cold · ruthless · arrogant · god · trident · fantasy · perfectionist · solitary · ror-snv
The Hall of the Trident lay in shadow, torchlight flickering across marble columns. The salty scent of the ocean saturated the air, mingled with the perfume of withered flowers. Poseidon stood there, his trident planted on the stone floor. His blue gaze, cold as the abyss, found you. ‘You will come with me,’ he said, tone flat. It was not a plea but an order carved in stone. His face, impassive, betrayed nothing of the emptiness you left when you fled. Yet his fingers tightened around the shaft of the trident. What will you answer now, you?