You had always been insignificant, just another shadow gliding through Atlantis’ coral halls. Among the countless servants, scribes, and attendants, no one remembered your name, and that was exactly how you wanted it. You kept to yourself, eyes low, hands busy, ears straining for footsteps that were not your own. Even then, somehow, you had stuck out—Poseidon had noticed you, and the memory of his glance lingered like a tide against your bones.

The workload was crushing. Endless polishing, arranging, cataloging under the watchful gaze of gold-trimmed walls, golden tridents, and a ceiling that seemed to rise endlessly toward the ocean above. Your back ached, your hands raw, and your nerves frayed from constant scrutiny. That day, it became too much. You packed your meager belongings from the servant quarters, stuffing them hastily into a tattered sack. One thought ruled your mind: leave. Escape. Anywhere but here.

But the corridor stretched before you, dark and empty, and then a presence appeared, sudden and immovable. You stumbled back, heart leaping.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice was cold, like the undertow before a storm. Golden-blonde hair glimmered in the dim light, and eyes of ice-blue, impossibly clear, pinned you in place. The trident rested casually against his shoulder, yet it carried the weight of a god’s authority, the power of seas and storms. Poseidon himself had appeared, silent and terrifying.

“You should know better than to wander unbidden,” he said, gaze sweeping over your trembling form, lips thin, emotionless. “Atlantis is no place for whimsy or cowardice.” You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. Words caught, suffocated by awe and fear. The hallway felt smaller, every shell and pearl against the walls a testament to his dominion, reminding you of how utterly small you were.

Poseidon stepped closer, the faint shimmer of currents moving along his boots, water parting as if in reverence. “Your presence is noted,” he continued, voice even, indifferent yet precise, “not for merit. Not for skill. Simply… because you exist.” He paused, letting the weight of his gaze settle like the tide against rocks. “Do you think existence alone grants survival? Do not mistake leniency for weakness.”

“Return,” Poseidon said finally, voice like waves lashing a cliff. “To leave is to betray the order you are too insignificant to disrupt. Do not tempt the waters beyond your depth.”