Reincarnated As Poseidon

In the war-fogged morning of the Gulf of Corinth, where Olympus met sea and prophecy, the skies cracked with thunder — yet no lightning followed.

Cassian stood beneath the fractured heavens, the divine scroll still clenched in his scarred hand. His breath came slow, measured. He wasn't afraid. Not of gods. Not of fate. Not even of Thalorin.

But the sea — the sea had changed.

It no longer whispered like it once did. It called, low and ancient, echoing with the voices of drowned kings and betrayed titans.

"Your blood listens," Selene said softly, stepping beside him.

He didn't respond.

Instead, he turned to the cliffs. Something moved through the mist below. A shimmer of light, unnatural. Graceful. Then, a figure stepped onto the rocks — soaked, regal, barefoot, and cloaked in glistening kelp and azure silk that fluttered like living coral.

She looked no older than twenty. But her gaze was older than Olympus.

Her eyes were twin storms. Her skin glowed with the faint sheen of pearl and sapphire. Gills pulsed briefly along her neck before vanishing. Her voice, when she spoke, seemed to ring with harmonics only half-mortal ears could comprehend.

"I am Vaelora," she said, her voice serene but sharp, "Daughter of Eirenaios, last high guardian of the Atlantean gate. Blood of the Depthfather. Bearer of the Abyssal Heart."

Cassian didn't move.

Selene's breath caught. "A child of Atlantis…"

Vaelora turned her eyes to Cassian. "And you," she said, "are the Warbringer. The Blade of the Rift."

He raised a brow. "Is that what they call me now?"

She didn't smile. "You bear the curse of the gods and the call of the deep. You are the last thread between the collapsing heavens and the rising tide."

Cassian snorted. "I'm just a soldier with a scar."

"No," she replied firmly. "You are the one who must choose. Olympus or the Abyss."

Selene stepped forward, cautious. "Why now? Why reveal yourself?"

"Because," Vaelora said, her gaze darkening, "Thalorin's heart beats again."

Thunder boomed in the distance. The sea began to churn, not from wind or storm, but from something waking below.

"I was born the moment the city fell," she said, walking slowly up the cliff path. "My mother died holding the seal to the Vault of Silence. My father swore to keep me hidden until the tides sang his name again."

Cassian stared at her, intrigued despite himself. "And what do they sing now?"

Vaelora stopped inches from him, looking directly into his ember eyes.

"They sing yours."

The earth trembled beneath them.

Selene whispered, "What is she talking about?"

Vaelora extended her palm. Floating above it, shimmering and translucent, was a glowing shard of obsidian — humming with the same resonance Cassian had been hearing in his dreams. The shard pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

"I brought this from the Abyss," she said. "It is a key. A shard of Thalorin's prison. It responds to you."

Cassian reached out, hesitating. "And if I touch it?"

"You awaken the choice," Vaelora said.

"Which choice?"

"To become the blade that kills him… or the vessel that frees him."

---

Scene Shift – Olympus, Throne Hall of Thunder

Zeus stood tall, his frame clad in storm-silver armor, his hand gripping the master bolt so tightly the skies themselves quivered.

Before him stood Hera, Hermes, Athena, and Hades. Behind them, the shattered throne of Poseidon remained untouched — his name now cursed among the pantheon.

"They are gathering," Athena said coldly. "The outcasts. The demigods. The forgotten bloodlines. They smell weakness."

"Let them come," Zeus said. "We are not broken."

"You are," Hades growled, eyes flickering like coals. "Because you refuse to believe that Dominic is not Poseidon."

Hermes nodded solemnly. "Whatever has awakened in him — it's not just divine. It's something older."

"A god from the time before Olympus," Hera murmured. "One we sealed and buried beneath prophecy and myth."

Zeus turned, lightning crackling in his beard. "Then we must kill the myth. Burn the sea if we must."

Athena didn't blink. "You'll need more than bolts. You'll need the Blade of the Rift."

Zeus's voice boomed. "Then bring him to me. Alive."

---

Back to Cassian, Corinth

Cassian stared at the obsidian shard. It pulsed faster now, vibrating in his palm. The moment his skin touched it fully, visions flooded his mind — images of Dominic, shackled in a spiral of water and bone, eyes glowing with untold power. Behind him… a throne not of coral, but screaming souls, etched in Atlantean gold.

Cassian reeled, falling to his knees.

Vaelora steadied him. "He's changing. Faster than we feared."

Cassian's breath trembled. "He's not coming back, is he?"

"No," she said.

"But we still can," she added quietly, "if we reach him before the tides fully claim him."

Selene placed a hand on Cassian's shoulder. "Then let's make our move."

