Reincarnated As Poseidon
Chapter 71: I am poseidon 7

Chapter 71: I am poseidon 7

The current thickened with tension.

Aegirion stood before them—worn, sea-bitten, and cloaked in the murk of the Hollow Sea.

His body bore the ocean’s wounds.

His eyes, the weight of knowledge.

But even still, a sliver of something lingered behind them...

Hope.

And guilt.

Poseidon stepped forward slowly, each stride echoing through the reef as the Choir watched in silence.

"You vanished," he said. "When we needed you most."

Aegirion lowered his head.

> "I didn’t run. I drowned."

---

Memories from the Hollow Sea

Aegirion raised his arm, the coral-infused armor along it pulsing with a faint black light. He closed his eyes—and the ocean itself responded.

A tremor.

A swirl.

A stream of visions flowed from him, seen not just with the eyes, but with the soul.

Darkness.

Tendrils of thought laced with grief.

A throne made of bones and forgotten names.

The Nameless One whispering in a voice made of other people’s screams.

Maelora flinched.

Even Varun looked away.

But Poseidon watched everything.

"What did it offer you?" he asked.

> "A chance to forget," Aegirion murmured.

"To let go of who I was. Of all the wrong I did."

> "Why didn’t you take it?"

A pause.

Aegirion looked up at Poseidon.

> "Because you remembered me."

---

The Fire Beneath the Coral

Maelora stepped forward, spear still in hand.

> "So what now? You show up wrapped in shadow and just... what? Join the choir like nothing happened?"

Aegirion turned to her slowly.

"I didn’t come to sing."

He reached to his back and drew a blade—not of steel, but of fossilized song.

A broken memory hardened into a weapon.

"I came to stand between you and what’s coming. To die, if that’s what it takes."

The sea shifted. Something about his words rang true. Final.

Poseidon exhaled.

"Then stand. Not as a god. Not as a shadow. But as my brother."

For the first time in years, Aegirion smiled.

---

A Surge from the Deep

Just then, the waters buckled.

A scream—no, a groan—echoed from the Hollow Sea.

The Choir faltered.

The coral cracked again.

But this time, it wasn’t just destruction.

It was emergence.

Something vast... something made of every erased soul, every forgotten whisper, every voice the Hollow Sea had devoured—

It was rising.

A face formed from tendrils.

A body made of nothing but grief.

It had no name.

But it knew theirs.

A wave of silence surged outward.

Several Choir members fell to the sand, gasping.

Poseidon raised his Trident.

"Sing."

The Choir answered.

Aegirion raised his blade.

And the reef held.

But barely.

---

Varun’s Choice

Far from the front, Varun stood on the edge of the reef, watching the Nameless One’s essence swirl like smoke.

He heard something.

His mother’s voice.

A lullaby she used to hum.

Something only he should know.

He dropped to one knee, trembling.

"You’re not supposed to know that..."

The tendrils reached for him—but just before they touched, a wall of blue flame erupted around him.

Poseidon’s voice rang out.

"You remember now. So fight."

Varun stood slowly.

"Yeah... screw it. Let’s kill an ocean."

The Hollow Sea had a heartbeat now.

But it wasn’t like any pulse known to mortals or gods. It was irregular. Foul. A rhythm stitched from sorrow and absence, like grief echoing through a shattered temple.

And it was growing louder.

The Choir of Tides sang louder in response, voices trembling, not from fear—but from strain.

Poseidon stood at the center of it all. His eyes glowed like twin whirlpools, his Trident humming with an ancient, rising pitch.

"It’s time," he said, voice quiet yet cutting through the noise.

"We crack it now... before it cracks us."

---

The Choir Holds the Line

The Reef Choir locked formation.

Mermaids hovered side by side with coral witches.

Old whale-singers bellowed in low, aching tones.

Even Varun, always off-beat, sang with clenched fists and defiant eyes.

Aegirion hovered just ahead of them, his memory-forged blade glinting like the past made sharp. His body flickered faintly—he was still not whole, still touched by the Hollow Sea.

But he was there.

Maelora spun her trident and shouted:

> "Strike the rhythm! Lock the tide! No solo voices, no silence!"

The sea itself began to vibrate.

---

The First Fracture

Then it happened.

The Nameless One struck.

Not with tendrils.

Not with rage.

But with forgetting.

A wave of void surged forward, like water drained of all purpose. It rushed the reef in eerie silence. Where it touched, names vanished from memory. History unraveled.

And at its center—a shape.

A warped reflection of Poseidon himself.

