The waters suddenly shifted. A pulse. Not from him — but from elsewhere. His god-sense ignited. A summoning. A demand.

Olympus was calling.

His chest constricted, his human heart hammering even as the divine essence wrapped around him like chains. He had only been living as Poseidon for days, maybe weeks at most, yet already they sought him.

The summons was sharp, urgent. And dangerous.

He swam upward, the abyss receding behind him. His speed was unimaginable, the waters bending aside to clear his path. Within minutes, the surface shattered before him, and his body lifted from the sea — no longer Dominic, not entirely human, but a god rising from his domain.

The sky was storm-choked, thunder rippling across Olympus's horizon. A golden pathway, forged of pure celestial light, opened before him, linking the sea to the heavens. His trident burned in his grip, answering the call he dared not refuse.

He stepped onto the path.

---

Olympus.

The sight struck him like a blade through the chest. Gleaming marble columns reached higher than mountains, each carved with stories of victories and bloodshed. Fire and mist swirled together in the air, forming shapes of battles long past. Great halls sprawled across golden terraces, connected by bridges of starlight and clouds. Every corner dripped with majesty and menace.

And waiting at the heart of it all… the gods.

Zeus's throne loomed above the rest, forged of storm and stone, every strike of lightning etching new scars into its surface. His eyes — sharp, unforgiving, and aglow with divine wrath — locked onto Poseidon the instant he appeared.

To his left sat Hera, beauty cloaked in venom, her gaze dissecting him as though she could peel away the skin of Dominic and see the trembling boy beneath. Athena stood near the front, armored, calculating, her eyes narrowed as if testing for weakness. Ares leaned forward, grinning at the thought of violence. Apollo's golden hair burned with light, though unease cracked his perfect features.

And behind them, shadows moved — lesser gods, demigods, nymphs — all watching, all whispering.

"Poseidon." Zeus's voice was thunder, rolling across Olympus itself. "You return at last."

Dominic swallowed. The name burned in his ears. Return?

Thalorin hissed inside him, sharp and delighted. "Ah… so they think you are him. Perfect. Let them cling to that illusion."

Dominic forced himself forward, trident in hand, the weight of every gaze pressing against him like chains. His heart screamed to run, but his body obeyed the role thrust upon him.

"I have come," he said, his voice deeper, resonant, not his own yet still his. "What do you want of me?"

---

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then Athena spoke. Calm, sharp, merciless. "What do we want? You dare phrase it so lightly?" She stepped forward, spear gleaming in her grasp. "The sea has shifted since your return. Old things stir beneath the waves. Tell me, brother, what have you awakened?"

Dominic's breath hitched. They know.

Zeus's eyes narrowed further. "Storms rise without my command. The tides defy balance. Mortals whisper of omens. And now…" His hand clenched around the lightning bolt at his side. "…Thalorin's name resurfaces."

The chamber erupted.

Gods shouted, voices clashing in anger and fear. Some demanded answers, others called for war, while a few whispered of ancient pacts best left undisturbed.

Dominic felt the ground beneath him tremble. Thalorin, however, laughed inside his chest, the sound intoxicatingly pleased.

"They fear me still. After all this time."

Dominic's knees nearly buckled, but he forced his spine straight. His mind screamed at him to deny it, to deflect, to survive.

Yet before he could speak, Hera's voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a dagger.

"Tell us, Poseidon," she purred, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Why should we not strike you down now, before you drag us into another war against shadows?"

The air thickened. Weapons gleamed. Divine power bristled on every side.

And Dominic realized — one wrong word, one slip, and Olympus would not hesitate to erase him.

---

Thalorin's voice pressed into his skull. "Speak, vessel. Choose wisely. Or let me choose for you."

Dominic's fingers twitched around the trident. The silence stretched, unbearable.

Then he raised his chin. His voice — trembling within but steady without — carried across the chamber.

"If war is coming," he said slowly, "then it will not be by my hand." His gaze swept across the gods. "But if you make me your enemy, Olympus will drown."

The chamber froze.

Zeus's lightning flared, Athena's grip tightened, and Hera's lips curved into a dangerous smile.

And within him, Thalorin purred. "Ah… well said, boy. Perhaps you are not so weak after all."

The waves did not calm. They pulsed with a rhythm that seemed tied to his own heart, as though the ocean had become an extension of his veins. Dominic—Poseidon—stood barefoot on the jagged rocks that jutted from the shore, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sky burned with the fading embers of dusk.

He could feel it again—the whisper of Thalorin. Not like before, not as a detached voice pressing against the walls of his mind, but as something deeper. It slid into the marrow of his bones, stirring with each heartbeat, as though the ancient being were grafting himself into Dominic's very soul.

You begin to understand, the voice murmured, a current brushing through his consciousness. The sea is not separate from you. It is you. You are its will, and its fury. Its calm, and its abyss. The more you embrace this truth, the more Olympus will fear you.

Dominic closed his eyes, inhaling the brine-thickened air. Each breath expanded into a tide, pulling his thoughts outward. He remembered the boy he had been—the fragile Dominic, wasted by illness, tethered to hospital beds and whispered pity. That boy was gone. In his place stood a god clothed in flesh, the sea bending at the tilt of his fingers.

And yet… doubt gnawed at him. "If I am the sea, then what am I without you?"

The water surged around his ankles, frothing white. For a moment, there was no answer. Then, slowly, Thalorin's voice returned, lower, sharper.

Without me, you are a child with a crown he cannot bear. With me, you are inevitable.

The words struck deep. Dominic wanted to reject them, to claim he was his own master. But he couldn't deny the truth: without Thalorin, without the ancient power coiled in his core, he would be nothing more than a fraud playing at godhood.

Behind him, the sea groaned as though stirred by his thoughts. Great swells rose, crashing against the rocks with deafening force. Dominic's body thrummed with energy he didn't fully command, his very emotions bleeding into the waves.

"Then teach me," he whispered to the open sea. His voice was half-plea, half-demand. "Show me what it means to be inevitable."