Reincarnated As Poseidon

The air above the sacred chambers trembled.

Onyx clouds had begun to coil over the Heavens' Fourth Ring—The Sanctum of Accord, where the Elder Gods convened in peace only during moments of grave danger. Today, the peace was a fragile illusion, for beneath the platinum floors and golden-laced arches, discord thrummed like a war drum.

Aegirion stood at the centre, his azure eyes dim with stormlight.

"Thalorin's awakening cannot be dismissed as a ripple," he began, his voice echoing throughout the Sanctum. "It was a surge. The boy is no longer human. Nor merely a vessel. He is transforming—into what, we do not yet fully understand."

Across from him sat Alatheia, goddess of memory and judgment, her silvery hair cascading like moonlight. She studied him with narrowed eyes.

"The Pantheon sleeps," she said coolly, "and yet, you propose we awaken them. You forget the price of their wrath."

"I forget nothing," Aegirion snapped. "But you all saw it—when Thalorin roared inside Dominic, half the Rift was swallowed into oceanic collapse. That was no accident. That was control."

"I saw panic," muttered Zalek, god of iron and flame. "Not control. The boy flailed. Thalorin broke through only because the boy's emotions were out of control."

"Which is exactly why we cannot wait!" Aegirion slammed his staff against the marble floor. "Every day he grows stronger. And every god who turns a blind eye feeds the storm."

A tense silence followed. In the distance, the chime of the Astral Bells rang—low and slow.

It was not a call to prayer.

It was a warning.

---

Far below, in the broken realm of Aeristheas, Poseidon stood atop a shattered cliff, the wind lashing against him as waves roared below.

He had not returned to the seas yet.

Not fully.

Not until he understood what he had become.

His body had stopped aging. He felt no fatigue. When he plunged his fingers into the stream, the entire riverbed answered, bowing, quivering. Fish no longer fled. The very water obeyed.

But something within him remained silent.

Thalorin.

The ancient water god had not spoken since their fusion weeks ago. Poseidon—Dominic—was left to grapple with a hollow vastness in his chest, as if part of him was now the ocean itself. He barely slept. When he did, he dreamed not of skies, but of trenches so deep they suffocated even the light.

A ripple disturbed the water behind him.

He turned slowly.

A figure emerged from the river—dripping, radiant.

"Neria," Poseidon said softly.

The goddess of tidal harmony stood barefoot, adorned in robes of seafoam and pearls. She was one of the few who had once served as Thalorin's consort before the great purging of the sea gods.

"You've changed," she said, voice delicate, yet laced with fear.

"You all say that," he replied bitterly. "But none tell me what I've become."

Neria approached, kneeling by the stream. "Not what. Who. You are no longer Dominic. That name belongs to your mortal skin. You are the resurgence of Poseidon… and perhaps something more."

He tensed. "Say it."

She raised her gaze. "The ancient name. The one Thalorin once wore before he was broken into echoes. If that is what stirs in you… then not even Olympus will be able to contain you."

Poseidon turned from her. "I never asked for this."

"You never had a choice. But your enemies—" she paused, sensing a tremor in the distance—"they are gathering. The storm gods have begun to whisper of containment."

"Let them whisper," Poseidon said, stepping toward the cliff's edge. "If they fear me, they should."

---

Back in the Sanctum, Aegirion's argument had reached its tipping point.

"I motion to remove the veil of neutrality on Dominic's transformation," he declared. "We cannot treat him as a boy touched by divine essence. He is a contender now. A rising god."

"No," came a sudden voice.

All heads turned.

From the shimmering gate of moonlight emerged Evanos, god of dusk and divine transition. He rarely attended meetings—except when destinies shifted irreparably.

"The boy… Poseidon, as he must now be named, is no mere accident of fate," Evanos said. "He is the harbinger. The return of the broken line."

Zalek scoffed. "What broken line?"

"The Trine of the Deep," Evanos said. "Thalorin. Marexia. Velundar. Three brothers born of the First Sea. The bloodline that once ruled the waters across all realms. Poseidon is the reincarnation of their combined might."

The chamber darkened.

"And you believe he'll serve us?" Alatheia asked sharply.

"No," Evanos said. "I believe he will replace us."

Gasps filled the chamber. But Aegirion only narrowed his eyes. "Then we act now."

---

In the mortal realm, lightning split the sky.

Poseidon's eyes glowed faintly blue as a ripple tore across the lake below him. His fingers flexed, and the water obeyed, rising into a sphere around his hand.

Then… a voice.

"You must go deeper."

He turned sharply.

It was inside him.

"Thalorin?"

The voice was neither warm nor cruel.

"You skim the surface. The oceans in you remain asleep."

"Then wake them!" Poseidon growled.

"Only you can do that. Dive into the Abyss. Let go of the name they gave you. Let go of being Dominic."

He breathed in—sharply. Something cracked in his chest. A resonance like thunder underwater.

Poseidon collapsed to his knees.

His veins surged with cold. His mind fractured into ten thousand whirlpools.

He saw visions.

A throne made of obsidian coral, submerged in an endless chasm.

A trident, larger than mountains, buried beneath a city forgotten by even the gods.

A war—between water and flame—coming for the mortal realm.

And in all visions, he stood alone.

Not as Dominic. Not as the boy.

But as Poseidon—the Ocean Sovereign.

---

Back in the Sanctum, Aegirion had left the meeting early.

He walked alone toward his personal sanctum, but before he reached the steps, a presence greeted him.

From the shadows emerged Calypsa, goddess of veils, secrets, and forbidden fates.

