Chapter 130: Olympus plot against poseidon 3
The marble halls of Olympus were not often so tense. Usually, their polished columns stood as monuments to eternal order, to divinity’s unshakable confidence. Yet on this day, shadows clung to every corner, and even the golden light filtering down from the dome above seemed dim, as though the very sun recoiled from what was being spoken.
The Twelve had gathered.
On a throne sculpted of white stone and crowned with eagle motifs, Zeus leaned forward, fingers drumming against the armrest. The King of the Gods was not a man given to fear—his wrath could split mountains, his thunder could silence empires—but unease lined his face now.
He broke the silence first.
"You all felt it," Zeus said, his voice low but heavy, carrying across the chamber. "The surge beneath the seas. Not mere tremors, not mortal storms. This was power. Old power."
Athena’s gray eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked toward him. "It was no storm," she replied. "It was an awakening. Something has stirred within Poseidon that should not exist. I recognized its pattern—the cadence of its energy. Ancient. Pre-Olympian."
At the mention of "pre-Olympian," the gods shifted. Hera’s jeweled fingers tightened on her throne. Apollo’s golden aura dimmed, the luster of the sun shivering around him. Even Ares, ever eager for bloodshed, scowled as though the taste of this power soured him.
"Thalorin," murmured Hades from his seat, shadow draped around him like a funeral shroud. His voice was quiet, but it struck the others like a hammer. "That is the name whispered in the deep."
The room stirred at once, voices overlapping, some denying, others demanding. Hera slammed her hand against the throne, her tone sharp. "Impossible. Thalorin was sealed long before we claimed Olympus. The Titans themselves feared him!"
Athena’s tone was even, but cold. "Seals weaken. Time erodes. And if he has chosen Poseidon as his vessel..." She let the words hang in the air like a guillotine blade.
Zeus’s thunder rumbled faintly above, a growl of the heavens. He clenched his jaw. "Poseidon is my brother. He would not bend to such corruption. Not willingly."
"Perhaps not willingly," Hades said, his black gaze unflinching, "but dominion does not always ask permission. If Thalorin has nested inside his soul, then what remains of your brother may already be fading. You must consider the possibility."
For a long moment, silence pressed against them all. The image of the ocean god, proud and indomitable, being consumed by something older than gods themselves—it was not one they wished to dwell on.
But Athena broke the quiet with icy pragmatism.
"If Poseidon is gone—or worse, if he is Thalorin reborn—then the stability of Olympus is shattered. You know this as well as I do. The seas do not merely belong to him. They belong to the world. If Thalorin wields that domain..." Her eyes locked onto Zeus, unflinching. "...he will drown the earth in his hunger."
Ares rose to his feet, armor clanging as he slammed his spear to the floor. "Then we kill him!" he roared. "What hesitation is there? Brother or not, if Poseidon is lost, then we end him before Thalorin has full hold. Better to strike now than regret later."
Apollo’s voice cut through, golden and clear, though tight with tension. "And if you are wrong, Ares? If Poseidon yet fights within? Would you murder your own uncle in blind bloodlust?"
"Better to cut rot before it spreads," Ares snapped back.
The chamber shook faintly, not with thunder, but with the tremor of anger in Zeus’s aura. His hand tightened around the scepter of storms. "Enough," he growled, voice edged with the threat of lightning. "This is not a squabble for vultures. This is my brother."
But beneath his words, doubt gnawed. Even Zeus could not deny what they had all felt in the depths of the sea.
Hermes, who until now lounged at the edge of the council, his winged sandals tapping idly, leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I saw him. Or what he has become," he said. "I flew low over the Aegean as the waters convulsed. The sea itself bent, warped, like a living creature. The sailors below prayed to Poseidon, but what answered was not the god they knew. Its eyes—" Hermes paused, and for once, his wit abandoned him. "Its eyes were not mortal, not divine. They were abyss."
Shivers rippled across the assembly.
"Then the choice is clear," Athena said firmly, her tone as sharp as steel. "We convene our armies. We prepare to face him. If Poseidon is host to Thalorin, we cannot allow the world to fall to the deep. And if we hesitate..."
She did not finish, but the implication was enough.
Yet even as her words rang out, a second voice countered—one soft, yet cutting through the tension.
"Perhaps hesitation is exactly what we need."
All heads turned. It was Hestia, who so rarely spoke in these councils that her words carried weight by their rarity alone. The goddess of the hearth, gentle in manner yet ancient in essence, looked at them with calm fire in her eyes.
"Poseidon is not a child," she continued. "He is not weak. If Thalorin stirs within him, then perhaps it is not possession—but struggle. If we march against him now, we may drive him deeper into the abyss. What he needs..." She placed her hand over her heart. "...is an anchor. A reason to resist. If there is a spark of my brother still inside, then he must be given the chance to master the monster, not merely be slain for it."
The gods exchanged uneasy glances. Her words were dangerous—merciful—but they touched a truth none could easily deny.
Zeus closed his eyes briefly, thunder rumbling faintly above as though reflecting his turmoil. "You would risk all Olympus, all the world, on the hope that he can resist?"
Hestia did not flinch. "I would risk it on the hope that family is not so easily broken."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of divine fire.
Finally, Zeus rose. His presence filled the chamber, his shadow long across the marble. His voice boomed with authority, but inside it carried the weight of uncertainty.
"Then hear my decree. The armies of Olympus will ready themselves. Our blades will be sharp, our storms gathered. But we will not strike—not yet."
Ares growled in protest, but Zeus silenced him with a glare like lightning.
"We will watch. We will wait. If Poseidon falls fully, then we strike without hesitation. But if he yet lives, if he yet fights..." Zeus’s voice cracked with rare emotion. "...then he is my brother, and I will not condemn him without cause."
The council bowed their heads, some in agreement, some in silent dissent.
But as they adjourned, one god lingered at the edges of the hall, his gaze darker than the rest. Hades.
When the chamber emptied, he whispered to the shadows, his voice cold.
"Thalorin’s rise is no accident. If he has returned, then the balance of gods itself is shifting. And when that balance breaks..." His lips curved into the faintest smile, though it held no joy. "...the underworld will feast."
The firelight dimmed, leaving Olympus in uneasy silence.
And far below, in the crushing depths of the sea, Poseidon—Dominic—stood in solitude, the roar of waves echoing his turmoil. He was both god and vessel, ruler and prisoner, and the abyss within him stirred restlessly.
The storm was only beginning.