Reincarnated As Poseidon-Chapter 56: Dominic 2

And now... the sea was starting to remember everything.

His hands trembled. Not from fear—but from recognition.

Faces flashed in his mind—ones he had never seen, but felt deeply familiar. A girl holding his hand under cherry blossoms. A father crying in a hospital. A younger version of himself coughing into a bloodstained pillow, wondering if he’d ever see sunlight again.

> "That wasn’t here," he muttered. "That was before..."

Before Poseidon.

Before the trident.

Before the sea.

Dominic. The boy. The dying seventeen-year-old.

He clutched his head, overwhelmed.

The ocean wasn’t just calling forth ancient power.

It was calling him back.

---

Meanwhile, the Memory Tide rolled forward.

From the Western Ridge to the Drowned Sanctum of Caelum’s Cradle, waves of glowing currents surged, carrying pieces of dreams—shattered, restored, confused. Some creatures grew mad from it. Others wept. A few ancient guardians rose from the seabed without knowing why, only that something inside them had awakened and longed to return.

Maelora stood still, arms out, feeling the pulse.

> "They’re not attacking," she said.

Varun’s eyes were locked on the horizon. "They don’t need to."

He pointed.

Across the reef, one by one, the tides turned color.

Not blood.

Not ink.

But light.

A soft, iridescent glow—shimmering like moonlight touching water.

The sea was responding to the Choir.

> "They’re changing the current," Maelora whispered.

> "No," Dominic said, his voice quiet and clear.

> "They’re changing the story."

---

Somewhere beyond the trench...

The First Fallen floated above a graveyard of sunken ruins.

Her eyes were closed.

Her lips barely moved.

But the sea listened.

Not just with sound—but with memory.

She whispered names not spoken in millennia—names of lost empires, forgotten oaths, broken hearts buried beneath coral tombs. She sang not with rage, but with longing.

And as she sang...

The Tidekeepers returned.

Massive, coiling beasts formed of seawater and bone, wrapped in ribbons of forgotten language. They stirred from their hidden sanctuaries and swam toward the song. Not as enemies.

As witnesses.

Because the Memory Tide wasn’t a weapon.

It was a summons.

To all who had ever belonged to the sea.

---

Back at the coral camp, Dominic gasped and collapsed to one knee.

The trident slipped from his hand and landed on the seabed with a dull thunk.

Maelora rushed to him.

> "What is it?"

Dominic’s voice was faint.

> "They’re not trying to win a war..."

He looked up, face pale.

> "They’re trying to rewrite it."

Maelora looked at him in shock. "Rewrite what?"

Varun was already stepping back, weapon drawn.

> "History," he muttered. "They’re rewriting history."

Dominic nodded.

> "They want the ocean to forget Olympus. Forget the gods. Forget Poseidon. Forget me."

A sharp crack of thunder echoed far above the water—from Olympus.

The gods were watching.

And they were not pleased.

---

Olympus, Edge of the Celestial Sea Gate

Athena’s eyes narrowed. "They’re undoing the weave."

Ares slammed his gauntleted fist into a golden column. "Then we strike. We end the choir. We kill the First Fallen."

But even Zeus looked uncertain.

Because this was no longer a battle of power.

It was a battle of memory.

And the sea had started to forget them.

---

Back in the depths, Dominic stood again.

He picked up the trident slowly, its glow now dim.

But not dying.

Only... changing.

> "They want to erase everything Poseidon left behind."

> "Then what do we do?" Maelora asked.

Dominic’s gaze turned toward the pulsing trench ahead.

> "We dive into the memory tide."

Varun raised a brow. "To stop it?"

Dominic shook his head.

> "To understand it. Before it becomes something we can’t."

---

As they swam toward the approaching glow, the sea shifted once more.

Familiar voices echoed faintly in the currents—not from this world, not from this time.

And far below...

The scar opened just a little wider.

Not in anger.

In welcome.

Because for the first time...

Dominic wasn’t swimming toward war.

He was swimming toward the truth.

The deeper they swam, the quieter everything became.

The usual creaks of coral, the soft hum of distant whales, even the throb of ocean currents... faded.

Dominic, Maelora, and Varun were descending into a silence older than sound itself.

Not deathly silence. Not peace.

Memory.

It wasn’t just a place—it was a presence.

They had entered the Sea’s most sacred domain, buried beneath layers of myth and rewritten history.

The Forgotten Trench.

