Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 58: Dominic 4

Zeus took a single step back.

Just one.

But everyone saw it.

Even Hera.

> "We should retreat," she said quietly.

> "We don’t retreat," Ares growled.

But Dionysus was already fading into mist, his smile thin.

> "This isn’t our sea anymore."

---

Dominic hovered just above the deep guardian’s head.

He didn’t command it.

He understood it.

Because the truth was no longer buried.

It had risen.

And with it came a power beyond control.

Not fire. Not lightning. Not wrath.

Recognition.

---

> "I’m not here to destroy Olympus," Dominic said, loud enough for even the heavens to hear.

> "I’m here to remind it."

He raised his hand.

The guardian roared—a low, ancient sound that shook the pillars of the ocean.

And for the first time in eons...

Olympus heard the sea.

---

In Olympus itself, Athena knelt at her divine pool, watching it swirl.

She whispered, her voice shaking.

> "He’s not reborn Poseidon. He’s what Poseidon could’ve been."

A god who listens.

A god who remembers.

A god who keeps his promises.

---

Zeus’s gaze darkened.

He raised his bolt once more.

But this time—it didn’t ignite.

The sea swallowed the spark.

And Dominic’s voice returned, calm as the tide.

> "If you strike, you will never hear the sea again."

Zeus said nothing.

And for the first time...

He lowered the bolt.

---

The battle didn’t end in blood.

It ended in silence.

And memory.

---

As the Choir dispersed back into the depths, the sea calmed. The guardian sank again, its purpose fulfilled—for now. Maelora swam to Dominic, her voice still trembling.

> "What happens next?"

Dominic turned to her, the glow in his veins dimming but not gone.

> "The sea chooses its own story now."

> "And you?"

Dominic looked out into the horizon, where the sun’s light pierced the water like a warm memory.

> "I carry it forward."

The war was over.

But the sea did not celebrate.

It simply... rested.

Currents slowed. Coral reefs shimmered faintly, their colors softening as if exhaling after centuries of tension. Great predators that once ruled the trenches now drifted calmly, no longer hunted, no longer hunters.

Even the tides felt gentler.

As if the ocean itself had exhaled.

---

Dominic stood atop a smooth plateau of coral, gazing into the horizon.

The glow that had once burned in his veins had settled into something quieter. A flicker beneath his skin—like an ember refusing to die.

He wasn’t a god.

Not fully.

Not anymore.

He was a keeper now.

Not of weapons or rule.

But of the sea’s truth.

---

Maelora joined him, her movements slow and thoughtful.

For once, her bow was slung behind her, untouched. Her armor was dulled from battle, and her eyes—once sharp with readiness—held a quiet ache.

> "Do you think it’s really over?" she asked.

Dominic didn’t answer right away.

He watched a school of glowing fish pass below, moving in perfect formation. Peaceful. Natural.

> "No," he finally said. "But I think the ocean’s done bleeding for now."

She nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. "And the gods?"

> "They’ll lick their wounds," he muttered. "They’ll talk. They’ll plot. But they won’t come back to the sea. Not for a long time."

> "Because of you."

Dominic gave a sad smile.

> "Because of her."

He meant the First Fallen.

The Queen the gods tried to erase.

The one whose legacy had outlived Olympus’s silence.

---

Far below, deeper than any shipwreck or trench, the Choir’s voices faded into slumber.

Their song didn’t vanish.

It drifted—woven into the current.

Every creature in the sea could feel it now, even if they didn’t understand it.

A memory passed down in water instead of words.

---

Varun arrived later, quiet as usual, his sword strapped across his back. He looked tired.

> "The sea is healing."

> "It will take time," Dominic replied.

> "You don’t have time," Varun said bluntly. "None of us do. You exposed Olympus. They’ll respond eventually."

Dominic nodded.

> "Let them."

---

But even he knew it wasn’t that simple.

The gods wouldn’t forget.

Not a boy who defied them.

Not a sea that chose him.

---

As the sun pierced the surface above, Dominic lifted a stone tablet from a nearby ruin and began etching something with his finger. Not magic. Not divine command.

Just a message.

> "What are you writing?" Maelora asked.

> "The truth," he said.

> "For who?"

> "Whoever comes next."

---

Far across the sea, in an isolated trench once sealed by Olympus’s power, a faint ripple stirred.

No one noticed.

Not yet.

But something moved in the dark.

Not angry.

Just... hungry.

A shape once imprisoned by Poseidon himself.

