The sea was quiet now.
Not calm—never calm—but quiet in a way that made even the predators still. The kind of silence that came after a god stirred.
Beneath the reef where Dominic's power had exploded, deep currents twisted with unease. Somewhere far below, beyond the light's reach, ancient eyes blinked open.
In the blackness, a voice whispered:
"He is awake."
---
Far beneath the Mariana Cradle—deeper than whales dared, deeper than any sunray reached—the Sea Court gathered.
Not a court of politics.
Not a throne.
Just a circle.
Twelve thrones of coral, stone, bone, and shadow. Twelve figures sat, cloaked in seaweed, salt, and silence. Their faces were blurred, warped by the pressure of the deep.
The only clear figure sat in the center.
A woman. Barefoot. Hair flowing like ink in water.
The High Oracle of the Deep.
Eyes closed. Breathing slow.
She'd been in a trance for weeks. Watching. Waiting.
Now… her lips parted.
"The vessel has cracked."
The other Elders murmured.
One with a beard of moss leaned forward. "You mean Thalorin?"
The Oracle nodded.
"He stirred in the boy. And the boy… didn't resist."
Another elder scoffed, fins flicking. "Then it is as we feared. He'll lose himself."
"No," the Oracle whispered, eyes still shut. "Not yet. The boy is… strange."
"Strange how?"
She raised a hand—and a ripple of images spread across the black. Visions flickered: Dominic standing in the reef, golden eyes glowing. The explosion. The silence after.
The Sea Court watched.
"The human form is holding," the Oracle said. "Even after contact. That shouldn't be possible."
"Unless…" the moss-bearded one muttered, "he's something more than a vessel."
"Or something less," another elder hissed.
The Oracle opened her eyes at last.
"Either way. The tides are moving."
She stood slowly, her silhouette stretching far beyond human. Her voice echoed like a whale's song.
"Send word to the Deepborn. Tell them to watch the boy."
"Do we guide him?"
"No." She shook her head. "We watch. And if he sinks…"
Her voice darkened.
"…we erase him."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere beyond the Rift—
Varun drifted alone through a trench, hand clutching his ribs.
His armor was cracked. His trident gone.
Blood leaked from his side, staining the water dark. He wasn't dying.
But he was shaken.
That power… he thought, staring at his trembling hands. That wasn't just Thalorin. That was him. The boy.
He reached a cave mouth, pulled himself inside, and collapsed against the wall. Water bloomed faintly around his wounds, sealing them with basic healing.
Footsteps echoed.
Not in the water.
But in his mind.
"You lost," came a voice. Female. Calm.
Varun groaned. "I pulled back."
"You ran."
He looked up. A woman stood there, floating effortlessly above the seabed. Her body shimmered like moonlight on waves. No face. Just eyes—sharp and silver.
The Messenger of the Court.
"You were meant to test him," she said.
"And I did."
"Then what did you see?"
Varun hesitated. "He's not like us. He's not like Thalorin either."
The Messenger tilted her head. "Then what is he?"
Varun leaned back, breathing shallow. His voice was low.
"He's chaos. Wearing skin."
---
Back in the reef, Dominic sat beside Aegirion in the ruins of the coral spire.
His arms were wrapped. His eyes heavy.
Neither spoke for a while.
Then Dominic asked, "You saw it, didn't you?"
Aegirion nodded. "The part of you that isn't… you."
"I didn't ask for this."
"I know."
Dominic looked up at the stars flickering through the surface.
"But it's mine now, isn't it?"
Aegirion didn't answer.
Because they both knew the truth.
The water felt heavier.
Dominic swam behind Aegirion, weaving through jagged rocks and ruins buried under centuries of coral. His wounds still throbbed, but they weren't slowing him down.
Not now.
Not when something in him was pulling him forward.
"Is it far?" Dominic asked.
Aegirion didn't look back. "Close. You'll know when we're there."
The trench narrowed. Shadows wrapped around them. The ocean's color shifted—blue turned to green, green to black.
Then…
Dominic stopped.
The water temperature dropped, and ahead, carved into the wall of a cliff, stood a massive gate.
Not just stone.
Bone.
White, ancient, smooth as ivory. It arched wide enough for a whale to pass through.
"Is that—?"
"Yes," Aegirion said softly. "Poseidon's first temple. Built before the War of Currents. Before Atlantis. Before names."
Dominic drifted forward slowly. The gates weren't locked. They weren't even shut.
They were waiting.
---
Inside, the temple was hollow and vast—like a giant ribcage frozen in time. Walls rose in twisting spirals, etched with symbols Dominic couldn't read but somehow… understood.
Waves of memory—not his—crashed into him as he passed each one.
A throne.
A war.
A crown forged from tridents.
"Are these his memories?" Dominic asked.
Aegirion nodded. "Pieces. Traces of what Poseidon left behind."
Dominic floated closer to a cracked mural. It showed a figure—tall, regal, eyes burning like the sun—rising from the sea with monsters bowing before him.
Then another figure, hidden in shadow, reached out.
The sea turned black.
Dominic touched the mural. His fingers trembled.
"That second one…" he whispered. "It's him, isn't it?"
"Thalorin," Aegirion confirmed. "Poseidon's opposite. His mistake."
Dominic stared longer. "Why does he want me?"
Aegirion was quiet.
Then he pointed to the final mural—one that showed a child born from both light and dark, standing at the center of a collapsing ocean.
"He doesn't want you," Aegirion said. "He needs you."
---
At the heart of the temple, the water grew still.
No movement.
No sound.
Only a single altar stood—low, cracked, covered in sea moss.
Dominic approached. On the altar lay an object: a shattered trident, the metal pulsing faintly like it still breathed.
"He left it here," Aegirion said. "His last piece. The weapon he used to seal Thalorin the first time."
Dominic reached out, but Aegirion grabbed his wrist.
"Careful. If you touch that… it'll start."
"What will?"
But Aegirion didn't answer.
Because behind them, the current shifted.
Voices whispered from the walls. Ancient. Deep. Not angry… not yet.
Dominic turned, and for a second, his reflection flickered in the temple walls—eyes gold, body glowing faintly.
"Poseidon," the temple seemed to whisper. "Or imposter?"
Dominic let go of the trident.
Not yet.
Not until he understood what he really was.
---
As they swam out, the gates slowly began to close behind them.
"You're not ready," the temple seemed to sigh. "But you're coming back."
Dominic didn't answer.
But something in his chest pulsed with the same rhythm as the broken weapon.
He knew.
The sea had only just begun to remember him.