Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 50: The Voice

The Vault of Silence was never meant to be opened.

Forged from obsidian, divine marrow, and Leviathan bone, it was built at the cost of an entire ocean tribe—its purpose singular:

To contain the first scream.

But the scream never faded. It waited.

Now, the seal groaned. Cracks webbed across the surface like veins. Ancient runes flickered, flickered... and died.

Then—one snap. A soundless fracture.

Followed by another.

And then... release.

From the pitch-black rift, something slithered.

A hand first—not shaped like any mortal’s. Translucent, gnarled, with webbing torn by centuries of silence.

Then came breath. The kind of breath that made the water curl backward.

A head lifted, crowned in bone and lightless pearls. Its eyes opened—not forward, but sideways. Multitudes.

It had no name anymore.

But once, it had been the Sea’s First Voice.

And now, it was free.

Above, mid-battle, Lyrielle faltered.

A tremor passed through the water—not pressure, not current.

It was presence.

She turned her head sharply toward the vault, though it was miles below, hidden beneath coral and centuries.

Her gills widened.

> "No... that wasn’t the Choir."

Even her sirens paused. Some clutched their heads. Others cried out as the water thickened with unfamiliar emotion: grief, rage, memory.

A new song.

No—an old one.

One she had not called.

A rival voice.

> "You awakened it," she breathed. "Fool. I wasn’t ready..."

Her confidence cracked, just for a moment.

Naerida saw it.

And charged.

---

Naerida’s blade struck like thunder, crashing into Lyrielle’s shoulder, sending her spinning back with a cloud of blood in her wake.

Lyrielle growled, flipping mid-water, her body mending already.

> "You’re desperate," she spat.

> "You’re distracted," Naerida replied, eyes narrowed. "Whatever you stirred just turned its gaze toward you."

The palace rumbled again—this time from below.

Soldiers screamed warnings.

The vault’s breach was affecting the very foundation of the sea floor. Currents reversed. Sea life bolted. Ancient temples cracked and tilted as if the world had lost its gravity.

Naerida didn’t care.

She spun her spear and darted forward again, the battlefield now spiraling around them.

> "Let the gods come," she hissed. "You won’t be queen of a graveyard."

Lightning split the sky.

Zeus stood tall in Olympus’ high chamber, thunder wreathing his limbs. "It has risen."

Athena nodded solemnly. "Not N’aleth. The First Voice. Something even older."

Hephaestus dropped his hammer. "I thought it was sealed."

"It was," Hera said. "But Lyrielle’s song—her choir—wasn’t just calling N’aleth. It was loosening all the chains beneath the waves."

Hermes flashed in beside them. "Dominic’s moving. He’s heading toward the vault."

Zeus clenched his jaw. "He won’t make it in time."

"No," Athena said. "But he doesn’t have to stop it."

She turned her gaze toward the clouds.

> "He has to decide who he wants to become."

Dominic stood on a crumbling ledge near the breach.

Before him: chaos.

Tides collapsed inward. Coral turned to dust. Schools of fish fled like insects before a coming wildfire. And deep below...

...he saw it.

A single eye, glowing from the crack.

Watching.

Waiting.

He gripped the trident tighter. Its surface shimmered—not just with Poseidon’s power anymore.

With something else.

Memories not his flickered—of singing before stars, of shaping the first waves, of drowning without violence, only silence.

He understood.

This creature wasn’t a monster.

It was history itself.

Buried.

Forgotten.

Now, remembered.

A roar split the ocean floor—no sound, only vibration.

Then, the Vault cracked completely.

From its core surged a wave of liquid light, pulsing with primordial energy. Fish blinked out of existence. Coral aged and crumbled. Magic itself seemed to stutter.

And it emerged.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Just... certain.

The First Voice.

A being of tendrils and shape, face and faceless, with a crown of tidal memory and a voice that made even the sea quiet.

Lyrielle’s Choir screamed.

Naerida fell back, eyes wide.

