"It's Poseidon," Demeter said, her voice quick and troubled. "Some of our people have reported finding traces of him… in Tartarus."
Nathan froze on the spot hearing that.
Poseidon.
He was dead.
Nathan was the one who killed him with Thanatos's Skill.
Yet the death of a god was never so simple. Immortality was a chain, and divine essence clung stubbornly to existence even when the body perished. Nathan knew this better than anyone.
It was Thanatos who had ensured the deed remained buried in silence. The god of death had locked Poseidon away in the lowest, most merciless abyss of Tartarus—so deep that even the other Olympians dared not cast their gaze there. Down in those fathomless pits, there would be no escape, no witnesses, no chance of resurrection. No one would hear Poseidon's voice recounting what had happened that day, when Nathan's hand ended his reign.
