The sea grew colder the deeper they went.
Dominic tightened his grip on the trident as he followed the dark current south of Atlantis. Beside him swam Talyon and a pair of Atlantean scouts. Behind them, a massive sea serpent pulled a glowing chariot crafted of silver bones and whale-fins—Atlantis' gift for diplomatic missions.
But this wasn't diplomacy.
This was desperation.
The Trenchlands loomed ahead, a kingdom carved into underwater canyons. It was a jagged abyss where light dared not descend, ruled by the Merrow—ancient, bitter, violent. They had once served Poseidon. Until he abandoned them.
Dominic could already feel their hatred in the water.
Talyon glanced at him. "If you insult their Queen, they won't speak. If you show fear, they will feed on it. And if you use your trident—"
"I know," Dominic said. "They'll see it as a challenge."
The current shifted. The water around them thickened with strange pulses. Shapes moved in the dark—limbs, scales, distant glowing eyes.
Then a voice echoed like a cracked shell through the water.
"Turn back, child of the god who left us."
Dominic raised his head. "I'm not here to command. I'm here to ask for your help."
Silence.
Then, from the dark, they emerged.
Merrow warriors—sleek, tall, skin etched with scars and blackened ink. Their teeth were jagged like coral blades, their eyes as pale as moonlit ice. They circled the group like sharks.
One stepped forward, larger than the others. His trident was crusted in barnacles.
"I am Varn, Warden of the Trench. Speak quickly, or bleed slowly."
"I'm Dominic. Reborn by the sea. Wielding Poseidon's will. The Rift is opening. If it swallows the sea, it'll swallow the Trench too."
Varn growled. "Poseidon forgot us. Let the Rift take what remains."
Dominic stepped forward, eyes fierce. "He didn't forget you. He died."
Murmurs rippled through the warriors.
Dominic went on. "He left the trident behind—not to rule, but to protect. I'm not here to replace your Queen or reclaim old thrones. I'm here to stop everything we know from being consumed."
Varn sneered. "You believe a mortal reborn can unite what even gods could not?"
Dominic's voice dropped. "No. But I'll die trying."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then another voice cut through the gloom—soft, regal, and sharp as a spear.
"Let him through."
A figure glided from the shadows, draped in kelp and shadowed scales. Her crown was made of jagged obsidian coral, her eyes burning gold.
Queen Nyssara, ruler of the Trench.
Dominic bowed.
"I didn't come for war."
"Good," she said coolly. "Because war is what you'd find."
She circled him slowly, studying him like a predator sizing up prey.
"You smell like death," she said.
"I've seen it. Up close."
"And yet… you swim toward more of it."
Dominic met her gaze. "Because if we don't fight now, the Rift won't stop at the sea. It will climb onto land. Devour skies. End everything."
Nyssara tilted her head. "Then what do you ask of the Merrow?"
"An alliance," he said. "Your best warriors. And your knowledge. I know you've seen the rift's depths. I need to know what's still sealed inside."
The Queen's smile was faint—and dangerous.
"Very well," she said. "But knowledge comes with price."
She waved a hand.
From the shadows, a door of bone and pearl creaked open.
"Step into our Hall of Memory. If your mind survives… you will have your truth."
Talyon grabbed Dominic's shoulder. "This is madness. The Hall breaks even Merrow minds."
"I need to see," Dominic said quietly. "I need to understand what's coming."
And without another word, he stepped inside.
---
The Hall of Memory was no hall at all.
It was a current of time itself—a storm of visions, emotions, voices that weren't his. Dominic fell through memories like glass.
A child screaming in a burning reef.
A god's voice whispering, Seal it. Seal it before it wakes.
Blood staining the ocean floor.
A monstrous eye opening—older than the sea itself.
Then—
Blackness.
Dominic slammed back into reality, gasping, blood dripping from his nose.
Talyon caught him as he stumbled out.
"What… did you see?" the guardian asked.
Dominic's voice was hoarse. "The Rift… isn't just a crack. It's a prison. Something is locked inside. Something even Poseidon feared."
He turned to Queen Nyssara, whose gaze was unreadable.
"We're running out of time," he said. "We need to strike before it wakes."
Nyssara stared at him for a long moment, then gave a single nod.
"The Merrow will swim with you."
Dominic didn't smile. Didn't breathe in relief.
Because deep inside, he still felt it—
The thing in the Rift had noticed him.
And it was waiting.
The waters of Atlantis no longer shimmered with peace. Tension buzzed through coral corridors, and seahorse patrols tripled their pace. Dominic stood in the Grand Pavilion, its floor etched with glowing runes that told the tales of the Old Gods. But now, he was writing a new story—one not even Poseidon had finished.
Surrounding him stood emissaries from the Merrow, the Leviathan Depths, and the Coral Guardians. Sea-kings, warlords, old priestesses who remembered the First Trenchquake. For the first time in centuries, the ocean was unified.
But unity wasn't enough. Not against what was coming.
Dominic looked at the maps floating in midwater—spectral charts made from enchanted ink. The Rift spread like a scar across the ocean floor. And something was moving inside it.
"We strike before the full moon," Dominic announced. "That's when the Rift pulses strongest."
Queen Nyssara stood still as a statue beside him. "And what weapon do you plan to use against a being older than time?"
Dominic turned. "The truth."
Gasps echoed. Confusion. Disbelief.
Talyon stepped forward. "Explain."
Dominic's voice lowered, steady and grim. "I saw into the Rift. In the Hall of Memory. I saw… its name."
Silence.
"Thal'Zir," he said. "The Drowned Star. It was once a god. Banished for trying to flood every world. Poseidon sealed it inside the Rift. But the seal is cracking. Piece by piece."
A whisper rolled across the room like a dying wave. Even the water stilled for a heartbeat.
"We can't kill it," Dominic continued. "Not yet. But we can contain it. The same way Poseidon did. And this time, I won't do it alone."
He lifted his trident. It shimmered with stormlight, and the sea trembled.
"Every kingdom must lend a part of their essence—magic, life, blood. A binding ritual. If we fail…" He looked each leader in the eye. "The surface will drown. And the sky will sink."
---
Later, deep in the Archives of Atlantis, Dominic stood alone.
He pored over Poseidon's final logs, hidden in an obsidian tablet that responded only to divine blood. The words burned as he read them.
> Thal'Zir was not born. It was summoned. Born from despair. Fed by fear. It speaks only in dreams. It grows in silence. If it ever wakes, not even Olympus will survive.
Dominic's hands trembled. He pressed his palm to the tablet. "Why me?" he whispered. "Why give me your power?"
He expected no answer.
But the water around him stirred.
A memory—not his—swelled in the room.
Poseidon's voice.
> Because you know what it is to die. And you still chose to fight.
Dominic's throat tightened.
Then a knock echoed from the coral doorway.
It was Elara—the Merrow healer, young and fierce, her hair flowing like ink. "They're waiting for you. The spellcasters are gathering. The Leviathan is surfacing. The army's ready."
Dominic turned, and something in his eyes had changed.
Resolve.
"We ride at dawn current," he said. "Prepare the deeplight runes. Tell the sirens to sing the old verse. Tonight… the sea roars back."
---
Across the ocean, war drums began to beat.
The Trenchlands shimmered with violet fire.
Whale lords stirred in ancient slumber.
And above the Rift, dark lightning flickered—brief, broken, and unnatural.
Beneath the crack, something shifted.
Thal'Zir opened one eye.
It remembered Poseidon's power.
But now… there was a new god rising.
And he was human.