Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 45: Olympus stirs

Scene I – The Cracks in the Marble

The wind on Mount Olympus howled colder than usual.

Where the divine halls once shimmered with eternal glory, cracks now spiderwebbed across the once-immaculate marble. The sky above churned with unpredictable storms, thunder clapping like the rage of a forgotten era.

Atop the highest terrace, where the gods often sat in idle debate, the thrones stood mostly vacant.

Only two figures remained.

Athena stood with her back straight, hands clasped behind her as she watched the clouds roil. Her silvery armor gleamed despite the storm, though the usual serenity in her expression had been replaced with concern.

Across from her, Hephaestus labored over a celestial forge embedded in the very bones of the mountain. Sparks danced like starlight as he hammered a golden plate etched with inscriptions lost to mortal scholars.

"You feel it too?" Athena asked.

Hephaestus did not stop hammering. "Even my forge trembles."

"Dominic’s tampering with the vault... The Choirs awakening... Lyrielle unleashing that song—"

"She should not have remembered that name," Hephaestus muttered, heat rising from his breath. "The Warden was never meant to stir again."

Athena turned, her jaw clenched. "And yet, we did nothing."

"No," Hephaestus corrected, "Zeus did nothing. The rest of us weren’t even consulted."

Athena’s silence was heavy.

"He will not sit idle much longer," Hephaestus warned.

---

Scene II – The Throne of Thunder

The doors to the Grand Hall of Olympus creaked open as Athena strode in.

The chamber, long forgotten by mortals, was veiled in divine shadows. Lightning flickered across the mosaic ceiling depicting the gods at war, their weapons raised, oceans and skies burning in the background.

At the center of it all sat Zeus.

He was not the roaring tyrant the world remembered. His beard had grayed, and his eyes held storms deeper than any mortal sea. His cloak was frayed, his hands calloused—not from neglect, but from restraint.

He had been watching.

And now, finally, he spoke.

"The Warden’s voice echoes again," he said quietly.

Athena bowed slightly. "I came to warn you."

"I need no warning, child," Zeus said. "I felt the Vault tremble. I saw Lyrielle’s defiance. And I saw Poseidon’s legacy reach back into the world like a serpent uncoiling."

"She’s protecting something," Athena said. "Or someone."

Zeus rose from his throne, his form illuminating the chamber with a pulse of lightning.

"Poseidon always was too soft. He thought he could tame the sea with love and bonds. He sealed the Warden... but not well enough."

Athena’s expression hardened. "He sealed it with blood. A cost none of us were willing to pay."

Zeus stepped closer, eyes blazing. "And now we may have to."

---

Scene III – The Gathering

Back in the shadowed colonnade of Olympus, other gods had begun to stir.

Hermes, his robes wind-tossed, appeared beside Athena with a worried frown. "Ares is sharpening his blade. Again. And Artemis refuses to leave her sanctum."

"Is Hades awake?" Athena asked.

Hermes hesitated. "He... has not spoken. But he felt it too. Something rumbled in the Underworld. Something even the shades fled from."

Athena’s eyes flicked to the sky.

"The sea is bleeding into the heavens. The harmony between the realms is fracturing."

"What do you propose?" Hermes asked.

She met his gaze. "A summit. For all gods—Olympian, Chthonic, Primordial. If the Warden rises, he will not stop at the sea. He is a devourer of realms."

Hermes paled.

Zeus’s voice boomed again from inside the chamber. "Then summon them. Every god who still draws breath or dares call themselves divine. Olympus must decide—"

He paused, staring into the sky.

"—whether we let the world burn or stop pretending we aren’t part of it."

---

Scene IV – In the Shadows of the Mountain

But not all gods walked in light.

From deep in a broken chasm beneath Olympus, a flicker of magic pulsed.

A hand emerged from the void—thin, bone-white, etched in old power. Fingers dragged across ancient obsidian as the being pulled itself up from a prison long lost to the minds of even the gods.

A mouth whispered.

"So... the Warden stirs... Then perhaps it is time I return to him."

The being smiled—a cruel, delighted curve.

"Poseidon’s heir will fall. And Olympus will drown."

A storm brewed above Mount Olympus—not one of nature, but of gods.

In the central amphitheater, bathed in the gold-and-stone glow of immortal flame, the thrones of power were no longer empty. One by one, the deities of Olympus had arrived, summoned by the tremors in the sea and the unraveling of ancient bonds.

Zeus stood at the apex, arms crossed, his face grim.

To his right, Athena sat in silence, scrolls of prophecy and war strategies at her side.

To his left, Hera watched with narrowed eyes, her presence both commanding and bitter.

