Reincarnated As Poseidon

The Black Sea churned.

No moon hung in the sky, and the stars themselves seemed to draw back behind a veil of storm and omen. Waves rolled like the breath of something colossal beneath, and the wind carried with it a sound that had no business being born of the Earth — a deep, drawn-out chant, as if the water itself sang a dirge.

Cassian stood at the prow of the Specter, a fast, old Athenian warship they'd reconditioned with arcane seals etched along its frame. Each symbol glowed with faint azure — Vaelora's doing — keeping the waters calm just enough to cross.

But that calm was a lie.

"She's growing restless," Selene said, stepping beside him.

"She?" Cassian asked without turning.

"The sea," she whispered. "You can feel it. Like it's waiting."

He nodded slowly. "Waiting for what?"

"Not what," came Vaelora's voice from behind them. "Who."

Cassian turned to see her standing near the mast, her hair slick from the storm. The vial around her neck was gone — shattered at the temple. But now, etched across her collarbone, a rune glowed: a mark of binding, ancient and pulsating with borrowed power.

"You did something," he said carefully.

"I bargained," she answered coldly. "We needed passage. The sea demanded tribute. I gave it part of myself."

"You're insane," Selene hissed.

"No," Vaelora said. "I'm desperate."

Before anyone could argue, the water groaned.

The ship listed to the left. Then again — harder.

"Hold on!" the helmsman shouted, gripping the wheel.

From the depths ahead, a shape began to rise. Colossal, bulbous, armored like a mountain crusted with coral and ancient shipwrecks. As it breached the surface, water spilled from its sides like rivers, and its massive eyes opened—glowing red, each the size of a house.

"Leviathan." Vaelora whispered.

Selene drew her bow, but Cassian raised a hand. "It's not here for a fight."

"How do you know?" she asked.

He didn't answer. He felt it.

Inside his chest, the shard burned, resonating with the monster.

The Leviathan loomed higher, its body rising and coiling like a great eel crossed with a kraken. It opened its mouth — not to roar, but to speak. Its voice came not through sound, but through the bones of the ship, into the skulls of the crew, like a voice inside the soul.

"You wear his scent, sword-bearer. His will clings to you."

Cassian stepped forward. "I do not serve him."

The Leviathan's laughter was a storm breaking across the sea.

"You misunderstand. You are not his vessel. You are his test."

Suddenly, the creature dove.

A moment later, something rose in its place — a platform made of twisted coral and bones, held together by magic older than the gods.

A path.

"Get off the ship," Vaelora ordered. "Now."

Cassian and Selene followed her down. The moment their feet hit the coral, the Specter shattered behind them — no explosion, no sinking, just… gone. As if it never was.

"What is this place?" Selene whispered.

"A threshold," Vaelora said, breath caught.

The path extended ahead, winding like a bridge made of nightmares across the surface of the churning sea. At the far end, rising like a temple of coral and obsidian, stood a spire. It pulsed with the same black glow as the mark on Cassian's sword.

A doorway opened at its base.

Cassian's heart pounded. "He's in there."

"No," came a voice from behind.

They turned.

Standing on the coral bridge was a woman — hair pale as snow, eyes solid silver. She wore robes made of foam and scale, her skin glowing faintly blue.

"I am Aegirion's Herald," she said. "And I have come to warn you. You walk into his grave… but you will not find a corpse."

Vaelora narrowed her eyes. "Aegirion is dead."

"No," the Herald said. "He has returned. Not as a god, but as a storm."

Before they could respond, a wave rose behind her — but not water.

Wind.

A gust of impossible speed and heat exploded across the bridge, hurling Selene and Vaelora back. Cassian raised his sword, and the shard flared with light, just as the storm coalesced into a man.

White robes. A spear of lightning. Hair like a sunlit wave.

"Dominic." Cassian growled.

But this man was not the Dominic he knew.

The boy was gone. What stood now was Thalorin — tall, serene, powerful.

"Welcome," he said, smiling with inhuman calm. "To the place where it ends."

Vaelora screamed and rushed forward, blade drawn. But Thalorin flicked his hand.

She froze in mid-air — suspended like a doll — and then was flung into the coral with bone-snapping force.

Cassian roared, charging.

Steel met storm. Sword met divine power.

The bridge lit up with flares of white and black energy, every clash echoing like a thunderclap. Selene regained her footing and fired — but the arrows evaporated in mid-air.

Cassian swung wide — and Thalorin caught the blade with his bare hand.

"You're strong," he said.

Cassian twisted, kneeing him in the stomach — but it was like hitting stone. Thalorin didn't flinch.

"You're brave," he added.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"But you're still mortal."

With a whisper, he struck Cassian's chest — a pulse of energy that lifted the warrior off his feet and sent him skidding across the bridge, blood trailing behind him.

Selene caught him. "Cass!"

His breath came in gasps.

Then Thalorin raised his hand… and the sea began to rise.

Not as water. But as shapes.

Hundreds.

No — thousands.

Ghosts made of foam and rage. The Drowned Legion.

"By dawn," Thalorin said softly, "Olympus will be ash. And from it, the old world will rise."

The spire behind him glowed.

The storm broke.

And all across the sea, the dead began to walk.

The realm trembled, not from war or wrath—but from silence.

High above the mortal realm, Olympus brooded under a sky stitched with fractures of blue flame. The gods gathered, not in celebration nor fury, but in contemplation. The Hall of Echoes, where the voices of the divine once rang clear and powerful, now pulsed with an eerie quiet.

Zeus sat unmoving, lightning curling around his fingers like restless serpents. His throne, once resplendent with celestial gold, now shimmered with a dullness that betrayed his growing unease. His gaze remained fixed on the crystalline table before him—a map of realms and territories, now riddled with red slashes and flickering warnings.

