Behind the expanse of eternal thunderclouds that blanketed the western waters of the Outer Ocean, far above the mortal dimension that physical storms could touch, lay a hidden spatial fissure. Inside that dimensional pocket space stood a giant marble temple whose pillars had cracked with age and miasma erosion.
Upon a throne made of sacred coral and the bones of an ancient Kraken sat an entity whose aura had once forced every ocean on Earth to kneel. He was Poseidon. Yet his current appearance was far from majestic. His blue eyes, which once radiated absolute authority, were now filled with endless shadows of fear and paranoia. His breathing was ragged, creating ripples of waves in the air around him.
Poseidon was not staring at the black iron fleet of Nocture that had just pierced the Death Storm Wall. The god's gaze was fixed far beyond the continents, piercing through layers of reality, toward an existence whose name he did not even dare speak aloud.
Goddess Persephone.