Down the arc of marble stairs, Hermes lounged restlessly, and beside him, Ares flexed his gauntleted fingers in anticipation.

Even Hestia, long absent from divine politics, stood near the flame in the centre, her eyes closed as if listening to something far older than the council itself.

"Let it be known," Zeus began, his voice low yet thunderous, "that the old balance has fractured. The sea no longer answers to our silence. Lyrielle sings again. The Vault has cracked. The Warden stirs."

Murmurs echoed. Artemis lowered her hood. Demeter frowned.

"Poseidon’s heir," Hera sneered. "That boy’s defiance is the root of this rot."

Athena cut in, "Dominic may be Poseidon’s reincarnation, but he’s more than a puppet. He resisted Lyrielle. He’s not the threat—yet."

"Yet?" Ares laughed. "He’s holding a trident that carved the seas into obedience. If he breaks, we’re finished."

"The seas are already breaking," Hestia whispered, eyes opening. "The Deep Choir sings beneath the oceans. And I have felt the return of something even older..."

Zeus nodded grimly.

"We will act."

---

Scene II – Beneath the Vault of Echoes

Far from Olympus, in the ruins of an ancient underwater temple buried deep in the crevice beneath Thalorenn, something stirred.

Not all gods had come to Olympus.

One had lingered in exile—Delkarios, a forgotten sea deity cast out during the First Sundering. Damaged by the wind and sea, with eyes like cracked coral and a face carved by pressure and time, Delkarios moved with a slithering gait, his body wrapped in torn kelp and barnacle-plated armor.

Around him, deep-sea leviathans floated as still as statues, bound by his dark pulse.

"So the gods speak again," he rasped, running his claws along a piece of the original Vault stone.

"Poseidon’s vessel bleeds," he hissed, "and the Warden returns. But they forget me. They forget the first storm."

A pulse of magic spiraled around his skeletal trident—Cavaryn, the Trident of Abyssal Reversal—crafted in ancient hate before even Olympus rose.

"I shall remind them."

He turned to his followers: siren-turned-monsters, abysswalkers, and forsaken sea warlocks.

"We rise with the Deep Choir... and we drown the divine in silence."

---

Scene III – In the Sky of Fires

Elsewhere, high above the mortal realm, a dark-winged figure hovered just beyond Olympus’s reach.

Nyx, the primordial of Night, watched from the veil between stars, her eyes unreadable.

Her daughter, Nemesis, hovered beside her, looking down at the council.

"They scramble."

"They fear," Nyx murmured. "They see the consequences of neglect. Of forgetting that the world’s first forces still stir in their bones."

"Will you intervene?"

Nyx smiled thinly. "No. But I will watch."

Then she vanished, swallowed by shadow—leaving Nemesis to choose her path.

---

Scene IV – The Word of the Sea Witch

Meanwhile, deep in the war-torn region of the Inner Depths, Maelora—the Sea Witch who vanished during Lyrielle’s last attack—emerged again, this time in a coral-broken field.

Blood still darkened the water from the Choir’s earlier assault on Naerida’s borders.

Maelora hovered over the remains of shattered sea spirits. Her hair moved like ink, eyes glowing red as she traced sigils with a hooked finger.

"The threads fray faster than I thought," she whispered.

A voice responded from behind her.

"You knew it would come to this."

Maelora turned.

Standing amidst the blood-drenched seagrass was an unexpected figure—Varun, not the god, but the once-mortal guardian of the Storm Lantern, reborn with echoes of ancient divinity.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said coldly.

"I need answers," he replied. "Dominic has awakened things none of us understand."

Maelora tilted her head. "You mean like the creature beneath Thalorenn? Or the trident in Delkarios’s hands?"

Varun flinched. "So it’s true."

She walked past him, hair brushing his shoulder like seaweed. "Everything is true now. The rules are dissolving. The oceans will decide which gods remain."

He stared into the abyss ahead. "Then I hope Dominic’s ready."

Maelora didn’t respond.

She simply smiled—thin and sharp—and vanished into the current.

Back to Olympus**

The skies of Olympus were streaked with divine light, the clouds darkened as if bracing for war.

In the Hall of Decrees, Zeus stood before the gathered gods, his sceptre pulsing with raw lightning. Every god present could feel the tension crackle, ancient authority colliding with rising panic.

"We cannot sit idle," he thundered. "The seas tremble. The Vault has been cracked. Delkarios stirs from the abyss, and Lyrielle’s Choir has already tested Naerida’s palace."

"Then send me," Ares growled, his bloodlust barely restrained. "I will drag Delkarios out by the spine."

"No," Athena interjected calmly, her voice slicing through the tension. "This is no battle of blades. This is prophecy unfolding. We send one who understands war and wisdom."

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