The sea was still reeling.
Even after Poseidon redirected the divine bolt, even after the skies settled, the ocean whispered in confusion. Creatures scattered from their homes. Currents changed course without warning. The tides had memory—and something had scarred it.
But below all that…
Something was moving.
Deep beneath the Hollow Sea, past the trench's end and the submerged temples of the Old Choir, there was a place known only to the oldest.
Thalorenn.
A forgotten gorge wrapped in chains of silence. Not even gods visited it anymore.
It wasn't on maps.
It didn't echo with prayers.
It sank memory.
And there… the chains were rattling.
A Whisper Named Graxion
The first sound was not a roar, but a whisper.
A wordless breath that curled around rocks and bones.
The sea around Thalorenn turned black—not with ink or shadow, but with ancient intention.
And in the middle of it, an eye opened. Massive. Slitted. Older than Olympus.
