Reincarnated As Poseidon

Darkness fell across the edge of the Aetheric Sea.

But it wasn't night.

It was presence.

From the broken seal left behind by Poseidon—once Dominic, now no longer either—a pulse of ancient energy spread across creation like a ripple through glass. It passed through the skies of Olympus, across the sunlit domes of the Cloud Sanctums, and dove deep into the trenches of the mortal oceans where even gods dared not tread.

And there, in the farthest chasm of the deep—The Abyssal Fold—something stirred.

Something older than Olympus.

Older than Thalorin.

A creature wrapped in flesh of coral and void, whose heart pulsed once every century.

The Abyssal Wyrm, the firstborn of the sea's hunger, opened its eyes for the first time in ten thousand years.

Its chains rattled.

Not broken. But weakening.

Because its jailor had just unsealed a part of the veil that kept the world in balance.

Poseidon's choice had consequences. And now, even the parts of the sea that had forgotten the name "god" remembered their rage.

---

Far above, in the Court of Celestium, the gods reconvened.

Fewer this time.

Seraphin was still healing, her left wing charred from the backlash. Nymera sat cloaked in shadows, her body coalescing slowly, barely holding form. Aegirion stood near the shattered threshold where Poseidon had vanished, staring into the lingering shimmer of divine water.

Zephyros paced, the storm around his head boiling. "He's crossed into the Veil of Forgotten Tides. That place wasn't meant to exist anymore."

"Then why does it?" Nymera's voice was cold. "Why was the door still there?"

No one answered.

Because the truth was clear.

They had never truly destroyed Thalorin.

Only delayed him.

Aegirion finally turned, his voice low. "We didn't see it. All of us. He wasn't just Dominic, and he wasn't just a rebirth. He was something that never should've been possible. A soul carrying two legacies… and neither side let go."

Zephyros narrowed his eyes. "You sympathize with him still?"

"No," Aegirion said, stepping away from the broken seal. "But I understand him."

Nymera tilted her head. "And that is what makes you dangerous."

---

Meanwhile, in the oceanic kingdom of Thalassara, a storm unlike any before gathered above the royal dome of Queen Naerida.

The sky darkened not from clouds, but from the spinning vortex of divine essence colliding. Inside the palace, Naerida stood barefoot in the center of the tide-circle, arms lifted as she summoned the Seaweave—a map of the ocean's very essence.

It shimmered with threads of light and currents, but one thing was clear.

A new current had emerged.

Unnatural. Primal. Pulling everything toward the Fold.

She turned to her war council.

General Tharos stood grim, his seadragon armor cracked from recent battle. "He's changed the flow, my queen. The sea bends around him. It's like the ocean is obeying its truest king."

Naerida's eyes tightened. "It's remembering."

"Remembering what?"

She whispered, "What it served before the gods."

---

And elsewhere, beyond mortal tides…

In the dead city of Asterone, hidden in the rift between stars and sea, Lyrielle stood before an altar soaked in the voices of the Deep Choir. Her eyes glowed with the same hue as the maelstroms now tearing through the mortal sea.

"They called him Dominic once," she said, smiling faintly. "They feared Thalorin. But now… they have something worse. They have both."

The choir behind her sang not in words, but frequencies that twisted the very structure of thought. Each note was a command. Each pause, a reckoning.

And Lyrielle, once a siren queen, now High Voice of the Abyss, turned to her followers.

"He walks the Forgotten Tides. He awakens the drowned. And we—" she stretched out her arms, "—shall meet him there."

---

Back at the edge of the Fold…

Poseidon knelt before a current that no one else could see. His hand hovered over the ocean floor, and ancient symbols glowed beneath his touch—runic words etched by the first beings of sea and star.

And there, in the silence of that forgotten place, Dominic's voice whispered through.

Not dominant. Not in control.

But still present.

"Why did you bring us here?"

Poseidon's voice replied inside the shared soul. "To finish what was started. To give the sea its voice again. They silenced it with thrones and gods. They made the waves forget."

"You'll lose yourself."

"I already did. When I let them kill you."

A silence followed.

Then Dominic said, softer, "So what now?"

Poseidon opened his eyes, and before him, the gates to the Drowned Sanctum appeared—towering coral columns carved from extinct leviathans, sealed for eons.

"We free the Deep."

He touched the seal.

And it shattered like sand in a storm.

From within, tendrils of water too ancient to be liquid emerged. Shapes that had once ruled the void between stars slithered forward.

They did not attack him.

They bowed.

---

Above, the skies darkened.

In Olympus, thunder rolled from the east.

Athena stood on the peak of Mount Etheron, her armor already strapped, spear glinting with dawnlight.

"Hermes!" she called.

The messenger god appeared in a flicker, face grim. "He's broken the Fold."

Athena nodded. "Gather the old guard. Bring Hephaestus. Call Hades. Even if he doesn't answer."

Hermes hesitated. "Are we… really going to war with Poseidon again?"

Athena's jaw tightened. "No. We're going to war with something worse."

Her gaze turned south—toward the sea.

"The reckoning has begun."

The air above the Temple of Astral Balance trembled, threads of divine essence weaving between clouds like serpents. The heavens, once calm and unbothered, now churned with power. A meeting of gods was not a common occurrence—especially not one as urgent and fraught as this.

