Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 39: Long time Ago (poseidons past)

From the blackest trenches to the forgotten sunken halls, something had woken—and now it whispered through every current, every ripple, every breath of the sea.

Dominic held Lyrielle tightly as she convulsed in his arms. Her skin had gone pale, and her veins glowed with faint, violet light—like cursed ink flowing backward through time.

"Athena, what’s happening to her?"

Athena knelt beside them, examining her quickly.

"She’s tethered to the Choir. When the Deep stirred, it called them all back. But she’s the only one who left the fold. That makes her a fracture in its song."

"She’s going to die?"

Athena looked up.

"No. Worse. She’s going to become its voice."

---

Dominic’s grip tightened.

"No."

He placed a hand over her chest. Water flickered around his palm, forming sigils not taught in temples or scrolls. His will forced them there.

Lyrielle’s breathing steadied. Slightly.

Athena raised an eyebrow. "You did that on instinct."

"The Trident remembers," Dominic said, standing. "And I’m starting to remember too."

He turned to the spiraling glyphs on the Stillwater wall.

One by one, they were lighting up.

---

Far above them, the ocean turned dark.

The moonlight no longer reached the surface.

It was as if the sea had taken a breath—and was holding it.

Then, in the distance, thunder rolled. Not from the sky... but from the depths.

Ships began to sink without warning.

Creatures not seen since the First Tide clawed their way up reef walls.

And beneath Maelora’s spires, the Choir returned.

They moved like shadows with mouths, humming notes too ancient for mortals. A tide of them drifted toward Queen Naerida’s dominion.

---

Cut to: Naerida’s Palace — Coraline War Room

The War Council stood tense.

Projected maps hovered over coral orbs, glowing with the energy of the sea’s ley-lines.

General Seryon, the commander of Naerida’s Trenchguard, pointed to a glowing line streaking through the northern reefs.

"This wasn’t here yesterday."

Naerida, dressed in battle armor of sapphire and bone, frowned.

"Is it a ley disturbance?"

Seryon shook his head. "No. It’s a pulse. Something’s singing. Loud enough to warp currents."

A lesser siren burst into the room.

"Your Majesty! Scouts confirm: The Choir is on the move. And they’re not killing. They’re just... passing through."

Naerida’s eyes narrowed.

"Toward what?"

The siren hesitated.

"...Toward the Hollow."

---

Back in Stillwater

Lyrielle opened her eyes, barely whispering.

"It’s coming. Not to kill. Not to conquer. But to remember."

Dominic stared into the flickering depths.

"Remember what?"

Her gaze locked with his.

"Why Poseidon broke the ocean."

---

Athena turned away from the entrance, clutching her spear tighter.

She could feel them now—entities swimming just beyond her field of vision. Sea spirits that had been silent for millennia, suddenly awake and restless.

"I need to return to Olympus," she said. "Zeus must be warned. The seas are shifting too violently, even for the gods."

"No," Dominic said firmly. "You’ll only stall them. We can’t stop this with old pacts and godly threats."

Athena raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you suggest, Reincarnated God of the Sea?"

Dominic turned to the Trident.

"I find the Choir’s origin. I face them. Not as a prince. Not as a vessel. As the one who broke them in the first place."

---

Meanwhile: In the Hollow

The Deep God stood tall now.

It no longer slithered.

It no longer wept.

It remembered its dominion.

The Choir circled it, their songs growing louder. Layers of harmony spiraled upward, until even the ocean’s surface quivered.

In its claws, it held an ancient crown.

Not Poseidon’s.

But one older. Twisted by time.

"Bring me the one who carries the Trident," it spoke in a tongue that splintered coral.

"I must remember how I died."

---

Back at Stillwater

Athena stepped into a vortex, vanishing in a beam of stormlight.

Lyrielle tried to rise, failing. Dominic steadied her.

"You can’t stop it alone," she whispered.

He smiled faintly.

"I know."

He turned, walking toward the outer corridor of the cavern.

"But I’m not going to stop it."

He raised the Trident.

"I’m going to remind it who it’s messing with."

---

Cliffhanger Ending

Far in the distance, the sea floor began to crack open.

Beneath it, something ancient—something even older than the Choir—opened a single, glowing eye.

And smiled.

Thousands of years ago...

Before the gods carved Olympus into the sky.

Before mortals dared sail past the mist.

Before the sea had a name—

There was only Thalorenn.

A living sea, boundless, wild, sentient.