Dominic stared.

> "It remembers me," he whispered.

The vault had broken.

And with it, the sea changed.

There was no dramatic crack or blast of energy. Instead, it came like a pulse—slow, heavy, almost gentle. But everything it touched shifted. The pressure in the ocean deepened. The light disappeared, swallowed by something far older than darkness.

Dominic stood at the edge of the collapsing trench, staring into the impossible eye that watched him from the depths. It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. It simply looked. And as it looked, he felt exposed—like the ocean was flipping through every memory he had ever owned.

Something stirred beneath him. Water trembled. The trench groaned. Then it rose.

The First Voice didn’t need to speak in words. The moment it emerged fully from the rift, every current in the sea paused. Creatures that had never known the surface froze in place. Even the corrupted energy of the Deep Choir recoiled, their song falling apart mid-verse.

Lyrielle stopped mid-battle, her hands trembling. She turned slowly, her mouth opening in disbelief.

"No..." she whispered. "Not now. Not yet."

But it was too late.

The creature—massive, unknowable, shaped like flowing water and collapsing stars—rose through the trench like it belonged to no time at all. It wasn’t made of flesh or bone. Its body was tide and memory, its face shifting between familiar and foreign, old and endless.

It didn’t swim. It existed.

And when it reached the edge of the battlefield, the war paused.

Naerida lowered her blade, her armor cracked and smeared with ink and blood. She looked across the shattered sea and saw Lyrielle facing the creature. For once, the siren queen looked unsure.

Dominic floated forward, the trident glowing faintly in his grasp.

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The power radiating off the First Voice was overwhelming. It wasn’t violent. But it was absolute.

Then, the sea whispered—not loud, but clear, and not in one voice.

All around them, through the water itself.

"The ocean was not made for crowns. Nor for gods. It was made to remember."

The words didn’t come from the creature’s mouth. They came from the sea itself. From the coral. From the water in Dominic’s veins. The voice bypassed language, pushing straight into the soul.

Dominic’s body jolted with pain. Memories hit him all at once—memories that weren’t his. A thousand versions of the sea. The first breath of water. The first siren’s lullaby. The first drowning. The first offering.

It was too much.

He clutched his head and fell backward, the trident dimming.

The First Voice turned to Lyrielle next.

She didn’t speak. She only bowed.

But it didn’t accept her.

A wave of soundless rejection rippled outward, and Lyrielle was thrown back violently, crashing into a spiral of shattered coral and vanishing currents.

The Choir screamed as one—then choked silent.

One by one, they began to break apart, their bodies unraveling like ink in water, dissolving into soundless fragments. Their power was never meant to reach this depth. This memory. This truth.

Lyrielle tried to hold herself together, her voice cracking as she screamed, "I brought you back! I freed you!"

The creature didn’t respond.

Because it didn’t answer to demands.

It remembered Dominic.

It turned back toward him, and slowly, the tide beneath him lifted. Not violently—gently. The way a parent lifts a child after a nightmare.

Dominic’s eyes opened again. The glow from the trident returned.

He floated upward, his hair flowing behind him like strands of silver thread, his chest rising with the pulse of something greater than divine right.

Not just Poseidon’s power.

Something older.

Thalorin.

And the First Voice saw it.

A pulse passed between them. Dominic didn’t flinch this time. He absorbed it. Accepted it.

The creature began to sink back into the depths, no longer interested in war or vengeance.

It had seen what it came for.

It had remembered.

And it left that memory in Dominic’s blood.

As the rift slowly began to seal, and the ocean quieted, Dominic hovered alone in the center of it all.

The Deep Choir was gone. Lyrielle had vanished.

Naerida stared from a distance, wounded but still alive.

Far above, Olympus stirred with confusion and fear.

And somewhere beneath his ribs, Dominic felt it—something now tied to him, unshakable.

The sea wasn’t waiting for a ruler anymore.

It had chosen a witness.

And the ocean never forgets its witness.

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