Poseidon sat on the marble throne, the storm in his eyes matching the tempest brewing far below the clouds. His trident rested against his knee, crackling softly with residual power from his fury. “Ruthless…” the word still echoed in his mind like a curse. He had been mocked. Ignored. And worst of all… disrespected by the very mortal he once underestimated.

He clenched his jaw, the taste of salt and anger thick on his tongue.

Then—footsteps.

Soft, but steady. Closer.

He didn’t want to hear it. Not the apologies. Not the justifications. Not the consequences.

“Leave.” His voice thundered low, barely above a growl, but it carried through the hall like a wave crashing against stone.

But the footsteps didn’t stop.

A voice followed, quiet but unwavering.

“I will, if that’s truly what you want.”

Poseidon’s stormy gaze snapped up, eyes locking with the figure who now stood at the threshold of the throne room.

It wasn’t who he expected.

And perhaps… that made it worse. Or better.

Depends on what they said next.