The ocean obeyed.

The tide climbed higher, lifting him until the rocks beneath his feet dissolved into froth. Water cradled him, then dragged him under in a violent whirl. Yet Dominic did not drown. He did not even gasp. The sea pressed against his skin, slipped into his lungs, filled him until he was more water than flesh. He opened his eyes beneath the waves and saw—

—not darkness, but light. Blue fire seared through the abyss, illuminating shapes vast and terrible. Serpents with scales of coral coiled in the deep, leviathans that had slumbered since the birth of the world stirred at his passing. Their eyes glowed as they beheld him, but they did not strike. Instead, they bowed, sinking their massive heads into the sand.

Dominic's chest tightened. The water sang, not in words but in understanding: they acknowledged him. They saw in him their master returned.

Above, thunder cracked.

His head snapped upward. Through leagues of water, he saw the rippling outline of storm clouds rolling across the surface, lightning spearing into the waves. The sea boiled with sudden violence, and Thalorin's voice rang sharp in his skull.

They watch you now. Olympus stirs.

Dominic clenched his fists. The gods had noticed him sooner than he'd hoped. Already their gaze pressed down like a mountain. He could feel the weight of it—Hera's suspicion, Zeus's wrath, Athena's cold calculation—all focused upon him.

"Then let them watch," he hissed. Power burst from his chest, sending a shockwave through the deep. The leviathans roared, their voices shaking the seabed, and the ocean itself rose in answer.

But before he could savor the moment, something else stirred—a presence that was not Thalorin's, nor his own. It slithered through the currents, cold, alien, ancient.

The sea darkened.

Dominic spun, his vision cutting through the gloom. Far below, a fissure yawned in the ocean floor, black smoke seeping upward like poison. From it came whispers, faint but insidious, curling into his mind with claws of ice.

You are not Poseidon… you are prey.

The voice was not Thalorin's. It was older, hungrier.

For the first time, Dominic felt Thalorin recoil. Not in fear, but in recognition.

Stay away from that rift! the ancient entity barked. His voice cracked like a whip. That is not yours to touch.

But Dominic couldn't move. The whispers pulled at him, more seductive than chains. He saw images—visions—of himself crowned not as a god among gods, but as something beyond them. The sea bleeding into the skies, Olympus shattered beneath his hand. He saw Zeus fall. He saw the gods kneel.

"Who are you?" Dominic demanded, though his voice sounded weak against the crushing abyss.

The answer was not words but laughter, low and hollow. The fissure widened, and from its depths emerged a shape—shadow clothed in scales, eyes like twin abysses. The water recoiled from its form, as if unwilling to touch it.

Dominic's body went rigid. His chest constricted, though not from the sea. This presence—this thing—was a rival to Thalorin.

Thalorin's voice surged back, sharp and desperate: Close your mind, boy! Do not let it in!

But Dominic's thoughts were already slipping, unraveling under the weight of the entity's gaze. It promised power beyond imagination, power unshackled by bonds, power not borrowed but seized.

And then—like lightning—the presence was gone. The fissure snapped shut, the whispers vanishing into silence.

Dominic collapsed onto the seafloor, gasping though he did not need air. His body trembled, his hands shaking as though with fever.

"What… what was that?" he rasped.

Thalorin's reply came after a long, heavy pause. A shadow of the deep. Something even Olympus does not name. You will not seek it again, if you value your existence.

But Dominic knew himself. Curiosity burned brighter than fear. That shadow had spoken to him, not to Thalorin. It had called to Dominic, the boy beneath the god.

And it had promised him the one thing he craved above all: freedom.

He looked up. The storm above raged harder, waves breaking against each other in fury. He could almost feel Zeus's lightning aimed at the sea, probing, searching.

Dominic clenched his fists. "Let them come. I will not bow—not to Olympus, not to you, not to anything in the deep."

Thalorin's laughter filled him, rich and sharp. Then you are truly mine.

The ocean surged, lifting him higher, carrying him toward the surface where storm met tide. Dominic burst into the open air, water streaming from his skin like molten silver. His eyes burned with an unnatural light, his hair plastered to his face. Lightning forked across the heavens, thunder roaring as if Olympus itself answered his defiance.

Dominic—Poseidon—stood upon the waves, unbroken. The storm bowed to him.

And yet, in the silence between thunder, he thought he still heard it—that faint, forbidden whisper from the rift below.

Prey can become predator… if it dares.

The sea was restless. Waves rolled in with a rhythm that mirrored the pounding in Poseidon's chest, as though the ocean itself felt the storm that brewed inside him. He stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, foam spraying up and dampening his tunic, his trident glowing faintly like a living flame in the night.

His breathing was heavy, uneven. Ever since Olympus had stirred—since whispers of plots and the gods' disdain had reached him—he had felt the Rift tug harder at his soul. Each day, Thalorin's essence pressed deeper into his veins. At times, he could hear voices when the waves crashed, whispers like forgotten songs in a language older than Olympus itself.

"They fear you."

The voice came again, low and resonant, not from his ears but from his very bones. Thalorin. The ancient one.

Poseidon tightened his grip on the trident. "I know."

"They will not stop until your blood stains their thrones."

"He stared out into the endless black sea, his reflection trembling on the waves. "Then let them come. I was mortal once. I suffered, bled, and died alone. But now—" His jaw clenched. "Now I am more. And I will not be broken again."