Tides churned in reverse. Currents howled beneath the ocean skin. Creatures deep in the trenches stirred from generations of slumber, blinking eyes older than nations. And all across the oceans, one truth spread like salt through a wound: Dominic hovered in silence, water-light shimmering around him. The marks of the Old Ones pulsed gently across his arms, glowing like rivers of living ink. His voice had merged with the song beneath the sea. But he remained... Dominic. Varun was the first to speak. > "You don’t look like Poseidon anymore." Dominic’s lips twitched. > "That’s because I’m not." Maelora floated beside him, watching closely. She could still hear the hum—a low undertone in Dominic’s very presence, like a whale’s call woven with thunder. > "What did they give you?" > "A memory," he said. "A responsibility." > "And power?" she asked. Dominic met her eyes. > "Enough to drown cities." Elsewhere – Olympus Moves Zeus paced the lightning-lit floor of the Grand Hall. > "He’s joined with it." Athena stood near the divine mirror, her brow furrowed. > "Dominic isn’t like Poseidon. He doesn’t want domination." > "That’s what makes him dangerous," Ares growled. "He won’t rule. He’ll change things." Hermes appeared in a blink of wind and scrolls. > "The ocean pulses like it’s alive again. The Old Ones are singing. Dominic is... the note they needed." Zeus slammed his hand down. > "Then we answer with thunder." As they left the Vault, Maelora moved beside Dominic, quiet. > "You’re still you, right?" He looked at her, eyes glowing faintly blue. > "But you don’t feel like you." He didn’t answer at first. > "Because the ocean’s louder now. And I hear every scream it swallowed." She touched his shoulder gently. > "Don’t let them take you." He placed his hand over hers. > "I won’t. But I might have to go further than you’ll be comfortable with." They surfaced into the open sea. The sky was purple-black, clouds circling like vultures. But it wasn’t a storm from Olympus. The waves began to swell—slow at first, then rising in force. Creatures long thought extinct swam past in packs. Giant serpents. Living trenches. Songs no human had heard in millennia rang in the current. Far across the sea, Lyrielle sat on her coral throne, her fingers pressed to her temple as the call echoed through her mind. > "He’s done it. He’s taken the tide." The Choir behind her began to hum in dissonant tones. One of her guards stepped forward. > "Shall we sing back?" > "No," she snarled. "Let him think the sea is his now. Let him dance in their song." Her voice, suddenly soft. > "We will teach him that even endless tides... can be broken." --- ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NovᴇlFɪre.nᴇt On the reef cliff, Dominic stood with the waves crashing behind him. Revealing a deep fissure glowing with blue veins of living memory. > "The sea is awake again." His voice echoed for miles. > "I am not a god. I do not demand worship. But if you bring war to the water again..." > "You will remember what it means to drown." From the edge of the Underworld’s sea, Hades stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the horizon. Cerberus growled low beside him. Persephone stepped forward. > "Yes," Hades said. "The ocean sings louder than Tartarus." > "The dead beneath the sea... are waking." The sea was no longer quiet. Not in the cracks where forgotten things slept. And as Dominic stood at the edge of his newfound tide-born power... Lyrielle’s Coral Fortress – The Deep Red Wake The walls of Lyrielle’s domain pulsed like a living heart. The throne, jagged and twisted with dark reef bone, cast long shadows through the chamber. She stood at its center. Crowned in sapphire scale. Her song already coiling through the veins of the sea. The Sirens of her Choir—once silent—had begun to hum. Low. Discordant. Hungry. > "He’s bold," she said. "The sea hears him. But that doesn’t make him king." She turned to the Choirmistress, a blind siren draped in layers of kelp silk. > "Send them," Lyrielle whispered. The Choirmistress nodded, placing a blood coral fang against her lips. A sound rippled outward—not music. Not scream. Something in between. The Deep Choir had been unleashed. Nearida’s Palace – A Stir in the Current Inside her tranquil sanctuary, Queen Nearida froze mid-sentence as the coral throne pulsed beneath her. > "...The Choir?" she murmured. Her seer floated forward, pale and shivering. > "They’re not singing for peace, my Queen. They are... testing. Searching." > "For Dominic," she said, eyes narrowing. > "No," the seer replied. "For weakness." Dominic Feels the Change From the reef where Dominic stood, the water vibrated oddly. Not from pressure. Not from current. He turned, eyes flicking over the endless blue. Maelora’s voice was soft. > "They’re coming, aren’t they?" > "Yeah," he said. "Lyrielle’s Choir. Not just to listen. To tear pieces off the sea and see what bleeds." Varun gripped his blade. > "No," Dominic said, already diving. "We move." As they swam, she kept close beside him. > "The Choir isn’t like the rest. They don’t just destroy. They unravel. Piece by piece. One mind at a time." Dominic’s eyes glowed. > "Then we don’t let them near minds." > "Too late," she said. "You can already hear it, can’t you?" He paused mid-motion. In the water—threaded so faintly—it was easy to miss. The First Strike – The Drowned Ones Rise Across a coastal trench near an abandoned