The sun was beginning to set over Olympus, spilling molten gold across the cliffs and bathing our half-built stronghold in soft amber light. We'd decided — perhaps foolishly — to dine outdoors on the east terrace that evening, a long stone table dragged out onto a newly polished balcony that overlooked the gorge. A feast, by our standards: roasted boar, skewered meats, fresh olives, feta wrapped in fig leaves, crusty bread still steaming, and wine so dark it looked like ink in the goblets.
It was the most peace we'd had in weeks.
I sat at the head of the table, not because I demanded it, but because that's where my siblings placed me. Zeus lounged to my right, one boot kicked onto the edge of the table despite Hera's pointed glares. Hestia sat beside him, politely folding napkins she'd charmed from linen. Hera, Rhea, and Demeter conversed quietly at the far end of the table, and Poseidon, as usual, remained just a little apart — perched on the low stone wall of the balcony, balancing a goblet on his knee and watching the horizon with narrowed, storm-filled eyes.
He hadn't said much since the last skirmish. The battle at the Isthmus had left his shoulder bloodied and his arm severed at the joint. Now, he kept a ghost-limb of seawater flowing from the stump of his left shoulder — a living thing that curled and twisted, sometimes coiling into a fist when he grew agitated. It made some of the others nervous. It made me proud.
The air was quiet, too quiet.
Even the wind carried the weight of something unsaid.
And then Rhea stood.
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"I've received news from the East," she said calmly, her tone carrying across the table like a thunderclap. "Oceanus has pledged allegiance to Cronus."
The world tilted.
I didn't breathe. I couldn't. For one small second, my mind refused to accept the words. Oceanus? The Oceanus? Oldest of Titans, father of rivers and seas? The one Titan who had remained neutral throughout the war, whose currents carried no allegiance but balance?
Zeus leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Hera looked stricken, Demeter paled. Even Hestia set down her goblet without finishing her sip.
And Poseidon?
He laughed.
A single, sharp exhale that sounded more like the beginning of a storm.
"So the old wave-crawler wants to play sides now," Poseidon muttered, rising from his seat with a grace that belied the tension rippling through his body. His seawater arm flexed and reshaped itself into a long spear of ice, then fell away again in a spray of mist. "Just wait till I get my hand on him!"
Hera turned to our mother, voice clipped. "When?"
"Three days ago," Rhea said, her voice heavy. "Several of his sons, the Potamoi, were seen arriving at Mount Othrys. We had managed to capture one and interrogate them and learned that Oceanus has pledged himself to the Titan King."
The words didn't register at first.
Oceanus? Aligned with Cronus?
Poseidon's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening like an incoming storm. "So much for the wisdom of the old ones."
I didn't speak. I just stared at the floor, the gears of my mind grinding against everything I thought I understood.
In my old life—before all this—I remembered Oceanus as distant but detached. An observer who kept to his own problems. He didn't take sides in the myths. He didn't seek power or dominion. He stayed above the chaos, and yet here he was supporting Cronus.
What did he see in Cronus? What promises had been whispered to drag a god older than war into
I looked at the others, but they were already discussing strategy, next steps, and retaliation.
I remained silent.
"Let me handle him," Poseidon said suddenly, cutting through the tension. He turned to face the rest of us, sea wind already gathering at his back. "He's mine."
"Poseidon—" Hestia began.
"No," he said gently. "This is my domain. My birthright. If I'm to be King of the Seas, then I will not let a relic of the old world claim it first. He will challenge me… or I will challenge him."
Zeus raised a brow, mouth full of boar. "Are you sure you're ready for that? One-armed and all."
Poseidon turned his ocean eyes toward him. "I don't need both arms to drown a god."
"Charming," I muttered. "And suicidal."
He looked at me next.
"You know what he is," I said. "Oceanus isn't a brute like Hyperion or Iapetus. He's a lot smarter than any of his other siblings, hell he didn't even take part in betraying Ouranos."
Poseidon didn't even answer as he disappeared in a flash of water and wind, and the balcony was silent again and filled with a beach smell.
For a while, we just sat there. Eating quietly. The wine didn't taste quite as sweet anymore.