Dominic’s trident began to glow again, but this time not with its usual blue. The light turned silver, then violet—soft and mournful. It reacted to something ancient in the walls around them. Something true.

He looked at Maelora. Her breath was shaky. Even Varun had slowed, his hand hovering near his blade.

None of them spoke.

Because down here...

Words didn’t matter.

Only memory did.

---

They passed broken monuments—some older than Olympus itself. Towering statues of deities no one prayed to anymore. Tablets written in glyphs that trembled when glanced at. Fossilized coral shaped like open mouths, as though the seabed itself had been mid-scream when frozen in time.

Dominic reached out, brushing one of the slabs.

FLASH.

A vision surged through him:

> A vast civilization beneath the sea.

A city of living crystal and fluid towers.

Merfolk and tidewalkers gathering around a single throne—not Poseidon’s.

A queen without a crown. Her voice soft, her eyes full of sadness.

She sang... and the sea bent gently to her.

Not in fear.

In love.

The image shattered like glass.

Dominic stumbled back, gasping.

> "She ruled before the gods," he whispered. "The sea... chose her."

Maelora helped him up, eyes wide. "Are you saying—?"

> "Poseidon didn’t conquer the sea," Dominic said. "He inherited it. From her. From the one the gods erased."

Varun stepped forward, silent for a long time. Then he said what they were all thinking.

> "We’ve been fighting on the wrong side of the story."

---

They reached the base of the trench.

There, embedded in the earth, was a vault.

Not like the Vault of Poseidon.

This one pulsed with grief.

It wasn’t sealed with gold or divine fire, but with memories—woven together like chains. Dominic could feel each one. Tragedy, betrayal, silence, love, sacrifice. All of it humming inside.

The trident in his hand pointed toward it.

Drawn.

He hesitated.

> "If I open this," he said, "I’ll see everything. Even what Poseidon buried."

Maelora nodded. "Maybe that’s the only way forward."

Dominic looked at them both.

Then plunged the trident into the seal.

---

The vault opened.

Not outward.

Inward.

Like being pulled into a heartbeat.

---

Dominic wasn’t in the trench anymore.

He stood in a hall made of water and light.

Echoes of voices surrounded him. Children laughing. Lovers whispering. Wars being planned. Songs being sung not in words, but in waves.

And at the end of the hall...

A mirror.

Not one that showed reflection.

One that showed truth.

He stepped toward it.

And the sea showed him...

Poseidon.

Not the god.

The man.

The boy before the throne. Before Olympus. Before the war.

He was once like Dominic.

Afraid. Sick. Mortal.

He had made a bargain.

Not with Olympus.

But with her.

The Queen of the Deep.

She gave him the trident.

She gave him her sea.

He gave her his silence.

---

Dominic fell to his knees.

The truth wasn’t about war or power.

It was about regret.

Poseidon didn’t conquer the sea.

He betrayed the one who trusted him most.

That was what the First Fallen remembered.

That was what the Choir mourned.

Not a kingdom.

A promise.

---

The vision ended.

Dominic blinked.

He was back at the trench floor.

The vault closed behind him.

Maelora and Varun stared.

Dominic stood slowly, eyes filled with something sharp and ancient.

> "The sea didn’t forget," he said.

> "The gods did."

He turned, voice low.

> "And now... memory wants justice."

---

Far above, the First Fallen opened her eyes.

She stopped singing.

And she smiled.

Because somewhere in the depths...

Someone had finally remembered the truth.

The sea had never felt so still.

Dominic stood in the middle of the Forgotten Trench, the trident pulsing like a second heartbeat in his hand. But this time, it didn’t feel like a weapon. It felt like a key.

A key to a promise that had never been fulfilled.

Maelora stepped toward him, her voice low. "What did you see in the vault?"

Dominic didn’t answer at first.

He just turned to face her.

And said, quietly:

> "Poseidon lied."

Varun narrowed his eyes. "Lied about what?"

> "Everything."

Dominic’s voice was tight, filled with the weight of the memory now burned into his bones.

> "He didn’t create the sea’s order. He didn’t conquer it. He was given it. Not out of fear, not as a god... but as a dying boy who was shown mercy."

He looked down at the trident.

> "The Queen of the Deep gave him her heart, her kingdom, and her legacy... in exchange for a promise."

Maelora stepped closer. "What promise?"

Dominic looked up. His eyes shimmered with the truth.

> "That he would protect the sea—not rule it."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