And now… the sea was starting to remember everything.
His hands trembled. Not from fear—but from recognition.
Faces flashed in his mind—ones he had never seen, but felt deeply familiar. A girl holding his hand under cherry blossoms. A father crying in a hospital. A younger version of himself coughing into a bloodstained pillow, wondering if he'd ever see sunlight again.
> "That wasn't here," he muttered. "That was before…"
Before Poseidon.
Before the trident.
Before the sea.
Dominic. The boy. The dying seventeen-year-old.
He clutched his head, overwhelmed.
The ocean wasn't just calling forth ancient power.
It was calling him back.
---
Meanwhile, the Memory Tide rolled forward.
