Chapter 149: Trident
The water churned violently around Poseidon as though the ocean itself could sense his unease. Waves smashed against the jagged rocks, sending sprays high into the air, while the currents beneath twisted like serpents in agitation. Dominic—no, Poseidon—felt the pulse of something deeper, something not entirely his own, moving within his veins. It was Thalorin, ancient and vast, stirring ever so slightly.
His trident glowed faintly, its tip humming with latent energy. He stood upon the black cliffs, his sea-green eyes reflecting the moon’s glow as the wind whipped through his hair. Though he now bore the mantle of a god, he could still feel the remnants of his mortal fragility—the heartbeat of a boy who had once lain dying in a hospital bed, dreaming of escape. That boy was gone, but his soul was still here, trapped in a body caught between two powers.
He tightened his grip on the weapon. The gods are watching me. They already sense the change.
A ripple crossed the horizon. His instincts snapped sharp—the ocean whispered of intrusion. His eyes narrowed as a figure rose from the waves, shimmering with scales of silver and eyes that glowed like lanterns in the abyss. Aegirion.
The young god of the sea stepped lightly onto the shore, though his presence carried the weight of a storm. His features were deceptively calm, but his gaze lingered on Poseidon with open suspicion.
"You’ve been busy," Aegirion said smoothly, his voice deep like rolling surf. "The seas shift unnaturally. The tides obey a rhythm that is not your own. Tell me, Poseidon... what have you awakened?"
Poseidon’s jaw tightened. He could sense the subtle malice hidden beneath Aegirion’s tone. The gods were already maneuvering. Olympus did not tolerate anomalies.
"I have awakened nothing," Poseidon replied coldly, stepping forward. His trident struck the ground, sending a shiver through the cliffside. "The sea obeys me. As it always has."
Aegirion smirked, his lips curving just slightly. "Does it? Or does it obey... something else?" He tilted his head, his eyes glinting like the edge of a blade. "Don’t mistake me for a fool. I can feel it. A deeper current moves within you, one older than the Olympians themselves. The whispers call it Thalorin. You carry him, don’t you?"
The name cut through the air like lightning. Poseidon stiffened, though he forced his expression to remain calm. The ocean beneath his feet boiled with restrained fury.
"And if I do?" Poseidon said evenly, his voice a low rumble. "Would you challenge me for it?"
For the first time, Aegirion’s mask of calm flickered. He studied Poseidon with a calculating silence, then gave a slight laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"I wouldn’t be so reckless," he said, folding his arms. "But Olympus... they will not forgive this. You may think yourself a god, but to them, you are a vessel. And vessels are meant to be shattered before they overflow."
The warning hung heavy in the air. Poseidon turned his gaze toward the endless horizon, his mind a storm of thoughts. He had come so far, escaped death, risen to power, only to find himself already walking the edge of annihilation.
Thalorin... why do they fear you so?
From deep within, the ancient presence stirred, its voice like a tide flowing through his soul. Because I am what they cannot kill. The sea does not end. The gods built their thrones upon Olympus, but even they need my depths to live. They fear what cannot be bound.
Poseidon’s eyes flared with determination. Whatever awaited him—whether the judgment of Olympus or the schemes of Aegirion—he would not be their pawn.
"I am no vessel," Poseidon growled, raising his trident high. The ocean surged at his command, towering waves crashing behind him like an army waiting for his order. "I am the sea itself. Let the gods come. If they seek to shatter me, they will drown in my tide."
Aegirion’s smirk returned, but this time, there was an edge of unease to it. He gave a slight bow, more mocking than respectful.
"Very well... Poseidon. Let us see if you can survive Olympus’ wrath. But remember—storms are beautiful, until they consume themselves."
With that, his body dissolved into spray, vanishing back into the waves.
Left alone upon the cliffs, Poseidon clenched his fists. His destiny was no longer his own—it was entwined with Thalorin’s, and with it came both power and damnation.
He could already feel Olympus stirring. The game had begun.
The air in the cavern of the Rift was thick with brine and whispers. Poseidon—Dominic’s form cloaked in stormlight—stood at the edge of a blackened pool where the waves themselves seemed to recoil from his presence. Every breath he drew echoed with something greater, something that wasn’t entirely his. Thalorin’s essence pulsed within him, vast and endless, like an ocean with no shore.
His hand tightened around his trident. I am no longer just Dominic. I am no longer just a god reborn. I am something else.
The silence shattered.
Ripples disturbed the pool. From its depths rose a figure—neither mortal nor divine, but a spirit of water shaped from shadow and froth. Its eyes burned pale, luminous like drowned lanterns.
"Child of fate," the apparition hissed. "You carry the abyss within you."
Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. "Speak plainly."
The entity tilted its head, mouth splitting into something resembling a grin. "Do you not feel him yet? The old one, the ancient tide that slumbers inside your marrow? Thalorin does not share. He devours."
A chill crawled down Poseidon’s spine. He felt it—an undertow gnawing at his soul, subtle but constant. His memories of Dominic flickered, like fragile lights in a storm. The boy in the hospital bed. The sound of Elias laughing with friends. The sterile scent of antiseptic halls. Were they his memories—or remnants about to be washed away?
"No," he growled. "I control this power. Not the other way around."
The specter’s form undulated, mocking. "So said the first vessel... and the second... and the third. Do you know where they are now? Their bones lie dissolved in forgotten seas, their names erased from Olympus itself."
The cavern shuddered as if in response. His grip on the trident slipped for a moment, then steadied. Waves rose at his command, slamming against the walls with thunderous force. The specter’s laughter drowned in the roar, its form scattered into droplets that hissed before vanishing.
But the voice lingered in his mind. Thalorin does not share.
Poseidon sank to one knee, the weapon clattering to the stone floor. His heartbeat echoed like a drum beneath the sea. He pressed a hand to his chest as the water inside the pool began to glow, pulsing with the same rhythm.
And then he heard it.