Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 43: Mirror Trench

Dominic’s pulse throbbed in his ears as he pushed forward through the abyss, the walls of the mirror realm now cracking around him like splintered ice. Every step was a defiance of gravity, of truth, of fate. The vision of the Mirror had shaken him, but it hadn’t broken him. Not yet.

He wasn’t just reborn. He was resisting a destiny that had been whispered across epochs.

The fractured light around him shimmered and twisted, forming corridors of memory and void. His trident was gone—shattered in the last confrontation—and yet he carried something heavier now. A weight inside his chest, not entirely his own. A truth unspoken, unnamed.

Lyrielle’s voice had echoed faintly before. He hadn’t imagined it. Her song didn’t come from within the mirror.

It came beyond it.

He followed it, stumbling through the broken reflections as they flickered. Scenes from his life flared to life—Aegirion’s sacrifice, Athena’s cold wisdom, the warmth of Naerida’s palace, the clash with Lyrielle under the black tides. They spun around him in a cyclone of what had been and what might yet be.

Then he saw her.

Lyrielle.

Not in the flesh, but in waterlight. Her silhouette was distant, almost like an echo, her song faint but laced with urgency. She was near the edge of the abyss now, hands stretched toward a veil of light where the Mirror’s realm began to fracture into the world outside.

Dominic reached for her—but something seized him from behind.

The Mirror again, no longer a form or a reflection, but a tide—a surge of pressure and thought and cold sentience. It screamed in a voice made of a thousand truths and lies.

"You are not done."

Dominic spun, elbowing his way free from the grip of water and memory. "Neither are you."

He raised both fists, drawing power from the oceanic core within him. He was no longer trying to be Poseidon. He wasn’t trying to fulfill any prophecy. He was only trying to fight for what was real.

The Mirror roared. Not just in anger, but in desperation. Cracks split the realm further, and the reflected selves began to dissolve—losing shape, identity, meaning.

Then the Mirror changed its tactics.

"Do you think Lyrielle sings for you?" it hissed. "She was the first one I touched. The first to fall. She doesn’t even know what she is."

Dominic’s breath hitched.

"What are you talking about?"

But he could already feel the next vision forcing itself into his mind—unwanted, cold, and jagged. The Mirror surged past him, washing him into a memory not his own.

He saw Lyrielle, younger, hair tangled in coral, her eyes wide as she wandered through the forbidden trench of Thalorenn.

She found a fragment of the Mirror then. A shard buried in the sand. And it sang to her. Whispered promises. Not of love or power—but belonging. The deep choir had not been born of siren magic. It had been planted.

And Lyrielle had been the first seed.

Dominic staggered backward, pulled out of the vision with a gasp.

"She’s not yours!" he growled.

"She was never yours to save," the Mirror whispered back. "She is my herald, whether she remembers or not."

Dominic turned toward the shimmering edge of the abyss where Lyrielle’s voice still sang, strong and aching with power. It didn’t sound corrupted. It sounded desperate.

Real.

He leapt, breaking from the Mirror’s grip as the realm screamed around him. The silver-blue walls buckled, shuddered, and collapsed. Dominic reached the veil, burst through—and fell upward into the sea.

The real sea.

He broke through the surface with a gasp, drenched and heaving, blinking against a sky darkened by swirling stormclouds.

He was back.

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He looked around.

The ocean trembled. All around him, fleets moved through the water like underwater beasts—Naerida’s banners clashed with Lyrielle’s ghostly song across the currents. Sirens darted like spears between warships. Giant sea beasts roared in the deep.

It was war.

And Dominic had arrived too late to stop it.

He floated alone, a tiny figure against the fury of gods and queens and ancient tides.

But before he could move, a voice boomed through the water—not Lyrielle’s.

Not Naerida’s.

Something older.

It came from the deepest trench. From beneath even the ruins of Thalorenn. From where the creature—the one the gods refused to name—had been chained since before time.

A thrum like a heartbeat. Then a pulse that knocked the sea back in a vast ring. Ships tilted. Beasts screamed. Even the gods above the waves felt it.

Dominic covered his ears as a name tried to etch itself into his thoughts.

A name no mortal should hold.

A name even Poseidon had feared.

And it was awake now.

The sea was no longer just at war.

It was unraveling.

Dominic steadied himself. The Mirror wasn’t the end. It had been a lock, not a prison.

Something deeper had been waiting beneath it.

And Lyrielle... was heading right toward it.

He clenched his fists and dove into the chaos—toward the center, where Lyrielle’s song called, not just to him... but to the end of the world.

The waters roared.

Dominic cut through the sea like a spear of will, his arms burning, lungs tight, the pressure of the abyss pressing down on him as he swam deeper into the chaos. All around him, the war unfolded with ferocity—sirens shrieking like spirits of vengeance, tridents clashing with shields of coral and bone, whirlpools conjured by song and magic tearing through formations of undersea warriors.

But he wasn’t focused on them.

He was hunting the source of the discord.

He was hunting Lyrielle.

Her song still echoed—mournful, layered, trembling with beauty and madness. It surged through the battlefield like a hymn laced with venom, compelling sea creatures to turn on their handlers, seducing even the strongest of warriors to lay down arms and surrender to dreams of a forgotten world.

Yet there was something broken in it now.

A crack in the melody.

Dominic pushed forward, ignoring the way Naerida’s soldiers turned to stare, some reaching toward him with bloodied hands, whispering his name like a prayer. He was no longer just their returning god. He was their last tether to the sea’s sanity.

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