The sea was restless that night. Waves hurled themselves against jagged rocks, frothing white as though the ocean itself rebelled against the presence of the new god who stood upon its surface.
Poseidon—no, Dominic, no… something else entirely—stared down at his reflection in the trembling water. The face staring back was his, yet not his. His eyes glowed faintly, pools of abyssal blue swirling with streaks of silver light, like whirlpools opening into eternity. Around his shoulders, the water rose and fell as if it obeyed his every breath, bound by an invisible tether.
This power is too much… he thought, clenching his fist. The water tightened, spiraling into a column before exploding outward into mist. His heart raced. For all his awe, there was dread, too—a gnawing awareness that the force within him was not entirely his own.
A whisper echoed in his skull, deep and resonant.
You are but the vessel. Remember this. When the tide rises, I rise. When you fall, I endure.
