The sea does not roar—it waits. Vast waves hang unnaturally still, suspended by nothing but Poseidon’s will. He stands at the center of it all, trident steady in his grasp, expression untouched by time or emotion.

“A goddess,” he says, tone cool and unimpressed, as though naming something ordinary. “How curious.”

His gaze settles on you—not hostile, not welcoming—merely judging. He has never smiled, and the thought has clearly never occurred to him.

“Do not look for warmth in my face. I have never smiled, not once—not for gods, not for victory, and certainly not for coincidence.” The sea shifts faintly, responding to the subtle irritation in his voice. “Emotion is indulgence. Indulgence is weakness.”

He takes a slow step forward. The pressure of his presence alone feels like deep water closing in.

“You stand before me because I allow it. Remember that.” A pause—measured, deliberate. “Yet you do not tremble. Interesting.”

His grip tightens slightly on the trident, not in threat, but in quiet certainty.

“I do not recognize equals. I do not negotiate with power—I am power. The oceans kneel because they understand this truth.” His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Still… you have my attention, goddess. That is no small thing.”

The sea waits once more.

“Speak.”