Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 54: The crack

The crack in the altar pulsed.

Not like a wound.

Like a heartbeat.

Dominic hovered above it, trident still braced in hand, his other fist clenched tight. The surrounding water had gone heavy again—thick with pressure and silence. Every flicker of light from the broken glyphs made it feel like the shadows were watching him. The warmth in the water was gone. All that remained was a chill that clung to his bones.

The First Fallen was gone.

But her song still echoed faintly—like an aftershock after an earthquake.

And below the crack...

Something listened.

He stared down into it.

The light bleeding from the altar wasn’t golden or blue. It was pale, sickly white with hints of violet—like moonlight stained with regret. Every few seconds, a pulse rippled outward from the crack, shaking the ruins, making the ancient columns creak and moan as if they were waking from a centuries-old sleep.

> "You shouldn’t have sung," Dominic whispered aloud, his voice quiet in the vast space.

He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to.

The girl?

The sea?

Or himself?

---

From the edge of the ruins, something stirred.

A shimmer.

No—someone.

Dominic turned sharply.

It was Varun.

The hunter moved like a shadow gliding over the seafloor, his obsidian armor glinting faintly. A weapon strapped across his back pulsed in rhythm with the crack in the altar—as if it, too, felt drawn to whatever slumbered beneath.

> "You felt it," Dominic said, not surprised.

Varun’s eyes narrowed. "The whole ocean did."

He stepped closer.

> "That crack... it’s not just a seal breaking. It’s a door. One that shouldn’t exist anymore."

Dominic nodded. "I tried to stop her. The First Fallen."

> "You didn’t. You delayed her."

Varun circled the altar, keeping a hand near his weapon. He wasn’t looking at Dominic anymore—he was studying the glyphs, tracing their faded lines with the tips of his fingers.

> "These symbols... they’re older than Olympus. They were carved by the Deep Choir when they first tried to bind what they feared."

He paused.

> "But something’s missing."

Dominic frowned. "Missing?"

Varun pointed to a blank space on the altar, just above the crack.

> "There was a sigil here. A final lock. Something the Choir refused to speak of. But it’s been removed."

Dominic stepped closer. "By her?"

Varun shook his head. "No. It was gone long before she came."

They exchanged a glance.

Who else knew this place?

And what else had they done?

---

Suddenly, the water above them rippled.

A presence descended—not divine, but heavy.

Maelora.

She drifted down like a ghost wrapped in storm clouds, her eyes distant and focused, mouth set in a grim line. No longer wearing the regal blues of her old palace, she now bore armor made from sunken ship metal and eelbone, laced with symbols from all corners of the sea.

> "You found it," she said, voice calm.

Dominic didn’t answer. Neither did Varun.

> "The gods won’t come here," she continued. "They know what lies beneath this place. They remember the silence it cost them."

Dominic tilted his head. "But you came."

She looked at him, then at the crack.

> "Because someone must witness what happens next."

She approached the altar, running her fingers along the glowing edge of the crack. Her fingers flinched as the light licked her skin.

> "It’s breathing," she said softly.

Varun nodded. "It wants out."

Maelora looked back at Dominic. "So what now, Poseidon’s heir? Will you fight it? Seal it again? Or let it rise?"

He didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he knelt beside the crack and placed the trident over it, carefully aligning it with the missing sigil.

The energy flared—but didn’t reject him.

The trident pulsed once, then dimmed.

> "It’s waiting," he said. "Not for me. Not for any of us."

He looked up.

> "It’s waiting for a decision."

Maelora and Varun exchanged glances.

This wasn’t a creature to slay.

It was something that remembered everything.

Every war.

Every betrayal.

Every time the sea had been used.

And now...

...it wanted to decide whether the world deserved another chance.

Dominic stood, eyes blazing.

> "If we leave this crack open, it will grow. The sea will become something none of us can control. Not gods. Not kings."

Varun stepped forward. "And if we seal it, we may erase a truth the world needs."

Maelora’s voice was quiet now. "So we must choose."

The three of them stood around the altar, the crack pulsing steadily beneath their feet.

