Cale waded deeper into the impossible ocean, his movements no longer his own. The water embraced him, curling and swirling around his body not as ordinary waves would, but like an attentive servant welcoming home a long-absent master.
It parted before him, then closed behind, leaving barely a ripple where any natural sea would churn.
Apollo felt the bow against his back suddenly calm its violent thrashing, settling instead into a steady, rhythmic pulse that matched perfectly with Cale's steps into the surf.
The gold in his veins hummed in harmony, recognizing the connection between the young man and the ancient power that saturated this place.
'Poseidon's blood calls to his domain,' Apollo thought, watching as Cale moved with dreamlike certainty toward the half-submerged temple. 'And his domain answers.'
"What's happening to him?" Mira's voice trembled as she stepped forward, her injured arm forgotten in her concern. "The water, it's moving wrong. It's moving for him."
