Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 52: The current

The sea didn’t celebrate.

No songs rose from the trenches. No banners of magic or coral flags marked Dominic’s name. Even the creatures of the deep—those who once stirred at Poseidon’s command—remained hidden, quiet in the shadows of ruined reefs and collapsed palaces.

Dominic drifted slowly through the current, the weight of the First Voice still humming deep in his bones. He didn’t know where he was going. Not really. Only that he couldn’t return to who he was before.

Above him, faint sunlight pierced through layers of water, casting soft patterns that danced across his skin. But beneath it all, there was something colder.

The silence.

Not just the silence of war’s end.

But the silence left behind by those who didn’t survive it.

He passed the remains of Lyrielle’s army—silent bones woven into kelp, weapons dulled by the current. He passed the shattered edge of Naerida’s throne hall, now just coral and ash. Her people were rebuilding, slowly, away from the center. She hadn’t spoken to him since the battle ended.

Not because she hated him.

But because she didn’t know how to speak to what he had become.

Dominic understood that.

He barely recognized himself anymore.

Still, the sea welcomed him. Not with words. Not with comfort. But with presence.

Every ripple. Every shift. Every tiny shell that rolled along the ocean floor... it acknowledged him.

He reached a ridge—one untouched by the war. It looked almost sacred, glowing faintly with bioluminescent threads that pulsed in patterns too old to read.

He landed softly and sat.

The trident rested beside him, silent.

And for a long time... he just breathed.

Not like a god.

Not like a weapon.

Just a boy.

A boy who had died once, forgotten in a hospital bed, with nothing but regret and a failing body. A boy who had been pulled into something massive, ancient, divine. A boy who had seen too much... and survived it.

For now.

But the sea would not remain still forever.

As he rested, something stirred in the distance.

It was faint. Subtle. A current bending where it shouldn’t bend. A hum beneath the floor that pulsed once—then faded.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Not fear. Not alarm.

Just awareness.

The silence was ending.

The stillness was never meant to last.

Dominic sat in the coral alcove, breathing slow, calm—but the sea had begun whispering again. Not in words, not in voices. In pulses. Subtle shifts in the temperature. Gentle movements of silt. A feeling in the chest, like something distant drawing closer, just outside of recognition.

He rose.

The moment he stood, the reef around him responded. Small fish scattered into shadows. Anemones closed their blooms. Even the quiet bioluminescent threads dimmed slightly.

Dominic gripped the trident—not out of fear, but instinct. It was lighter now. Not because it had lost power, but because he carried it differently. Not like a weapon. More like a memory.

He followed the pulse.

Each step took him deeper—beyond familiar terrain, into an ancient trench that bent downward like the fold in a forgotten scroll. The colors here were wrong: darker, greyer, tinged with hues that shimmered in and out of sight. Symbols etched into the rock flickered, as if they remembered being worshipped once, long before Olympus had ever looked down upon the seas.

And then he saw it.

A gate.

Or maybe not a gate—a veil.

Waves rippled through it, but the water on the other side didn’t match the current. It shimmered unnaturally, vibrating with something old. Older than the First Voice. Older than the deep.

It wasn’t locked.

It wasn’t guarded.

Because it didn’t need to be.

Dominic approached cautiously. A low hum began to crawl through his bones. Not a warning, but a reminder.

Whatever lay beyond was forgotten for a reason.

He reached out.

The moment his hand touched the edge, the veil trembled—and pulled him in.

Everything went white.

---

He didn’t land.

He floated—not through water, but through memory.

Images flashed around him: cities of crystal submerged in darkness, a throne carved from living stone, a figure—tall, draped in living tides—raising an arm to still an entire sea with a single breath.

This wasn’t the First Voice.

This was something else.

A guardian.

A prisoner.

And it was watching him.

> "You are not ready," a voice said, soft and vast.

Dominic turned. There was no body. No mouth. Just pressure. And presence.

> "Who are you?" he asked.