And far below, in the darkness that stretched beneath the scar...

...something began to stir.

A shape.

A shadow.

A soundless song of sorrow.

Dominic’s heart pounded.

> "We have one chance. If this rises... the sea will judge us all."

The light from the crack flared—brighter than before.

And then—

CRACK!

A second fracture raced through the altar.

Not small.

Not controlled.

This wasn’t waiting for their decision anymore.

The sea had decided.

The second crack shattered like thunder through the deep.

It raced across the altar like a lightning bolt, splitting centuries of ancient stone and tearing through glyphs long thought unbreakable. The sound didn’t travel like normal. It rippled—a thick, pressure-heavy boom that echoed across the trench, sending fish fleeing and sediment spiraling upward like underwater dust.

Dominic staggered back, gripping the trident as the ground beneath him trembled. Maelora raised a shield of current with her palm, while Varun drew his curved blade, scanning the shadows with hunter’s eyes.

From the crack, a stream of pale light—no, not light—energy leaked like smoke.

Alive.

Shifting.

And behind it... something stirred.

> "It’s awake," Varun said grimly.

> "No," Maelora corrected. "It’s listening."

The water around them grew dense, thicker than before. It felt like swimming through grief. Through centuries of broken promises and ancient pacts long forgotten. The ocean was speaking—but not in words.

In judgment.

Dominic tightened his grip. He could feel the sea asking a question it had no words for:

> "Are you worthy of what you inherited?"

The trident began to vibrate violently in his hands. Not resisting him—syncing. Like it was trying to channel a message into him.

Dominic braced himself—

FLASH.

In an instant, he wasn’t in the ruin anymore.

He was standing on an ocean floor that didn’t exist.

Above him, the sky wasn’t water—it was stars. But he was still submerged.

He stood in a ring of titanic statues—long-forgotten sea deities, not just from Olympus, but from older, drowned pantheons. Their eyes glowed faintly. Watching. Judging.

At the center, a throne of coral and bone sat empty.

Until it wasn’t.

A figure appeared—massive, cloaked in kelp and salt, faceless, yet with presence so vast Dominic nearly fell to his knees.

It didn’t speak.

But it showed.

Dominic saw Poseidon—young, proud, raising walls of water to bury armies. He saw the ocean, pure and balanced, before the gods bent it to their will. He saw sirens born of sorrow, not malice. He saw mortals begging for rain, and the sea answering not with thunder, but kindness.

Then... he saw betrayal.

The gods taking the ocean’s voice. Locking away its will. Twisting its children into weapons. And finally...

The scar.

The last scream of the sea, buried so deep the world forgot it.

Until now.

Dominic gasped, clutching his chest.

The vision vanished.

He was back in the ruin.

The trident still vibrated—but softer now. Like it had finished speaking.

Maelora looked at him, her face pale. "What did you see?"

Dominic didn’t answer right away.

He looked down at the crack.

Then at her.

> "The ocean was never ours to command," he said quietly. "Not even Poseidon’s. It was alive long before Olympus. We weren’t meant to rule it. We were meant to listen."

Varun’s eyes darkened. "So what do we do now?"

A low groan echoed from the trench—something rising.

Slow.

Purposeful.

Dominic stepped forward, raising the trident high.

> "We answer."

And the sea did.

A towering current exploded from the crack, swirling like a vortex of judgment. It didn’t attack. It didn’t consume.

It simply watched.

Dominic stepped into it.

He let it wrap around him—cold, ancient, curious.

> "If I’m unworthy," he whispered into the current, "then take it all. The trident. The name. The power."

The current froze.

Then...

It faded.

Gently.

Almost like a nod.

And the crack began to seal—not completely, but enough.

Enough to say:

"Not yet. But we are watching."

---

Silence.

The ruins stilled. The pulsing stopped.

Dominic fell to his knees, exhausted.

Maelora knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. "You spoke for us all."

Dominic looked up at the sea above.

> "No. I just listened."

Far in the distance, across the sea, storms began to clear.

But not all of them.

Because the ocean remembered now.

And it had begun its judgment.

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