Aegirion, the Azure Spear, stood first among them, his cloak drenched in ocean mist, eyes narrowed. "He's waking," he muttered, voice edged with reverence and fear. "Thalorin's presence is no longer just a whisper—it's a storm."

Around him stood deities from all realms—sunfire gods, tempest lords, forest matrons, and celestial judges. These were the divine titans, many of whom hadn't gathered in eons. Their forms flickered, not quite mortal, not entirely spiritual—each of them glowed with their domain's hue, and all carried the weight of millennia.

"Poseidon," whispered Yllaria, Goddess of Stars, her voice like distant bells, "or rather… Dominic, the vessel. Do we accept him as the new king of tides, or do we strike before he becomes irreversible?"

"We don't have time to debate," snarled Vaelros, the Flame King. "That boy is no longer Dominic. Thalorin is merging with him—slowly, yes, but soon he'll become something beyond even our reckoning. We must act—now!"

A gust of shadow followed his words as Morgrane, the God of Death, stepped forward. "Careful, Vaelros. Acting in haste is why we failed last time. We bound Thalorin to that realm, yes—but now he's found a host willing to embrace chaos. If we attack too early, we'll only strengthen their bond."

Aegirion's eyes darkened. "I saw him in the Rift. I fought him. The boy… Dominic, or Poseidon, whatever he chooses to be—he's already beyond our prediction. He wounded me. A mortal should not have been able to."

"But he's not mortal anymore," Yllaria said softly. "He's shifting."

A silence fell upon the court. They knew what it meant. When a vessel and a god became one, it was irreversible. The mortal mind would be consumed, reshaped. And this time, it wasn't just about Poseidon awakening—it was about Thalorin having a face, a will, and vengeance.

Then, with a crackle of thunder and a rip in the sky, another god descended.

The storm peeled open to reveal a figure cloaked in white and obsidian—a man whose very presence made the others take a cautious step back. His name was Zephyron, the Wind Arbiter.

He bowed his head. "Apologies for my lateness."

Vaelros scoffed. "You always arrive when the blood has already spilled."

Zephyron smirked, unaffected. "And yet I'm always the one left standing."

Aegirion raised a hand. "Enough. The tides are turning—literally. The mortal seas are reacting to Dominic's presence. Islands are being born from whirlpools. Maelstroms that should be impossible are appearing in every ocean. Poseidon is rising."

The court fell into heavy silence. Even the arrogant gods could not ignore such omens.

"We cannot risk all creation for sentiment," Morgrane said. "We tried reason. We tried waiting. I say we summon the Excision Pact."

That drew gasps. The Excision Pact was the gods' final answer—divine assassination. It meant removing the vessel completely, destroying both mortal and god to ensure equilibrium.

But Aegirion shook his head. "You didn't see what I saw in the Rift. Dominic… he resisted Thalorin. Not fully, but enough. He still fights to retain himself. If we give up now, we kill a chance—no, the chance—to reform what we broke long ago."

Zephyron added, "And he's gaining followers. Mortals are already flocking to him. He's beginning to represent more than just the sea—he's becoming a symbol."

"And symbols," Yllaria said gravely, "outlive even gods."

Just then, a great wave of power slammed into the court.

The gods staggered, eyes flaring as a vision burned through their minds. A trident stabbed into obsidian earth, roaring tides crashing against storm-split skies. A mortal boy—Dominic—stood in the center, hair swirling like seaweed in current, eyes flickering with aquamarine fire. Around him stood forms—vague, ghostly, familiar.

The Forgotten Pantheon.

The gods recoiled.

"He's unlocking the Old Thrones," Aegirion said, his voice hollow.

"No… he's becoming their beacon," Yllaria corrected.

From the shadows, another god finally spoke—the quietest of them all. Seradin, God of Echoes and Lost Names. "Then we have a choice. Either we strike… and risk enraging the world he's starting to bind. Or we let him ascend and find a way to bind him ourselves."

Vaelros clenched his fists. "And if he turns on us? If he decides that we are the true enemies of balance?"

"Then we pay for our sins," Zephyron said, coldly. "We were never innocent."

---

Meanwhile, at the edge of the mortal sea...

The tide had retreated unusually far.

Villagers along the coast of Aralor stared into the dry ocean bed, confused and nervous. The winds carried strange whispers, and the sun dimmed unnaturally.

And then the sea returned.

No—it attacked.

A towering wave, shaped like a monstrous serpent, rose from the deep. But it did not crash. It curved. Formed. Took shape.

And in the center, rising atop a crest of white-blue energy, was Dominic—no longer in mortal garb. His body was adorned in sea crystal armor, his skin glowing faintly, his hair alive with aquatic winds.

Behind him rose a throne of coral and stormcloud, carried by churning tides and ancient memories.

He no longer looked like a boy searching for answers.

He looked like a god.

The voice that came from his lips was not just his—it was theirs. His. Thalorin's. The sea's.

"I am the flood and the calm. I am Dominic… no—I am Poseidon, sovereign of the deep. And I have awakened not to destroy, but to restore. The gods will answer."

Across the world, every water body responded. Lakes turned still. Oceans churned. Storms halted in their course.

And in the heavens, the divine court watched with dread.

Aegirion closed his eyes. "It's too late to kill him now."

---

Back in the Hall of Ascension...

Zephyron turned to the others. "Then we prepare. Either we ally… or we prepare for war."

Yllaria whispered, "And if he refuses both?"

Aegirion's grip tightened around his trident.

"Then we drown... or we kneel."