And from Thalorenn’s belly rose the Firstborn. Not gods. Not mortals. But something in between.

They were neither man nor beast. They were voices.

And the ocean sang through them.

They were called The Choir.

---

They were the sea’s memory, its guardians, its lament. Each one held a note of Thalorenn’s will — its sorrow, its fury, its hunger.

They didn’t speak.

They sang their wars.

Their courtship.

Their rage.

Each conflict was a symphony. Each alliance a harmony.

And for a time... the ocean was pure music.

Until Poseidon arrived.

---

He was not yet a god then. He was a visitor — a young, proud immortal with eyes like storms and a heart full of ambition.

Poseidon fell in love with the sea.

And like all men in love, he tried to control it.

He saw the Choir and their chorus, and instead of wonder, he heard noise.

Instead of reverence, he felt jealousy.

He wanted the sea to sing for him alone.

And so he took the first Trident.

Not to rule the sea — but to silence it.

---

One by one, he hunted them.

The Altos, the Sophrans, the Siren Primes.

He broke their harmonies.

He sealed their mouths.

Some he banished to the Hollow, where their songs would never echo.

Some he killed, their voices sinking to the deepest rifts, forming silent tombs.

The sea mourned.

But he stood atop the silence and called it peace.

---

But Thalorenn remembered.

And it waited.

Through Leviathan wars.

Through Titanomachy.

Through centuries of human rule.

It waited for Poseidon to fall.

And now — it had him reborn. In mortal skin.

---

Present Day — The Deep Hollow

The ancient being, older than the Choir, opened both eyes now.

Its body was a shifting abyss, a mass of limbs and scales and mouths.

It spoke not in sound, but in memory.

> "You sealed your guilt in flesh."

> "Now it walks again."

> "Now it will unmake you."

The Choir around it hummed louder, their notes discordant now, chaotic.

Not a song, but a storm.

---

Cut to: Dominic, aboard a Leviathan beast near the Hollow’s edge

Lyrielle clung to the sea-saddle beside him, still weak but recovering. The waters vibrated with the sound of the Choir returning to full strength.

Dominic looked ahead, grim.

"They’re not singing anymore."

"They’re screaming," Lyrielle said.

He gripped the Trident tighter. Sparks of golden water flickered along its edges, ancient glyphs lighting up.

He could feel it now.

Not just their presence — but their history.

He’d done this.

Poseidon had made enemies of the very soul of the sea.

And now... he was being asked to answer for it.

---

Cut to: Olympus

Athena arrived in a vortex of lightning, only to find the throne room half empty.

Zeus was gone.

Hermes gone.

Even Apollo had left the heavens.

Only Hades remained, standing by the balcony, gazing down at the mortal world.

"Athena," he said, voice low. "You brought the storm to us early."

She stepped beside him.

"It wasn’t me. It was the sea. The Choir’s back."

Hades didn’t flinch.

"I know."

He turned to face her, dark eyes gleaming.

"I heard the song in the Underworld."

---

Back to Dominic — near the Choir

As they approached the Hollow, the temperature dropped.

Whale carcasses floated upward.

Currents flowed backward.

Dominic saw them now — the Choir in full, floating like sentient shadows, their eyes gleaming with resentment.

One broke from the others.

It was her.

The first of them. The Soprana.

She floated toward Dominic like a ghost from a forgotten opera.

When she opened her mouth, a note escaped — so pure, so sharp, it shattered the sea floor below them.

The Leviathan trembled.

Dominic stood.

"I’m not the man who silenced you," he said. "But I carry his sins."

The Soprana floated closer, her voice softer now. She reached out — not to attack, but to remember.

And when their fingers touched—

Dominic saw it.

---

Flash of visions:

Poseidon, drenched in blood, silencing the Choir.

Sealing their memories in vaults.

Planting lies in the minds of sea creatures.

Shaping history with a Trident that was never his to wield.

He gasped and stumbled back.

"I... I did this."

The Soprana nodded.

> "You did."

> "And now you must listen."

She gestured toward the Hollow.

Toward the true Deep.

Where the first sin of the sea still waited.

And slowly, it began to rise.

A shadow began to rise from the Hollow.

Not fast. Not loud.

But inevitable.

The water shook.

The Choir fell silent.

Even the Trident dimmed in Dominic’s hand.

Then, a voice older than Thalorenn echoed in his skull:

> "You took my voice. Now I take yours."

And in that instant—Dominic’s throat burned, his breath seized.

He reached for words—

But no sound came out.

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