Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 57: Dominic 3

High above, currents began to churn.

The ocean stirred as though it had heard him.

As if every scale, every reef, every grain of sand had been waiting for those words to be spoken again.

Because they were once a vow.

A bond older than Olympus.

And it had been broken.

---

Elsewhere, deep in the western ruins...

The First Fallen turned slowly in the water.

Behind her, the Deep Choir floated in perfect silence.

She raised her hand once—and the waters parted like silk.

Before them stood a mirror reef, grown from bone and sorrow.

Carved into its surface, the glyphs of the old language flickered to life.

One word.

"Promise."

The reef began to crack.

The song was no longer mourning.

It was changing.

It was becoming a call to arms.

---

Back at the trench, Dominic could feel it.

A sharp pull in his chest, like something inside him was responding to a much older self.

He turned to Maelora and Varun.

> "She’s coming."

Varun adjusted his grip on his blade. "Let her."

Dominic shook his head.

> "She’s not coming to fight."

He pointed toward the sea above.

> "She’s coming to see whether the promise can still be kept."

Maelora’s eyes narrowed. "What happens if she decides it can’t?"

Dominic didn’t blink.

> "Then the sea resets. All of it."

Varun tensed. "You mean—"

> "Oceans rise. Cities drown. Olympus falls."

> "And us?" Maelora asked.

Dominic gave a faint smile, cold and clear.

> "We’re just the final test."

---

Suddenly, the trench floor rumbled.

A massive gate of coral and crystal rose from the seabed, etched in symbols that no one alive could read—not even Maelora.

The gate split open with a sound like a whale’s last breath.

And from it emerged a being draped in mourning silk, her eyes closed, her body glowing with the same memory-colored light as the trident.

She was not terrifying.

She was grief itself made flesh.

And she opened her eyes.

They met Dominic’s.

No anger. No hatred.

Only sorrow.

> "You carry his burden," she said, her voice echoing like waves through caverns. "Why?"

Dominic stepped forward.

> "Because I died before," he said. "I know what it means to be powerless."

> "And now?" she asked.

> "Now I remember what he forgot."

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then her gaze fell to the trident.

She extended her hand.

> "Will you return it?"

Dominic hesitated.

Maelora tensed.

Varun’s grip tightened.

But Dominic stepped forward...

...and held out the trident.

Her fingers brushed it—

—and she paused.

> "You’ve changed it," she whispered.

Dominic nodded.

> "No. It changed me."

A beat passed.

Then she stepped back.

> "Then keep it. As a reminder."

Dominic blinked. "What?"

She smiled faintly. "A reminder that you carry not a weapon—but a debt."

She turned.

> "The Choir awaits. The sea remembers. Now show them..."

Her voice dropped to a whisper that carried like thunder:

> "...that you have not forgotten."

---

From the trench, thousands of glowing shapes rose like constellations in the deep.

Siren, Tidekeeper, trench-dweller, and drowned ghost—all emerging from slumber.

The Memory Tide surged behind them.

And from Olympus?

A wall of divine flame met it halfway.

The gods had answered.

The sea was listening.

And Dominic... was in between both.

The sea split in half.

On one side, the Memory Tide surged—an endless wave of song, sorrow, and ancient will. On the other, Olympus loomed like a fortress of fire, its champions descending through divine gates of gold and lightning.

And in the chasm between both forces...

Dominic stood alone.

The trident pulsed in his grip—not with power, but with urgency.

Behind him, the First Fallen hovered in silence, her choir gathering like storm clouds made of souls. Sirens with glowing mouths. Tidekeepers with hollow eyes. The ocean’s forgotten children, summoned by memory, bound by pain.

In front of him, the sky cracked.

And the gods descended.

---

Above the Rift

Ares was the first to land, spear in hand, armor smoking with raw fury. Behind him came Hera, her gown flowing like molten silk, eyes burning with ancient pride. Then Hermes. Artemis. Dionysus.

And finally—

Zeus.

He didn’t fall.

He floated.

Crackling with storms, wreathed in thunder, a silent fury wrapped in a king’s stillness.

His gaze swept over the sea.

He didn’t see Dominic.

He saw only the threat.

> "We warned the sea," Zeus boomed. "We gave it gods to guide it. Order to protect it."

The First Fallen didn’t answer.

Her choir sang softly behind her, a melody that made even Dionysus frown, as if he almost remembered something.

Zeus raised a hand.

> "And now it sings of rebellion."

---

Dominic swam upward, placing himself between the gods and the Choir.

His voice cracked through the water.