The wind screamed like a thousand cursed souls over the jagged peaks of Mount Thessalos, slicing through the narrow mountain pass where no god dared tread. Even the sun seemed reluctant to shine here — its rays fractured and broken through layers of thick cloud and ancient enchantment.

Cassian pressed forward, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, boots crunching over frost and gravel. Behind him, Selene moved like a shadow, her bow ready, her eyes sharp. Vaelora walked last — the shard of obsidian now hanging in a crystal vial across her chest, pulsing with dark rhythm.

"This place was built before Olympus," Vaelora murmured. "By those who worshipped the sea not as a god, but as a living abyss. They called it Nethura."

Cassian nodded but kept silent.

His mind wasn't on the lore. It was on the voice he kept hearing… whispering with each step.

"He sees you now."

"You are the echo of his will."

"The blade and the key… in one."

They reached a wide plateau, jagged stones forming a near-circle like broken fangs.

In the center, covered in moss and ice, stood a ruined temple — columns cracked, roof partially collapsed, its archway etched in a language older than Greek, older even than Titan script.

Vaelora stepped forward and placed a hand upon the archway.

A low hum vibrated the air.

Then the runes lit up — sapphire first, then black, then a shade of violet that burned to look at.

Cassian flinched, eyes narrowing. "You just triggered something."

Selene drew her blade. "We're not alone."

The ground beneath them trembled — just once.

Then again.

And then came the howl. A deep, guttural, wet sound, like the cry of a dying whale… and something much worse.

From the cliffside shadows behind the temple, a massive creature slithered forward — twenty feet tall, with six limbs, slick with sea-mucus, its skin pale and translucent, showing a glowing heart within. Its face had no eyes — only rows of needle-like teeth.

Vaelora cursed. "A Depth Warden. They've crossed the Rift."

The beast roared, and the temple behind them shifted, its doors beginning to open slowly as if beckoning.

"Go!" Cassian barked. "Selene, inside! Vaelora, with me!"

Selene dove through the archway, arrows flying over her shoulder. One slammed into the Warden's jaw, but barely pierced the membrane. It lunged — fast for something so massive.

Cassian met it head-on.

Sword drawn, he slashed the creature's shoulder, and instead of blood, a stream of dark water sprayed from it. The air hissed where the water landed — acidic. He rolled to the side, barely avoiding its crushing forearm.

"Keep it off the door!" Vaelora shouted.

But the creature was faster than either had thought. It turned, lifting one arm and slamming it down towards the temple entrance.

Cassian moved without thinking.

He leapt — sword forward, knees bent, channeling the shard's resonance. His blade glowed faintly. The moment it struck the creature's chest, there was a scream — not from the beast, but from somewhere deeper.

The obsidian vial around Vaelora's neck shattered.

A wave of black water erupted from the beast's heart — but it wasn't water. It was memories. Visions.

Cassian blinked.

And suddenly he stood inside a cavern — deep, pulsing, breathing. Before him was a throne of bone and tide, and seated on it, draped in robes of black seaweed and scales, was Dominic.

His eyes opened slowly.

They glowed with burning cobalt.

"You're too late," Dominic whispered. "I no longer dream. I remember everything."

Cassian fell backward out of the vision, gasping.

The Depth Warden convulsed and exploded into steam and salt, the remains splashing across the rocks as harmless mist.

Vaelora dropped to one knee, panting. "That was… not meant to happen."

Selene stepped out of the temple. "Are you both—?"

Cassian didn't answer. He stared at his sword, now marked with swirling black lines that hadn't been there before.

"What did you see?" Selene asked him.

He didn't look up. "Dominic. Or what's left of him."

"And?" Vaelora whispered.

"He's awake," Cassian said. "Fully. Whatever's left of Poseidon… it's been devoured. He calls himself Thalorin now. And he remembers everything the gods tried to bury."

Vaelora rose. "Then we truly are out of time."

Inside the temple, the final seal opened, revealing a pedestal.

Upon it rested a map — glowing faintly, not ink but written in liquid silver, constantly shifting like the tide. Lines connected from the Aegean to a chasm near the Black Sea, marked with a symbol none of them recognized — an eye surrounded by teeth.

"That's where he's going," Selene said.

"No," Vaelora corrected grimly. "That's where he was born."

Meanwhile – Olympus, Inner Sanctum

Athena stood in the Hall of Echoes, her hand pressed against the old statue of Mnemosyne — the Titaness of Memory.

Behind her, Hades entered, voice low.

"They have the map," he said.

Athena didn't move.

"He's moving toward the origin of the rift," she murmured. "Toward his true name."

"What will you do?" Hades asked.

Athena turned slowly, her eyes shining with warlight. "What we always do when a god becomes too powerful."

"We forge a god-killer."