss that birthed the world. His essence was bound and buried, locked away because even we could not destroy him. Now he walks again, hidden behind the mask of Poseidon."
Ares let out a sharp laugh, though his hands were clenched white. "Then let him walk! If he seeks war, I will drown his seas in blood!"
"Fool," Athena hissed, cutting across him. "If Thalorin rises fully, there will be no seas left to drown. There will be nothing—only endless depth and silence. We are not facing another Titan, Ares. This is annihilation itself."
A cold silence followed. The gathered gods shifted uneasily, for Athena’s words carried the sting of truth.
Zeus slammed his staff against the marble floor, thunder cracking overhead. "Enough! Debate later. First we must decide—what is he to us? Is this boy to be slain before Thalorin consumes him? Or can the vessel be bent to Olympus’s will?"
It was Hera who spoke next, her voice sharp as a blade. "Do not speak of bending him. You know what happens when we try to wield forces older than ourselves. The boy must die. If he is weak, then better to crush him now before he grows into something none of us can challenge."
Her words found agreement among several of the gods. Voices rose—whispers of execution, of assassination before the vessel could take full control.
But Athena’s voice cut through again, calm but resolute. "You would kill him without seeing the truth. Think, father. If Thalorin’s essence chose a vessel, it was not by chance. That mortal boy—Poseidon reborn—may yet carry both fates within him. To destroy blindly is to repeat the arrogance of the Titans."
Zeus’s jaw tightened, his storm-filled eyes shifting toward her. "You suggest we let this abomination live?"
"I suggest we observe," Athena replied. "Guide him if possible. Use him, if necessary. But if you strike too soon, you may awaken Thalorin’s wrath in full. If the boy is unaware of the god inside him, he may yet be steered."
A murmur of dissent rippled again. The gods were divided.
It was then that Hades raised his hand, and for once even Zeus fell silent. The Underworld god’s tone was measured, almost weary.
"You speak of steering him as if he were a child. But I have seen his soul. It is fractured. He is both mortal and divine, both innocent and cursed. If Olympus turns its hand against him, he will not beg for mercy—he will turn his wrath upon us. And if Thalorin fully awakens in him, then even I cannot bind what comes next."
The weight of his words crushed the chamber into silence.
At last, Zeus rose from his throne. His decision, once made, could not be undone. "Then this is what shall be done. We watch. We test him. If he proves loyal to Olympus, he may stand as Poseidon once more. But if he shows signs of Thalorin’s corruption—if he dares threaten us—we will strike together, with all our might. Not even the abyss will withstand the fury of Olympus."
Lightning boomed across the chamber, sealing the decree.
But as the assembly broke, Hera lingered by the throne, her eyes glinting with calculation. When she spoke, it was soft, venomous.
"You play with storms, husband. Do not be surprised when one day they swallow you whole."
---
Far below Olympus, in the mortal realm, the seas churned with quiet rebellion. Dominic—Poseidon reborn—stood on the cliffs, his hand outstretched to the waves. He did not yet know of the council above, nor the fate being written in marble halls.
But somewhere deep within him, Thalorin stirred. A voice older than the stars whispered through his veins.
They fear you. They always will.
And Poseidon’s eyes burned with a light that was not entirely his own.