"You are too loud," she whispered, brushing her raven hair back.

"And you are too silent," he retorted. "Why appear now?"

Calypsa leaned close. "Because I dreamed of him last night."

Aegirion blinked.

"He was not drowning. Nor gasping for air. He was smiling."

"Smiling?"

She nodded.

"Because," she whispered, "he knew something the rest of us forgot. The oceans do not fear the sky. It is the sky that breaks when the waves rise."

The divine halls of Aetherion trembled with a pressure that was neither wind nor weight—it was presence. Unseen yet oppressive, it poured down from the colossal thrones where the gods convened. Pillars of white-gold reached up endlessly into a starlit canopy, and beneath them, the gods stood—not as omnipotent deities—but as rulers with splintered allegiances, uneasy truces, and countless secrets buried beneath millennia.

Aegirion stood at the centre, still smoldering with residual energy. His silver eyes were narrowed, and the tip of his trident touched the marble floor, sending pulses of tidal magic through the very foundations of the Pantheon.

"She has spoken," he declared coldly, "and the tide of our existence shifts."

Whispers erupted among the divine. They didn't need to ask who "she" was. Even the most detached among them felt the ripple in the divine fabric when Thalorin, or rather, his new vessel—the reborn Poseidon—had awakened.

Across from Aegirion, cloaked in volcanic mist and glowing embers, stood Pyraxxus, god of Flame and Rebirth. His molten eyes narrowed behind his obsidian helm. "Do not assume the tides will drown fire, brother," he growled. "We all felt it. Thalorin's essence is unstable. If you allow it to take full root in that boy, you risk unleashing the Mad Sea once more."

"He is no longer just a boy," came a melodic, ice-laced voice. From the far northern archway, Isirielle, goddess of Frost and Eternity, emerged. Her gown trailed frost across the floor, turning the air crisp. "He has taken the True Name. Dominion has already begun reshaping itself around him. You felt it. The oceans obey not even you anymore, Aegirion. They pulse with his rhythm."

Aegirion clenched the haft of his trident. "That is why I called this council. Not for argument—but for resolution."

From a throne half-wrapped in night, half in gleaming light, a soft chuckle arose. Kael'thar, the god of Balance, leaned forward. His eyes—one black as midnight, the other shining gold—betrayed nothing.

"A resolution, you say?" he mused. "We've kept the boy hidden for centuries, sealing the Rift, silencing the rivers, sacrificing fragments of ourselves to bind Thalorin beneath the waves. And now, you want to let him reign free, because…what? He called himself Poseidon and the seas listened?"

A moment of silence followed. Aegirion didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a deep breath, gaze sweeping over the assembled pantheon.

"He was always meant to be more than a vessel," he said finally. "You know the Prophecy of the Deep Crown."

Isirielle nodded faintly. "And you know that if Thalorin consumes too much of Dominic's soul, there will be no Poseidon—only the Leviathan King returned."

"Unless…" Aegirion began, pausing to glance toward the entryway where faint thunder echoed, "we test him."

From the shadows walked Veydrax, the god of Storms and Chaos. Lean but imposing, his lightning-scarred skin crackled with arcs of violet energy. "A trial?"

"A rite," Aegirion corrected. "Let Dominic—Poseidon—stand among us. Let him prove that he is not merely the reincarnated fury of the Abyss, but the king who can master the very monster within."

"And if he fails?" Pyraxxus asked.

"Then I will strike him down myself," Aegirion said, voice like crashing waves.

The council descended into silence.

✦✦✦

Far from the shining halls of Aetherion, Poseidon stood at the edge of a ruined shoreline—what was once a small mortal village on the cusp of the Sea of Memories. Now, nothing but shattered remains lingered, twisted wood and bone buried in brine. The villagers had fled or perished weeks ago when the currents began to rage unnaturally.

He stared into the ocean, hands trembling slightly as the waves calmed at his mere presence. Behind him stood Neriah, one of the few sea-nymphs loyal to him—one of the few who recognized him not as a danger, but as a salvation.

"You're changing," she said softly, clutching her seaweed-cloak tightly. "Your eyes… they're deeper now. Less human."

"I don't feel human anymore," Poseidon whispered. "But I still remember what it meant to be Dominic. I still remember my mother's voice… the clinic… the scent of metal and bleach. The pain."

He turned, eyes now glowing faintly aquamarine. "But I also remember drowning. I remember the chains. The gods. The voice in the depths calling me 'Thalorin'—but I chose Poseidon. Not them. Not the currents. Me."

Neriah stepped forward. "Then hold to that name. Because soon, the others will come. They'll want proof. And some may try to kill you."

Poseidon nodded.

"Let them come."

✦✦✦

Back in Aetherion, the gods began shifting into a new formation. The Rite of Accord would commence on the morrow. But not all among them were willing to wait.

High above the mortal plane, beyond even the crystal stars of Aetherion, lay the Oblivion Maw, a place the gods refused to name openly. Within that shifting void, a form stirred.

He was neither among the gods nor entirely separate. A being born from forgotten divinity—Eshkar, god of Silence and Secrets.

Watching. Always watching.

His obsidian fingers curled as he sensed Poseidon's rise. And unlike the others, he smiled.

"The deep has chosen a voice," Eshkar whispered, "and the world will soon drown in the truth."

✦✦✦

In the oceanic halls of Thal'Velar—Poseidon's former prison—energy began to coalesce once more. Old seals strained. The bones of ancient Leviathans twitched in the silt.

Not everything that was sealed beneath the tides had accepted their slumber.

And now that their king had risen, they too would awaken.