The Rift had closed.
A thunderous silence fell over the ocean floor, followed by a current that pulsed through the sea like the heartbeat of a god reborn.
Dominic hovered at the center of it all, battered and bloodied. His armor was cracked, divine energy barely holding his form together. Yet his eyes remained sharp, unwavering. The Trident pulsed with a steady rhythm in his hand—one that echoed the song of the ocean itself.
He had won.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Above, the world still waited.
With a wave of his hand, the space around him shimmered, and the sea itself parted—an ancient path carved only by gods. Dominic shot upward, piercing through layer after layer of water like a spear of light. Every fish, every creature he passed instinctively bowed. The ocean knew its new ruler.
As he broke through the final current, light flooded his vision.
The surface.
The sky above was scarred with storm clouds and fire—remnants of the battle that had raged while he fought in the depths. Ships burned. Floating cities trembled. And across the ocean, tremors rocked the realms of the gods.
But as Dominic rose into view, the seas calmed.
A divine stillness settled over the waters.
All eyes turned.
From a distance, the surviving warriors of the Deepwatchers stared in awe. Their once-broken ranks gathered near the edge of the Coral Citadel, bloodied but alive.
"Is that…" one of them whispered.
"Poseidon…?"
"No," came a calm, clear voice—one of the elders. "That is Dominic. The boy who died... and returned as our god."
The ocean itself bent to his will.
Waves parted. Rain stopped midair. The Trident spun once in his hand, drawing a dome of protection over the battered capital below.
Dominic landed gently atop the highest spire of the Coral Citadel.
His presence rippled across the kingdom like a tidal wave—not of destruction, but of rebirth.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence.
"Dominic!"
It was Lysara, the sea-priestess. She had been wounded, her robes torn and blood seeping from a gash across her temple. But her eyes gleamed with fierce relief. She rushed forward, nearly falling to her knees before him.
"You made it," she whispered.
Dominic nodded, his voice steady but low. "Thal'Zir is gone. The Rift is sealed. But the scars it left… may take centuries to heal."
Lysara placed a trembling hand over her chest. "Then we begin healing now. With you as our beacon."
As if summoned by her words, bells rang across the ocean floor—echoes of ancient celebration rituals. The sea pulsed with color. Bioluminescent lights flared. Schools of fish spiraled in sacred dances around the city.
The ocean rejoiced.
But Dominic remained still, his gaze piercing the horizon.
He could feel it—far above the waters. In the skies and on the distant lands of mortals. His ascension had not gone unnoticed.
And neither had the fall of Thal'Zir.
---
In the Clouded Realm of the Skies…
Far beyond mortal reach, a divine council stirred.
Celestia, goddess of light, leaned forward, her golden eyes narrowing. "So… the boy survived."
"He didn't just survive," muttered Gorram, the storm-bringer. "He killed an abyssal god. That has consequences."
Around the table sat the pantheon's most ancient powers. They had watched in silence as Poseidon's seat lay vacant. They had ignored the suffering tides. But now, a mortal-turned-god threatened to shift the balance.
"He is young," Celestia said calmly. "And unpredictable. But perhaps… that is exactly what this world needs."
The others murmured in dissent.
Gorram slammed his fist on the stone. "He's dangerous."
"Which is why we will test him," said another voice—a shadow at the edge of the council. One unseen by most.
The council fell into uneasy silence.
Dominic's trials were not over.
---
Back in the Deep
Dominic stood before the Heart Hall, where the sea's sacred relics were kept. He could already feel a new presence stirring inside—ancient guardians awakening after centuries of slumber.
He placed the Trident on the ceremonial altar. The temple groaned with energy.
But as he turned, Lysara approached again, this time with something in her hand.
A scroll—sealed with a wax emblem he didn't recognize.
Dominic took it. Broke the seal.
Inside was a name. A place.
> "The Island of Velen. The Oracle calls for you."
"Your past… is not yet finished."
Dominic's heart skipped.
His past?
He had buried it long ago—left it in the hospital bed where his mortal life had ended. But something deeper was surfacing now.
And he would face it.
Because gods may rule the seas…
But they are born of pain.
The sea was calm.
Too calm.
Dominic stood at the bow of the glide-barge, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The Island of Velen shimmered in the distance, a speck of obsidian green wrapped in mist. It wasn't marked on any divine map, not spoken of in any temple. Yet the scroll had named it.
And the Oracle had called him there.
The vessel beneath him hummed with arcane energy, propelled by ancient Leviathan fins once used only by the old gods. A gift from Lysara, who had not asked questions, only watched him depart with eyes that knew the weight of unspoken goodbyes.
Dominic clutched the scroll again.
> "You are not the only one reborn."
Those words haunted him.
The winds shifted suddenly, and the skies overhead darkened. Waves rolled unnaturally beneath the hull, and the air turned thick—heavy with something more than water. It was pressure. Power. Presence.
Dominic spun.
Behind him, the surface of the sea bulged—then ruptured.
A colossal form rose from the depths.
Silver-scaled. Eyes like whirlpools. Clad in regal armor woven from shipwreck gold and kelp-thread, the being hovered above the waves like a phantom of ancient myth.
He spoke in a voice that wasn't loud—but felt absolute.
"You carry Poseidon's power... but you are not Poseidon."
Dominic's grip tightened on his trident. "Who are you?"
The being smiled faintly, almost pitifully. "I am Aegirion—Lord of the Abyssal Currents. Keeper of the Drowned Truth. I was cast into silence when Poseidon took the throne... and now, I rise to question the one who bears his gift."
Dominic lowered his stance. "If you're here to fight—"
"No." Aegirion's voice rumbled. "I am here to warn you."
He floated closer, and as he did, Dominic could feel it—divine energy old as the sea itself. Different from his. Colder. Wiser. Wounded.
Aegirion continued, "The Island of Velen is no sanctuary. It is a memory. One the gods buried after betraying their own. You were sent there not to learn your past—but to forget it."
Dominic's brows furrowed. "Then why would the Oracle summon me?"
Aegirion's gaze darkened. "Because even gods have enemies. And some would rather you never remember who you were… before the sea."
Dominic's pulse surged.
"You mean... I wasn't chosen to be Poseidon?"
Aegirion didn't answer at first. Instead, he held out a conch-shaped relic etched with runes.
"This is the Echo of Leviath. Use it when you reach the heart of Velen. It will reveal what no god dares speak aloud."
Before Dominic could ask more, Aegirion stepped back. The waves coiled around him like serpents, pulling his form into the deep.
"Wait!" Dominic called.
But the abyss took him.
Silence.
Only the soft splashes of the glide-barge remained.
Dominic turned toward Velen again, his heart storming.
> "I wasn't chosen. I was hidden."
---
Hours Later – Shore of Velen
The island was unlike anything he had seen.
Twisted coral trees. Beaches made of black salt and bone-sand. The wind carried no scent, no warmth. It was as if time had stopped here long ago.
Dominic stepped ashore, trident in one hand, the Echo of Leviath in the other.
The island whispered.
With every step, shadows of memory flickered in the corner of his eyes—images of a hospital bed, his mother crying, the beep of a flatline monitor. Then… flashes of the ocean. A voice in the water. A hand reaching out.
He followed the path deeper, led by instinct and something more ancient.
And at the heart of the island, buried beneath a spiral shell of stone and kelp—a door awaited.
Carved into it: his name.
Dominic.
He lifted the Echo.
The moment it touched the door, the ground trembled.
The past awakened.
And the truth… was ready to be known.