Reincarnated As Poseidon

The air inside the Celestial Hall was thick with salt and static, as if the ocean itself had been pulled into the chamber and left to churn in a storm. The vast room was carved from obsidian stone and gold-lined coral, its vaulted ceiling painted with constellations older than memory. Every god present could feel it—an unseen pressure pressing into their chests, coiling around their ribs, whispering of ancient tides and drowning worlds.

At the center of the room sat the Throne of Currents, empty now, though all eyes flicked to it in wary glances.

A golden trident lay across the seat—a symbol of Poseidon's new ascension—but none of the gods looked at it with reverence. They looked at it as if it were a blade balanced on a thread above their heads.

Aegirion, Lord of the Tides and oldest among them, was the first to speak. His voice was like distant thunder over a calm sea, yet the weight behind it silenced the quiet murmurs.

> "We all felt it," he said. "The stir in the Rift. The pulse beneath the waves. Thalorin is awake."

There was a shiver that passed through the assembly. Gods of storms, rivers, and rain exchanged grim looks. Even the more arrogant among them—those who had once mocked the legends—sat stiff-backed now.

Caladra, goddess of hurricanes, slammed her palm against the obsidian table. Her sea-green eyes were sharp enough to cut.

> "This should not have been possible. The seals were bound with the blood of three pantheons. Thalorin's prison was buried in the deepest trench of the world. Who dared break the chains?"

Her gaze drifted—pointedly—toward Poseidon.

He did not flinch. His silver hair caught the flickering blue light of the bioluminescent braziers, his eyes twin whirlpools that revealed nothing of the thoughts beneath.

> "I broke nothing," he said evenly. "But I felt it too. Stronger than any of you."

"That is because," Caladra hissed, "his essence runs through you."

The words hit the table like a dropped anchor. The silence after was heavier than the ocean floor.

Poseidon leaned back in his seat, folding his arms.

> "You speak as though I asked for this bond. As though I am the enemy. But I am the one holding it back."

Aegirion's gaze was unreadable, though Poseidon could feel the older god studying him—probing for weaknesses, testing the waters.

> "The problem, boy," Aegirion rumbled, "is that the last vessel who said such things was the first to drown kingdoms."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. The old stories came unbidden to their minds—how Thalorin's previous host had stood here centuries ago, swearing loyalty, only to flood half the mortal world within a decade.

Poseidon's jaw tightened.

> "I am not him."

"No," came a new voice, cool and sharp as frozen spray, "you are younger. Less tested. And perhaps easier to bend."

It was Nerisa, goddess of undercurrents, who spoke now. She leaned forward, her pale fingers tapping against the table in slow, deliberate rhythm.

> "The question is not if Thalorin will try to control you—it is how soon he will succeed."

Poseidon's hand twitched toward the trident, though he did not grip it. His voice remained steady, but there was a cold edge beneath.

> "You all speak as though you have a choice in this. You do not. The only thing standing between you and the depths is me. If you strip me of this power—if you attempt to destroy me—you will find yourselves drowning before you can draw your first breath of victory."

The threat hung in the air like a storm cloud swollen to bursting.

For a long moment, no one moved. Then Aegirion spoke again, his voice slower, more deliberate.

> "Then prove it."

Poseidon's eyes narrowed.

> "Prove what?"

"That you are not merely a pawn. That you can control him."

"And if I refuse?"

Caladra's lips curved into a mirthless smile.

> "Then we will take the trident from your corpse."

The tension in the room was sharp enough to cut flesh. Somewhere deep within his mind, Poseidon felt the stirring—like an ancient leviathan rolling in the dark. Thalorin's voice was a whisper on the edges of thought, smooth and patient.

Let them try, the ancient being purred. I will show them the taste of the abyss.

Poseidon gritted his teeth. Not now.

You cannot silence the tide forever, little god.

The voices of the council were drowned out for a moment in the pounding of his pulse. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his face unreadable.

Aegirion rose from his seat, his towering form casting a long shadow over the table.

> "There will be a trial. Not in words, but in the deep. A challenge to see if you are truly master of your own currents."

Nerisa's expression sharpened.

> "You mean the Abyssal Proving."

A wave of murmurs followed the name. Even gods did not take such trials lightly. It meant descending into the oldest trench in existence—a place where light had never touched and even gods could be devoured.

Caladra's eyes glinted.

> "Fitting. If Thalorin truly lurks within, it will be where his will is strongest. If Poseidon returns with his mind intact, we will believe him. If not…"

She left the end unspoken.

Poseidon met each of their gazes in turn, refusing to let them see hesitation.

> "Fine. I'll go. But when I return, there will be no more whispers of chains or betrayal. You will see me as I am."

"And if you fail?" Nerisa asked softly.

He allowed himself the faintest of smiles.

> "Then you'll be dead before you can say I told you so."

Aegirion slammed the butt of his staff against the floor, the sound echoing like a deep drum.

> "Then it is decided. The Abyssal Proving begins at dawn."

The meeting dissolved into low conversations and sharp glances, but Poseidon remained seated for a moment longer.

Inside, Thalorin's voice curled through his thoughts again, almost amused.

They fear you. They should.

Poseidon didn't answer. Not aloud. Not in his mind. He rose slowly, trident in hand, and left the hall without looking back.

The corridors outside were quieter, though the weight of what was to come pressed against him like the deep sea. The trial was a trap as much as it was a test—he knew that. But there was no avoiding it now.

And perhaps… perhaps this would be the moment to show the gods exactly what kind of storm they had unleashed.