siren spire, a colony of seafolk suddenly froze. Their eyes glazed. Mouths opened... and they sang. Their song twisted the current. One of the Drowned Ones. Creatures who once served the old siren queens, stripped of identity, turned into weapons. Its form was bloated with salt. Limbs wrapped in broken coral. Its mouth sang without sound. And it moved toward the reef... Back to Lyrielle – Watching with Joy The Choirmistress knelt. > "The first has risen." Lyrielle smiled slowly. > "Dominic may hold the sea’s voice... but we still hold its echoes." > "Send the Second Choir. Let the sea bleed music." Dominic Confronts the Drowned The creature struck without warning. Dominic turned just in time to throw a wave shield—but it cracked under the force. Maelora darted in, spear slashing, but it barely scratched the Drowned. > "It’s not alive," she gasped. "Not fully!" Varun came from above, driving his blade deep into its back—only to be flung across the reef. The Drowned One opened its jaw. The song pierced his mind like ice—digging into his memories, twisting them, turning joy into pain, pain into confusion. He saw his mother’s hospital bed. He saw Poseidon’s smile turning into a sneer. He saw Maelora bleeding. > "Dom!" Maelora’s voice broke through. His eyes snapped open. He threw both hands forward. A tidal surge, thick with memory and rage, exploded from him. The Drowned One shattered. Dominic gasped for breath, trembling. > "That wasn’t just a monster..." Maelora knelt beside him. > "It was part of a song." He looked into the black sea ahead. > "Then I need to learn how to sing louder." Athena placed a shell to her ear. > "He survived the Choir’s first strike." > "Then the second will not be so kind." Even as the pieces of the Drowned One dissolved into salt and silence, a deeper pressure built in the water. The Second Choir was coming. And this time, they weren’t sending a corpse. They were sending singers. Nearida’s Palace – The Shiver of Foresight Queen Nearida stood by the spiraled window of her coral tower, her pale hair drifting in coils. The pressure in the current. The subtle hum of a song not yet sung, but already echoing through the reef. > "They’ve begun the next verse," she whispered. Her seer, clutching at her head, dropped to her knees. > "Your Majesty... the Second Choir isn’t meant to break the body." > "Then what do they break?" Dominic sat at the edge of a trench, hands pressed to the cold stone, listening to the pull of the sea. The Vault had changed him. He didn’t just feel water now—he understood it. It was speaking. And it was afraid. Maelora stood behind him, arms crossed, watching carefully. > "Another wave is coming." > "I know," he said, eyes closed. "But this one won’t attack with force." He touched his temple. > "They’ll try to sing me apart." Lyrielle – Conducting the Second Choir At the Hollow Spiral—deep beneath the drowned city of Theraza—Lyrielle raised both arms. Floating around her were seven sirens—each of them blindfolded, mouths stitched with thread of moon-glass. And the Choir responded—not with music, but with memory. Each siren’s mouth opened—not to speak, but to echo the regrets, sorrows, and losses of whoever heard them. > "Sing to him what he fears most," Lyrielle commanded. > "Make the sea his cage." The Second Choir approached Dominic’s location not with waves... but with stillness. The water went dead quiet. Even Maelora’s voice faded like it had been swallowed. Dominic rose to his feet. Seven shadows approaching. Not fast. Not violent. Just... inevitable. > "They’re not here to kill me." > "Then what—?" Maelora asked. > "They’re here to rewrite me." In his ears—his mother’s voice. > "You never mattered." > "We did all we could. He was just a boy." > "It should have been someone else." He dropped to one knee, hands on his head. Maelora rushed to him. But she couldn’t hear the song. Not fully. It was meant for him. One of the Choir reached out—gently. Lovingly. Its hand brushed Dominic’s temple. And he remembered every moment he regretted. Every life Poseidon had destroyed. Every time he ran instead of fought. Every voice he couldn’t save. A different song rose. Low. Broken. But defiant. He was singing. Off-key. Terribly. > "Yo ho ho... a sea with no rum... no fun..." > "What the hell are you doing?" > "I’m making noise," Varun grinned. "Loud, dumb, annoying noise." Dominic gasped. The illusion cracked for a second. > "Keep singing!" Maelora yelled. > "You’ll regret that," Varun laughed. He bellowed louder. Worse. He sang a sailor’s lullaby with zero tune. Maelora added a chant of her own. The harmony of imperfection battled the deadly perfection of the sirens’ song. Dominic stood up slowly. The marks on his arms flared. His voice—deep. New. Commanding. > "I’ve heard your grief. I’ve drowned in it. But I won’t become it." Not a perfect note. Not holy. The note of a boy who lost everything... and kept going anyway. And like glass struck by lightning, they shattered—turning to foam that sank into the deep. The silence that followed was... honest. Varun flopped onto his back, still humming. > "I think I broke a rib from singing." Maelora pulled Dominic into a half-embrace. > "I think... I just told the sea who I really am." > "Then maybe it’s time the sea stopped listening to the past." Far away, Lyrielle’s throne cracked. The Choirmistress wept black tears. Lyrielle bared her fangs. > "Then we sing no more."