High above, currents began to churn.
The ocean stirred as though it had heard him.
As if every scale, every reef, every grain of sand had been waiting for those words to be spoken again.
Because they were once a vow.
A bond older than Olympus.
And it had been broken.
---
Elsewhere, deep in the western ruins…
The First Fallen turned slowly in the water.
Behind her, the Deep Choir floated in perfect silence.
She raised her hand once—and the waters parted like silk.
Before them stood a mirror reef, grown from bone and sorrow.
Carved into its surface, the glyphs of the old language flickered to life.
One word.
"Promise."
The reef began to crack.
The song was no longer mourning.
It was changing.
It was becoming a call to arms.
---
Back at the trench, Dominic could feel it.
A sharp pull in his chest, like something inside him was responding to a much older self.
He turned to Maelora and Varun.
> "She's coming."
Varun adjusted his grip on his blade. "Let her."