But hollow-eyed.

Colorless.

Emotionless.

"What the hell is that?" Varun muttered.

"A lie," Poseidon growled. "It’s what the Hollow Sea thinks I am."

---

Clash of Self

Poseidon launched forward, colliding with the echo of himself. Their Tridents clashed in a blur of light and emptiness.

Poseidon’s voice rang out—not words, but a chord. A deep note pulled from the marrow of the sea.

The Choir harmonized instantly.

And the Hollow Poseidon cracked—just slightly.

A fissure formed in its chest.

Not deep. But enough.

---

Aegirion’s Stand

As the battle raged, one tendril surged for the Choir—straight for the core singers.

Aegirion moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

He threw himself in the way, blade slicing through the void.

But it clung to him.

He roared—an ancient, agonized sound—and drove the blade deep into his own arm, severing the tendril still latched to him.

"Keep singing!" he snarled, blood seeping into the current.

"You’re bleeding!" Maelora cried.

"Better than forgetting."

---

The First Shatter

Poseidon raised his Trident one last time. All voices joined him.

From the surface.

From trenches.

From every sea-creature that remembered their name.

A note pierced the Hollow Sea. Not a song. A reclamation.

And then—

The Hollow Poseidon shattered.

The fragments screamed silently as they dissolved into the current.

The Choir gasped. The sea trembled.

But the reef held.

The Name Returns

As silence returned, Poseidon dropped to one knee.

Not from weakness.

But from memory.

The Trident glowed dimly. The water warmed.

And somewhere in the vast deep, the Nameless One retreated—not wounded... but aware.

For the first time, it feared what remembered it.

Poseidon looked up, voice raw:

"That was only the first piece..."

The reef was quiet.

Not with fear.

Not with sorrow.

But with something new.

Relief.

The Hollow Poseidon was gone.

Its echo shattered.

But as the ocean exhaled, and the Choir caught their breath, one thing lingered...

A feeling.

Like something still watching.

---

Scars in the Reef

Poseidon stood amid the wreckage of the battle.

Broken coral.

Flickering songstones.

Tidecallers lying unconscious or dazed.

He walked in silence, dragging his Trident through the sand as if each step weighed him down.

Each face he passed reminded him—

This wasn’t over.

Maelora limped beside him, armor dented and stained.

"You broke it," she said.

"But I don’t think it broke completely."

He nodded.

"It was only one of its faces. One of its lies."

Aegirion leaned against a reef wall, bleeding still but breathing.

"Then how many more lies does it wear?"

Poseidon didn’t answer.

Because deep down, he knew:

Too many.

---

Varun’s Question

Later that evening, Varun sat cross-legged atop a sunken spire, watching the sunset bleed into the waves.

Poseidon joined him, saying nothing for a long while.

Finally, Varun broke the silence.

"Do you think... we’ll ever be free of it?"

Poseidon looked toward the horizon.

"No."

"That’s comforting," Varun muttered.

"But I do think we can fight it. And win. One piece at a time."

Varun nodded slowly.

"Still feels like we’re just buying time."

Poseidon’s voice was quiet.

> "Sometimes time is enough."

---

Aegirion’s Confession

Below, in a private reef chamber lit with soft bioluminescent flow, Maelora tended Aegirion’s wounds.

His arm was wrapped.

His side—stitched by sea silk.

But his eyes... still carried a heaviness.

"Why didn’t you let it take you?" she asked.

Aegirion didn’t look at her.

"Because I remembered something stupid."

"What?"

"You. And a promise I never made but should have."

Maelora froze.

Then smirked.

"You’re still a bastard."

"But a useful one?"

> "Barely."

---

The Wound Beneath

Far below the reef—beneath the song, beneath the coral, even beneath the Hollow Sea itself—

Something moved.

Not fast.

Not loud.

But deliberate.

The true core.

The center of the wound.

Not the Nameless One...

But the thing it answers to.

Its voice was not a sound.

It was a lack.

A devouring absence.

A silence so deep it drowned thought.

And it had a name.

But no one remembered it.

Yet.

---

A Choice

Back at the reef, Poseidon stood alone atop the Heartstone.

He raised his Trident—not to strike, but to listen.

The sea answered with a murmur.

A quiet hum of life, broken but unyielding.

He whispered:

"I was Dominic."

"Now I am Poseidon."

"And I remember."

But behind him, unseen, something opened—

A door of sea and time.

And from it... a voice.

One he had not heard since the hospital bed.

"Are you sure you chose the right name?"