"They're breaking through," murmured Athena, stepping forward. Her eyes, silver-bright, scanned the hovering map. "The seals between dimensions are weakening faster than the Fates predicted. Even Tartarus is leaking its stench."

Hephaestus clenched his molten fists, smearing soot along his bronzed skin. "It's not just Tartarus. Even the Forge of Creation... the Ember Stones dimmed this morning. I couldn't shape a single relic."

Hera remained quiet. Her golden scepter tapped rhythmically on the stone floor as she stared at the fading sun beyond the dome. "Where is Poseidon? He should've returned by now."

"He will come," said Hermes, appearing suddenly in a whirl of white and gold, landing on the floor with a slight bow. "But not as Poseidon. Not anymore."

The gods turned toward him.

"What do you mean?" asked Artemis, her voice sharp as the moonlight in her bowstring.

Hermes lifted his head, voice now trembling with awe. "He has chosen his name anew. He is no longer Dominic. Nor even Poseidon as we knew. The Ocean Lord has embraced a deeper tide. He walks now as Thalorin."

Gasps. A few gods recoiled. Others muttered, recognizing the ancient name buried in forbidden scrolls.

Zeus's grip tightened. "That name hasn't echoed since the Abyss Wars. If he truly bears it... then he has become something far beyond Olympian."

A silence fell again, heavier than before.

Apollo stepped forward, the light in his eyes dimmed. "Then he must return. Olympus cannot stand if he walks a path apart. Not now."

Hermes hesitated. "He will not return to serve. He will return to judge."

The statement dropped like a blade.

Athena's lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then we must prepare for more than war. We must prepare for the reckoning of gods."

Outside, lightning scarred the sky again.

And in the depths of the oceans, somewhere far below the sight of Olympus, Thalorin opened his eyes—aware of everything.

The great hall of Olympus trembled.

At the heart of the mountain, the divine council had collapsed into chaos. Not from war or from some external force, but from within. Whispers of prophecy had been uttered—words spoken from the lips of the Oracle, Phoebe, who hadn't spoken in centuries. Now, her voice had returned, trembling through the celestial air, pulling the gods together with panic.

"She said he's no longer a boy," murmured Hestia, standing alone by the Eternal Flame. "He's no longer mortal."

"He was never meant to be!" Athena snapped, pacing with her spear clutched tightly. "The mortal vessel was a placeholder. This—this return of Poseidon… it's the beginning of the collapse."

Zeus said nothing. He hadn't spoken since the Oracle's revelation. His eyes—twin bolts of stormlight—remained fixed upon the sky outside, watching the shifting clouds. It was as if he waited for the first sign of thunder that didn't come from him.

Apollo was the first to break the silence.

"If he remembers everything—his rage, his betrayal, the death of Amphitrite…" he stopped, his voice cracking for a moment, "then Olympus is in danger. He will not obey."

Ares slammed his gauntlet into the marble pillar beside him. "Let him come! Let him try to challenge us! The sea will drown before I kneel to a memory."

But the echo of his voice didn't carry far. It was as if Olympus itself recoiled from the sound. The air grew thick. Heavy. Not with divine essence—but with fear.

Then came the flickering.

A shadow passed across the chamber. Every brazier dimmed. Every torch burned colder. The Eternal Flame itself—steady for eons—shuddered and pulsed, like a heart unsure of its next beat.

"Someone's here…" Artemis whispered, her bow already drawn.

A voice spoke—not from the doorways, but from nowhere. From everywhere.

> "He walks among you, unseen. But his presence stirs the elements. The sea calls not with waves, but with wrath."

It wasn't Dominic. It wasn't Poseidon.

It was an ancient voice—older than the gods. Something deeper. Something forgotten.

"Thalorin," Hera whispered. "The deep one…"

Every god turned at once.

Zeus finally turned to face them, his expression grim. "We sealed him. Long before the rise of Atlantis. He should not be stirring."

"He's not stirring," Athena replied. "He's awakening. And it's through him—through the boy—that he will rise again."

A silence followed.

And then, a ripple of light tore through the air—a golden portal, lined with burning runes, formed in the center of the chamber. Out of it stepped a figure cloaked in midnight-blue robes, with a staff etched with celestial runes and a crown forged from the embers of dying stars.

It was Chronos, Father of Time.

"You have waited too long," he said, his voice bending reality itself. "The balance of realms has shifted. Your games, your alliances, your fears—they are irrelevant now."

Zeus stared at him. "Why are you here?"

Chronos lifted his hand. From the void behind him, chains began to spill—thick, rusted, celestial chains that pulsed with raw power. Each chain bore the names of ancient gods long forgotten, fallen during the War of Origin.

"These are the Chains of Prophecy," Chronos intoned. "And they no longer bind Thalorin. They have broken."

A soft gasp echoed through the chamber.

"You must choose, Olympians," Chronos continued. "Either you prepare for war with the being inside that boy... or you accept him."

"Accept him?" Hades suddenly appeared, stepping from a shadowed corridor. "He is no longer the mortal Dominic. Nor is he merely Poseidon. He is becoming something new. Something... dangerous."

"Yes," Chronos agreed. "But he is also your only hope."

Another silence.

Then, Aphrodite stood.

Her gaze held no warmth. Only worry. "I saw him once, as a child. Dominic. He looked at me with eyes that didn't belong in a mortal. And I felt… I felt he wasn't supposed to live a human life."

"He didn't," Zeus replied finally, his voice low. "And now… the sea reclaims what was once lost."

Chronos turned his gaze to the brazier and whispered a final warning.

"The waves will rise, and Olympus will drown in its pride."

Then he vanished.

The chains dropped, lifeless, smoking on the marble floor.

They had run out of time.