> "The one before names. The one forgotten after the first crown was forged. I do not rise. I do not command. I only remain."

> "Why show me this?" Dominic asked.

> "Because the sea has changed. And with it, so must its witness."

A flicker passed between them. Dominic’s chest pulsed. His vision turned blue.

And suddenly, he saw it—the scar.

Beneath the sea. Beneath even the vault.

A scar that stretched for miles, deeper than any god dared to swim. It pulsed slowly, like a sleeping heart. It was sealed once. Long ago. By voices that had no form and no allegiance.

Dominic gasped.

> "It’s still alive."

> "Yes," the voice replied. "And it has begun to dream again."

---

Dominic fell back into himself.

The veil spit him out, back into the trench—but the light had changed. The water was colder. And a single crack now ran across the ocean floor—one that hadn’t been there before.

He stood still for a long moment.

Then turned.

In the distance, he saw movement. Not fish. Not a creature.

A figure.

Slim. Covered in kelp and pale blue scales. Eyes white, glowing. A siren—but not like the others. Not Lyrielle’s kind.

Ancient. Primal. From the time before the Choir.

She didn’t speak.

She only pointed—toward the scar. Toward the place where silence wasn’t silence anymore.

Dominic took a breath.

> "It’s never really over, is it?"

The siren blinked once, then vanished into the shadows.

He followed.

The ocean shifted again.

Not through waves or pressure—but through memory.

Dominic swam through the shadowy path the ancient siren had shown him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The water around him had grown colder, heavier, and strangely... quieter, like it had been holding its breath for centuries.

The path led deeper than anything he had ever crossed. Beyond the trenches. Beyond the remains of Lyrielle’s lost armies. Beyond even the broken coral halls where siren songs once twisted tides.

There was no light here.

No sound.

Only pulse.

Steady.

Dull.

Like the echo of a heart that shouldn’t still be beating.

Dominic’s trident glowed faintly in the dark, casting silver-blue light ahead of him. It shimmered against the rocks, illuminating strange carvings etched into the walls—swirls and lines that seemed to ripple and move when not watched directly.

He glanced back once.

The siren was gone.

And ahead of him... it waited.

Then he saw it.

The scar.

It stretched across the ocean floor like a wound that refused to close—black and deep and breathing. It pulsed with low vibrations that vibrated in Dominic’s chest like someone knocking gently on his ribs.

This wasn’t just a crack in the earth.

It was a seal.

A forgotten one.

One that Poseidon himself had once locked, long before Olympus had ordered its silence. A rift in the world where something older had once tried to rise.

Dominic floated at its edge, staring down into the bottomless black.

The First Voice had warned him, in its own way.

So had the veiled memory.

This... this was the real threat.

Not Lyrielle.

Not the Choir.

Not Olympus.

But this.

He reached out with the trident. Not to strike. Not to force.

To listen.

The moment the tip of the weapon crossed over the scar, the water around him froze.

Literally.

A sudden, sharp cold burst from the trench and raced across the sea floor, turning drifting silt into frost, coral into brittle statues.

Then came the voice.

Not from the scar.

From within him.

> "You have seen. You have touched. Now you must decide."

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

This voice was not like the First Voice. It was smaller. Yet darker. Twisted.

It didn’t want to be understood.

It wanted to be heard.

And it was begging for release.

Dominic gritted his teeth. His vision spun—flashes of cities destroyed, oceans turned black, gods screaming in a war long erased from myth.

This was no memory.

This was prophecy.

A warning.

But the voice persisted, curling around his thoughts like fog:

> "Break the seal... and I will give you what they fear. I will give you the truth."

Dominic pulled back.

No.

Not yet.

Not without knowing more.

He turned sharply, shooting away from the scar. The trident dimmed, and slowly the water began to thaw behind him.

But the pulse never stopped.

He could feel it with every stroke.

The scar was waking.

The ocean had remembered too much.

And the deeper he went...

...the closer it came to remembering him back.

Follow current novels on (f)reew𝒆bnovel