The bell's toll still echoed in his bones.
It hadn't been struck by mortal hands—Dominic knew that much. No priest, no sailor, no cathedral could ever summon such a sound. This was the voice of the sea itself, resounding through every current and tide. It was a verdict disguised as a knell.
He rose from where he had collapsed upon the broken steps of the temple. His skin still trembled from the resonance, salt bleeding from the pores as though his body no longer knew where flesh ended and water began. His chest heaved. He looked down at his hands, and in the dim light, they glistened as if scales lurked beneath the skin, waiting for the right moment to tear through.
"Poseidon," the ocean whispered. Not a voice from beyond, but within him—familiar yet alien, fatherly yet cruel. "Do not flinch from what you are."
