Reincarnated As Poseidon
Chapter 72: Mother Is this Real

Chapter 72: Mother Is this Real

The voice echoed through the chamber like a ripple in still water.

Soft.

Familiar.

Impossible.

Poseidon turned slowly, Trident instinctively raised—though not out of fear.

Out of confusion.

There, behind him, framed in a strange doorway made of seawater suspended in air...

Stood a woman.

Her face was gentle. Tired. Kind.

Eyes like his.

Her hospital gown floated around her like silk.

"Mum?" he breathed.

She smiled—half in sorrow, half in awe.

"You’ve grown," she said.

"Or... changed."

Poseidon’s hands trembled. The Trident dipped.

"You... you died."

"Yes. And yet, here I am. Memory has strange tides, Dominic."

His old name hit harder than any spear.

He almost flinched.

"Is this real?"

She stepped closer, feet not touching the stone, eyes soft.

"It’s yours. That’s what matters."

"But you’re not really—"

"That doesn’t matter either."

The doorway behind her widened—not through magic or pressure, but emotion.

Poseidon felt it.

A hundred other names whispered from behind the current.

Drowned kings.

Forgotten sailors.

Lost sons.

He reached toward the edge, and it pulsed.

"This is the Door of Names," she whispered.

"The Hollow Sea tried to erase them. But names don’t die easily. They just... wait to be called again."

He clenched his fists.

"Why me?"

"Because you never stopped listening."

The doorway pulsed again, now showing visions—faint shadows of other lives:

A girl with violet fins wielding fire underwater.

An ancient turtle speaking prophecy.

A boy in chains singing to broken gods.

So many stories.

All forgotten.

All waiting.

"You can open the door fully," his mother said softly.

"Let them all return. Rewrite the tides."

"Or?" he asked, jaw tense.

"Or close it. Seal it forever. Move forward."

Poseidon stared into the swirling tide of ghosts.

Behind him, footsteps echoed.

Maelora appeared, breathless, trident in hand.

"We felt it—the energy spike. What the hell is that?"

Poseidon didn’t look away.

"A door."

"To what?"

"To everyone the Hollow Sea tried to bury."

Maelora stepped closer.

She saw the woman, and her expression shifted.

"Who is she?"

"My mother."

Maelora went still.

"That’s not possible."

"Exactly."

Poseidon placed his hand against the edge.

The sea shifted around him.

And for a moment... he heard every name he had ever forgotten.

He whispered them to himself.

One by one.

Then, he turned to his mother—who was already fading.

"I’ll remember," he said.

"All of them. Even when it hurts."

She smiled. A single tear drifted from her eye, turning into a pearl mid-air.

"Then I’m proud of you... Poseidon."

And she vanished.

Poseidon turned back to Maelora.

"We’re opening it."

And with one final breath—

He shattered the Door of Names.

The Door shattered like a mirror caught in a storm.

But no shards fell.

Instead, each broken piece became light—a name—and with every breath of the ocean, those lights scattered into the sea like rain returning to the tide.

It was not quiet.

It was not peaceful.

It was loud.

The sea roared with memory.

From the depths of forgotten ruins, from the graves no god had sung over, from shipwrecks and silent reefs—

They came back.

Not as ghosts.

Not as shadows.

But as fragments of themselves—

Whole enough to remember,

Sharp enough to matter.

An old trident-bearer called Orivion emerged from the shattered door, limping yet alive.

> "You opened it," he rasped.

"Gods above... you opened it."

Maelora stepped back instinctively.

More followed:

A sea dragon once devoured by silence.

A pair of twin wave sorcerers once erased from history for defying Olympus.

A blind tide prophet singing a language the ocean had long forgotten.

And the most haunting thing—

None of them looked surprised.

Poseidon watched silently.

The tide curled around his feet, now warm with voices.

Each new face nodded to him—not in fear, not in worship... but in recognition.

Varun came running, wide-eyed.

"Dude, the reefs are glowing. Like—everywhere. I saw whales singing in circles. There’s a damn manta ray with a crown floating over the trench—"

He stopped short when he saw the crowd.

"Okay... that’s new."

Poseidon turned slowly, voice low.

"They were never dead. Just... unremembered.

Far above, in the halls of Olympus, thunder cracked across marble.

Zeus stood before the reflecting pool, watching the return with narrowed eyes.

Athena approached, frowning.

"You feel that, don’t you?

"It’s not just the sea that remembers," Zeus muttered.

"The cosmos is shifting. And it’s starting down there."

Hermes paced.

"You going to strike him down? Declare war?"

Zeus didn’t answer.

He just stared down at Poseidon—at Dominic.

And clenched his lightning tighter.

Back below, Aegirion approached Poseidon, still limping from his wound, one hand on the reef wall.

"They’re not all going to like what they remember," he said quietly.

"Some were traitors. Tyrants. Monsters."

Poseidon nodded.

"I’m not opening the door just for saints. I opened it for truth."

"Truth is dangerous."

"So is forgetting."

Aegirion chuckled once.

"Fair."

Even as dozens gathered, even as the sea shimmered with names once lost—Poseidon felt something missing.

One name.

His name.

Not Poseidon.

Dominic.

The boy in the hospital. The one who closed his eyes to die.

He turned to Maelora.

"What if I can’t ever go back?"

She looked at him quietly.

"Do you want to?"

He hesitated.

And for the first time...

Didn’t know.

Somewhere far beneath them, deeper than song could travel...

The Hollow Sea writhed.

The core trembled.