"He'll win," Hestia whispered. "Won't he?"
I didn't answer right away.
I really didn't know.
☼
I dove deep, down past where sunlight could reach. The water grew colder, darker—but none of it slowed me. My body moved easily, cutting through the depths like a spear. The pressure meant nothing. Gills opened along my neck, and I barely noticed. The tattoos on my arms began to glow faint blue, reacting to the depth, the magic, or both.
The world down here was quiet and alien. Schools of strange, pale fish drifted past, some no bigger than my hand, others long and eel-like, with translucent skin and slow, twitching movements. Occasionally, one flashed with light and vanished into the dark. I passed massive jellyfish, their tentacles trailing like smoke. Even a few creatures I didn't recognize—creatures that watched me but didn't come close.
The trench was like a wound in the ocean floor—jagged, endless, and silent. I kept descending, the world above disappearing behind layers of black water.
I tried not to think too much, but I couldn't help it. Oceanus had stayed neutral for most of the war. I'd believed that meant he'd stay out of it entirely. Now I was heading straight into the territory of a god who'd made his choice—and it wasn't us.
I kept swimming.
Eventually, I saw it.
The kingdom of Oceanus emerged from the trench wall like a forgotten dream—vast and ancient, half-grown, half-built. Pale white pillars rose from the seabed, wrapped in living coral and draped in strands of seaweed that swayed with the current. Shoals of silver fish darted between the columns, their scales catching glimmers of bioluminescent light. The water shimmered with color—violets, blues, and greens dancing across the stone like stained glass.
Naiads swam freely through open courtyards, their laughter bubbling through the currents. They spiraled around the columns, tossing seashells and playing games as if the war above didn't exist. Oceanids drifted above, graceful and radiant, their forms trailing ribbons of water. Some sang softly in ancient tongues, voices echoing faintly through the halls.
It was peaceful. Beautiful, even.
At the heart of it all, under an arched dome made of nacre and coral, sat Oceanus.
His throne was carved from a spiral shell large enough to dwarf any creature I'd ever seen, its surface veined with pearls. He lodged there like a mountain resting in the sea, broad-shouldered and ageless, with skin that shimmered like tide-polished stone. His kelp-dark hair floated around him, eyes deep and unreadable.
Tethys leaned into his side, one arm resting gently across his chest. Her presence was soft and calm, a goddess of rivers and springs surrounded by her children. She smiled faintly as she noticed me, but said nothing.
The glaive across Oceanus' lap pulsed with quiet threat, though he made no move to lift it.
"Poseidon," he said at last, voice like rolling waves against a distant shore. "You are bold to come here."
I hovered just beyond reach, hands open, trident untouched. "I didn't come to fight."
His gaze narrowed.
"I came to talk."
A beat. Then a chuckle, deep and grinding. "Peace?" he said. "Only the desperate beg for peace."
"I came as a brother of the sea," I replied. "Cronus won't win. Stand with us, and your kingdom remains untouched. You don't have to go down with him."
Oceanus leaned forward, eyes darkening. "You think I care for you little gods? I am one of the oldest Titans, and there is no way I will stand aside and let you arrogant bastards take over."
I exhaled, low and long.
"Alright," I muttered. "Didn't think that would work."
The moment I gripped my trident, the atmosphere shifted.
The Naiads stopped laughing and scattered in every direction, fleeing like startled minnows. The Oceanids vanished in streaks of light, their songs silenced. Even the fish darted away, sensing what was coming.
Tethys rose from Oceanus' side, her expression suddenly hard. She moved in front of him, arms outstretched. "You don't have to do this, Poseidon," she said. "You're not thinking clearly—"
I raised my trident, letting it hum through the water with a sharp, cutting note. "This is between me and him," I said, voice firm. "Move."
She hesitated—then slowly lowered her arms and swam back into the shadows, eyes still locked on me.
And then I struck.
Before Oceanus could react, I shot forward—shoulder first. The impact was brutal, like driving a battering ram into solid rock. He flew backward, the throne behind him splintering into shards as his body crashed through stone and coral, sending tremors through the chamber.
