The waves still trembled beneath Poseidon's feet, but he hardly noticed the trembling. His body was calm, yet inside, his blood roared like a storm. The voice of Thalorin echoed faintly within him, not as loud as in the Rift, but enough to remind him that the ancient being hadn't vanished. It lingered. It waited.
"You felt their eyes on you," the voice whispered. "You know Olympus will not let this pass quietly. They remember me. They fear me. And now… they fear you."
Poseidon tightened his grip on the trident. The sea wind lashed his hair, but it was not the wind he fought—it was the lingering doubt clawing at his chest. He had been given power, more than he had ever dreamed, but what did it mean if every god above saw him as a threat to be erased?