> "This isn’t rebellion."

Zeus turned.

> "You again."

Dominic didn’t flinch. "This is reckoning."

Lightning curled around Zeus’s fingers. "You speak like a god."

Dominic’s eyes didn’t waver. "I speak like the sea."

Ares laughed darkly. "Then drown with it."

---

The first strike came fast.

Ares lunged, faster than thought. His spear cut through the water like fire through air.

Dominic barely dodged.

The trident clashed against the god’s weapon—sparks of divine heat bursting through the water. Steam hissed. Pressure cracked nearby coral.

Varun intercepted next, blade drawn. "You want war?" he growled. "Then bleed for it."

Maelora followed, launching streaks of silver through the water—arrows made from crushed moon coral and Tideblood. Hera blocked them with a sweep of her hand, forming barriers of divine light.

> "Traitors," she whispered.

> "Witnesses," Maelora fired back. "We’ve seen what you buried."

---

And then—chaos.

The Memory Tide surged.

The Choir let loose a cry that shattered ancient stone. The sea wept and screamed all at once.

Sirens swarmed from the depths, mouths open in silent song. Their melody wasn’t rage—it was truth. And it struck like thunder.

Zeus raised a barrier of lightning, but even he was pushed back an inch.

> "They sing in tongues older than the wind," Hermes muttered, zipping through the chaos.

Dionysus grinned, wine blood spilling from his eyes. "And that’s the fun of it."

---

Dominic dove.

Straight through the center of the chaos.

His eyes locked with Zeus’s.

> "You silenced her. You broke the promise. And now the sea remembers."

Zeus’s reply was thunder incarnate.

The bolt struck.

But the trident absorbed it—not entirely, but enough to survive.

Dominic fell, spinning, blood seeping from his shoulder.

But he was still breathing.

Still fighting.

Because this wasn’t just about gods and sea monsters.

It was about truth.

---

In the eye of the war, the First Fallen raised both hands.

And the Choir unleashed their song.

The sea trembled.

Not just in battle—but in awakening.

A massive shadow moved beneath the field—larger than anything alive.

The Deep Choir had awakened the Sea’s original guardian.

A beast with no name.

No loyalty.

Just memory.

---

Above, Zeus’s eyes narrowed.

He felt it too.

A pressure older than Olympus.

> "Call Hades," he muttered to Hera. "And Poseidon. Now."

But Hera looked pale.

> "Poseidon is dead."

Zeus’s silence was the only answer.

Because they all felt it.

A tide rising from the trench.

A shape with horns of coral and eyes that bled stars.

Something Poseidon had buried.

Something Dominic had awakened.

---

The battle froze for a breath.

All eyes turned downward.

To the depths.

To the final voice in the Choir.

A voice that wasn’t siren.

Wasn’t god.

Wasn’t man.

But something in between.

Something returned.

---

Dominic floated to the surface of the bloodlit water, eyes glowing faintly now, the trident no longer in his hand—because it had dissolved into his arm.

He opened his mouth—

And sang.

Not in words.

In memory.

And the sea answered.

The sea stood still again.

But it wasn’t calm.

It was listening.

Dominic floated at the heart of the battlefield, arms lowered, his breath slow. The trident was gone—no longer metal, no longer a relic. It had become part of him. Coral veins etched down his arms, glowing faintly with light that flickered between silver and deep sea-blue.

His eyes weren’t normal anymore either.

They shimmered.

Like the ocean watching itself.

---

Maelora hovered nearby, barely breathing.

Varun was frozen mid-guard, blood dripping from a cut across his cheek, eyes fixed on Dominic with something between awe and confusion.

And the Choir had gone silent.

Every voice.

Every whisper.

They waited.

Not because they were commanded.

But because they recognized him.

Not as a god.

Not as a boy.

But as something new.

---

Zeus lowered his lightning bolt.

His voice was low, uncertain.

> "What are you?" freewebnσvel.cѳm

Dominic slowly turned to face him. No anger. No arrogance. Just a stillness that made even gods blink.

> "I am the voice you ignored."

He pointed upward.

> "The echo you buried."

Then downward.

> "The memory you tried to silence."

> "I’m the part of Poseidon he left behind."

The sky cracked. The sea below trembled.

And from the rift, it came.

A monstrous creature of bone and wave, with antlers formed of ancient reef and eyes that shimmered like starlight through oil. The deep guardian.

The Sea’s oldest sentinel.

It had no name now.

Because the gods had stripped it away.

But the Choir knew it.

And as it rose, their song began again.

Not mournful.

Triumphant.

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