Something not born of sea or sky.

Something that had waited.

And now that the sea had forgotten Olympus...

It remembered itself.

---

Back above, Dominic placed the tablet into the coral wall.

He pressed his palm to it.

And for a moment, the current shimmered with light.

Then went still.

---

> "Let it rest," he whispered.

"Let the waters sleep."

And so they did.

But only for now.

The sea slept.

But deep beneath its peaceful face—something had begun to wake.

A ripple moved through the Rift.

Not a current. Not a whale. Not even a guardian.

A pulse.

Low.

Rhythmic.

Hungry.

It passed unnoticed beneath miles of water and silence. Coral wilted in its path. Fish darted away, their bodies shaking as if touched by a memory they didn’t own.

A forgotten trench cracked open.

Not with sound.

With absence.

---

The Vault of Chains – Unsealed

There was once a creature so dangerous it could not be killed.

So ancient that even the gods could not name it.

Poseidon found it. Not in the sea.

But beneath it.

A hunger with no shape. A will that did not sleep.

He didn’t fight it.

He bargained.

He sealed it away—not with force, but with divine silence.

He chained it with the sea’s own memory.

But now...

Memory had been set free.

The chains were gone.

And in the black, a voice returned.

Not one that spoke in words.

But in emptiness.

---

Somewhere near the surface, Dominic sat near the coral plateau, his head low, eyes closed.

He didn’t sleep.

He listened.

The sea had become quiet again—but not in a peaceful way.

Like the hush before a storm.

Maelora surfaced nearby, carrying pieces of broken armor and scrolls from the ruins.

> "More fragments," she said. "Tales from the early currents."

Dominic nodded slowly.

> "They’re warning us."

Varun arrived next, soaked in ink from the deep—a message clinging to his chest like barnacles.

> "Dominic," he said simply. "The Trench of Nireh has collapsed."

Dominic’s eyes snapped open.

> "That trench was sealed with Poseidon’s divine signature."

> "Not anymore."

---

A silence followed.

Then the water stirred.

Only once.

But everyone felt it.

A chill across their bones.

Something was awake.

Something that had not tasted freedom since the sea was young.

---

Beneath the World

It moved.

Slow. Vast. Unnatural.

Not swimming.

Not crawling.

Just... existing.

Like gravity.

Like guilt.

The creature didn’t remember its name.

Only what it had been promised.

That one day, when the sea turned against Olympus, it would be free.

And the sea had finally remembered its pain.

So now it would feed.

On gods.

On mortals.

On memory.

---

Far away, in the ruins of a forgotten temple, the First Fallen sat cross-legged, eyes closed.

Her song was silent now.

But she felt it.

The old thing.

The hunger beneath the bones of the sea.

> "He unchained it," she whispered.

> "Poseidon knew what would happen."

She opened her eyes.

And for the first time in centuries...

She looked afraid.

---

Dominic stood.

He turned his gaze west—toward the edge of known water.

The deep where stars didn’t shine.

> "It’s coming," he muttered.

Maelora frowned. "What is?"

> "The thing Poseidon buried."

Varun stepped forward. "Then we bury it again."

Dominic shook his head.

> "No. This thing doesn’t die. It consumes. It doesn’t hate. It doesn’t think. It just wants."

> "So how do we stop it?" Maelora asked.

Dominic didn’t answer right away.

He looked down at his hands—at the faint glow still lingering in his veins.

> "We don’t stop it."

He looked up.

Eyes cold.

Determined.

> "We starve it."

The sea had shifted again.

Not with a wave or a storm, but with an instinct—like something at its core had turned cold.

Dominic stood on the ridge of a submerged cliff, watching as the currents below moved strangely... slower, more distorted, like a wound pulsing beneath flesh.

All around him, the ocean was beginning to tighten.

It wasn’t just him that noticed.

---

Maelora surfaced beside him, her voice low.

> "The water’s changing. It feels... afraid."

Dominic nodded. "It’s not fear. It’s hunger."

> "From what?"

Dominic didn’t speak.

Because he didn’t know if it could be described.

Not yet.

---

The Western Drop

Miles away, in the darkest zone of the western sea, the creature moved.

Still unseen. Still unnamed.

But not unnoticed.

Coral beds shriveled as it passed. Whales scattered. Entire currents reversed their flow.

And above it, in a drifting graveyard of sunken ships, the Choir stirred again.

Not in sorrow.

But in warning.

The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on fre(e)webno(v)el.𝒸𝑜𝘮