The ocean had no sound but his heartbeat.
The waves bent around him as though they knew his name, as though the very depths of the sea had always waited for this moment. Dominic—no, Poseidon—stood at the heart of a trench that spiraled endlessly into blackness. The pressure here should have crushed him to bone dust, yet he stood untouched, his breath flowing as if the waters were air. His skin shimmered faintly, glowing blue veins running across his arms, proof that Thalorin's essence pulsed within him.
But that same presence was no longer silent.
You hesitate.
The voice resonated like a current slamming against rocks, ancient and cruel, not quite separate from his thoughts. It had been whispering since he awoke in this god-forged body, but here, in the abyss, it roared.
"I'm not your vessel," Poseidon muttered through gritted teeth. His voice didn't echo but sank, devoured by the dark. "I'll wield this power as mine, not yours."