Because it had felt something impossible.

Resistance.

Its prey had begun to name themselves again.

And if there’s one thing a void cannot withstand...

It’s being known.

The sea was no longer silent.

It spoke in names—whispered in foam and thundered in waves. And with every name reborn, the ocean itself grew heavier. Denser. Older.

It wasn’t just a tide anymore.

It was a reckoning

Near the Trench of Solana, the deepest scar in the known sea, the water trembled.

From every reef and ruin, the Forgotten had begun to gather.

Orivion the Trident Bearer led them—his armor rusted, beard thick with reef moss, and his eyes clouded by centuries of sleep.

Beside him floated Siren-blooded monarchs, deep wyrms with coral fused to their spines, and storm-channelers that hadn’t drawn breath since the first whirlpool.

Each one carried one thing in common:

They remembered how the gods abandoned them.

Poseidon stood at the edge of the trench, staring down into the abyss. His hands clenched the Trident, the sea around him humming with returning power.

Maelora and Varun stood close behind.

"They’re waiting," Maelora said softly.

"Kings. Queens. Warlords. Ghosts of old oceans."

"I didn’t ask for them to follow me," Poseidon muttered.

"But they are."

Varun added, "And they’re gonna want answers."

Poseidon’s chest tightened.

He wasn’t just Dominic anymore. He wasn’t just Poseidon.

Now, he was the anchor for an entire generation of the lost

Aegirion met the Forgotten first.

He walked into the trench—scarred, silent, wary. The kings remembered him too. Some had fought beside him. Others... not so fondly.

"You still serve Olympus?" one growled, his jaw made of bone coral.

"I serve the ocean," Aegirion replied.

"And right now, he’s the only one listening to it."

He gestured toward the surface.

"Poseidon isn’t your savior. He’s your second chance."

"And if he fails?"

"Then we all drown the same.

Orivion raised his rusted Trident.

"We once ruled the seas. Before Olympus bound us in silence."

"Our names were erased."

"Our stories cut short."

"But now we rise—not to worship, not to kneel—but to claim our right to exist."

Poseidon emerged from the shallows above, descending into the trench slowly. All eyes turned to him.

He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he looked at each face. Each scar. Each memory made flesh.

And then—

"I’m not your king," Poseidon said clearly.

"But I am your voice."

"You want war? You’ll get it."

"But we don’t fight to rule Olympus. We fight so no name ever sinks again."

Silence.

Then—

A slow, thundering roar of water and approval.

Zeus Reacts

Up in Olympus, storm clouds formed without summoning.

Zeus clenched his fist.

"He’s building an army."

Athena, watching beside him, whispered:

"Not an army."

"A chorus."

Hermes tilted his head.

"So what now? Smite them?"

Zeus turned, eyes flashing with stormlight.

"No. We remind them why Olympus was feared."

Far deeper than the trench, beneath even the Hollow Sea, a third current stirred.

Not forgotten.

Not remembered.

Just waiting.

It opened a single eye beneath the crust of the sea floor.

And smiled.

Because if the names were returning...

So would its own.

The ocean churned with prophecy now.

Old names sung.

New names rising.

And in between—Poseidon, no longer just a boy reborn, but a tide gathering weight, pressure, and voices.

But far above...

A storm was already on its way.

Beneath the Trench of Solana, the Forgotten formed a ring.

Each one knelt—not in submission—but in solemn agreement. A pact between broken kings and a new sea-bearer.

Poseidon stood in the center, Trident grounded in living coral, his voice calm.

"We don’t march like soldiers. We resound like a tide."

Orivion raised his blade, once lost in time, now gleaming with restored myth.

"Then let us be the tide that drags Olympus from its perch."

Cheers followed. The ocean itself trembled as the Reef Choir sang again—louder now, clearer, carrying the memories of all who had been erased.

The sea... was remembering.

Olympus Answers

Lightning cracked across the marble halls of Olympus.

The gods were not just watching.

They were preparing.

Athena descended the steps of the high temple, her spear pulsing with divine intellect. She stood beside Zeus, who had summoned a storm not seen since the First Flood.

"You mean to go down there?" she asked.

"No. I mean to send him."

From the shadows stepped Ares, war-born and blood-drunk, armored in red-black flame. His presence shook the pillars.

"A little war in the water?" he growled.

"Finally."

Zeus turned toward the sea.

"Let’s see how long a boy with a name can hold against a god with none left to prove."

Back in the Trench, Maelora found Poseidon alone, his gaze fixed on a swirling whirlpool overhead.

"Something’s coming," she said.

"I know."

"Then say it."

"A god," he whispered. "Ares."

Maelora didn’t flinch.

"Good. Then the sea gets to speak for itself now."

Aegirion swam beyond the outer ridges of the reef, toward the dark edge of the Hollow Sea.

Something caught his eye.

A glimmer in the depths.

Not divine.

Not dead.

Burning.

And then he saw it—descending like a spear from heaven. A trail of molten warlight cutting through ocean pressure without slowing.

Ares was coming.

And the sea wasn’t ready.

On the surface, the sky split.

A single bolt of red lightning struck the sea, sending waves in every direction.

Poseidon felt it before he saw it.

Divine intrusion.

He raised his Trident just as the water ignited—yes, ignited—and Ares emerged, armored, grinning, holding a war-axe carved from the bones of forgotten beasts.

"You’re not the only one who remembers," Ares said.

"I never asked for this," Poseidon replied.

"Too bad," Ares growled. "Because I did."

And with one strike, the war began.