The water churned violently around Poseidon as though the ocean itself could sense his unease. Waves smashed against the jagged rocks, sending sprays high into the air, while the currents beneath twisted like serpents in agitation. Dominic—no, Poseidon—felt the pulse of something deeper, something not entirely his own, moving within his veins. It was Thalorin, ancient and vast, stirring ever so slightly.
His trident glowed faintly, its tip humming with latent energy. He stood upon the black cliffs, his sea-green eyes reflecting the moon's glow as the wind whipped through his hair. Though he now bore the mantle of a god, he could still feel the remnants of his mortal fragility—the heartbeat of a boy who had once lain dying in a hospital bed, dreaming of escape. That boy was gone, but his soul was still here, trapped in a body caught between two powers.
He tightened his grip on the weapon. The gods are watching me. They already sense the change.