He hit the wall and slid down in a cloud of shattered shells and dust.
Negotiation was over.
Oceanus roared.
The water around us trembled as he surged back into the fray, summoning his glaive to his hand with a snap of current. The weapon spun to life, gleaming with ancient power. He closed the distance in an instant, the glaive already mid-swing.
I barely had time to move.
My fingers closed around my trident just as his blade came crashing down. The force of the blow sent me hurtling backward through the water, my arms vibrating from the impact. Coral shattered where I collided with the seabed, throwing up a storm of dust and bone.
Bubbles erupted like thunderclaps around us.
I twisted mid-fall, using the momentum to drive a strike down on him, but Oceanus was faster than he had any right to be. He weaved through the water like a living tide and slammed the butt of his glaive into my ribs. Pain bloomed as I spiraled through the current.
But I caught myself—legs bracing on a jagged ridge of obsidian. I surged forward.
"Fine, old man," I snarled. "Let's see who really owns this sea."
He came at me like a tsunami, glaive cutting in a wide arc. I ducked low, thrust my trident upward—but he caught the shaft with both hands, twisted, and slammed his forehead into mine.
A white-hot explosion of pain burst in my skull.
I growled and drove both feet into his chest, kicking off with everything I had. He flew back, crashing through a column of petrified kelp and dragging part of the seabed with him.
I didn't let up.
We collided again, weapons ringing, ancient stone cracking beneath us. Every blow lit the ocean around us with bursts of glowing impact. I summoned tendrils of water from my arm, striking like whips—each one met with a slash from Oceanus's glaive.
We tore through the ruins of drowned temples, our bodies smashing through murals older than the stars. Bioluminescent fish scattered in our wake. Lightning crackled from my trident; Oceanus answered with whirlpools that could grind mountains to sand.
His glaive slashed across my chest—my water-arm shielded part of the blow, but not all. Blood misted into the water.
I retaliated with a flurry of thrusts, each one faster, wilder. He parried them all—until he didn't. He took one step too close, and I slammed my trident into his side—but before I could press the advantage—
His fist sank into my stomach.
Everything left my lungs in a single, crushing blow. Pain radiates through my spine, my vision darkened.
He followed with a backhand swing that hurled me through a collapsed statue's head. I tumbled through wreckage, half-conscious, divine ichor trailing behind me like a comet.
But I wasn't done.
With a roar, I shot forward again, spinning my trident as the sea cracked with force. We clashed in a storm of power, lightning and water warring in a dance of chaos. The ocean around us became a warzone—currents spun into whirlpools, ancient structures imploded, trenches split and boiled.
Time lost all meaning.
I was fighting for every breath. Every heartbeat. Every inch of my soul.
He was older, larger, and for a time, stronger—but I was relentless.
And then—I saw it.
He overreached. Just slightly. Just enough.
I spun behind him, gritted my teeth, and drove my trident deep into his side. A blast of divine energy tore through the sea as I roared, launching him into the far wall of a sunken cliff. The rock crumbled like wet paper beneath the impact.
He slumped, floating low, clutching his side as dark ichor spiraled around him.
I hovered above, chest heaving, blood in my mouth, muscles screaming.
My water-arm flickered at the edges. The ocean churned with the echoes of our fury.
"Stay down," I said, voice low and ragged.
He didn't move.
Good.
I turned away, trying to swim back toward the surface—toward Olympus.
But my vision blurred. The chamber spun around me, tilting like a sinking ship. My limbs feel heavy, the water thick and dragging, as if it wanted to hold me still. I'd burned through everything. My power, my strength—gone.
Then I heard it.
A voice, cracked and venomous, rising from the rubble.
"You think this is victory?" Oceanus hissed, his tone twisted with rage and something darker. "I curse you, sea-god. May your body become the vessel... the host for the Father of Monsters."
Pain lanced through me—sharp, burning, unnatural. My veins lit up with something foul. My tattoos pulsed violently, flickering between blue and black.
"What…?" I choked, clutching at my chest. My body seized.
And then I heard it—his laugh.
Oceanus, broken and beaten, still laughing.
That was the last thing I remembered.
Then the darkness took me.