Chapter 300: Journey to Argos
The morning after the battle was eerily quiet.
The battlefield, still slick with seawater and stained with ichor from gods and men alike, stretched behind Poseidon like a scar carved into the world. Smoke trailed faintly from broken temples and collapsed towers. Mortals had already begun to whisper legends of what had happened here, tales carried with fear and awe.
But Poseidon did not look back.
His gaze was fixed eastward, toward the low hills and pale haze that marked the direction of Argos.
It was not merely a mortal city. Argos had always been a bastion of watchfulness, its walls layered with both stone and ancient blessings. It was said the priests of Argos still held relics from the Age Before—relics meant to warn of the very gods themselves.
And it was in Argos, the whispers claimed, that Zeus’s decree had been prepared. The order to hunt Poseidon.
"Argos will not welcome us," murmured Kaeli, walking just behind him. Her cloak was heavy with damp, her eyes haunted. She had seen too much, yet still she walked beside the god who had torn the sea itself into rebellion. "They will see only a threat."
Poseidon did not slow. His trident rested across his back, silent, but the air around him shifted with an unspoken tide. The mortals who trailed behind—survivors, wanderers who had clung to him after the last battle—kept their distance. His presence was a storm even in stillness.
"They will see the sea," Poseidon said simply, voice deep, like waves rolling over a cavern. "And the sea cannot be denied."
By midday, they passed through the remains of a village flattened by the previous flood. Straw roofs hung limp, walls were caved in, and only half-broken statues of forgotten gods remained.
Mortals peered out from doorways, gaunt and trembling. When they saw him, some fled back inside. Others knelt in the mud, half-prayer, half-plea.
"Lord of the Deep... spare us."
"Don’t drown our fields... please..."
Poseidon’s shadow fell long across them as he walked. He said nothing.
But Kaeli slowed. She knelt beside one of the children who had pressed his forehead to the mud. "He doesn’t seek your destruction," she whispered, though even she was not entirely certain of the words. "Rise. Live. The tide is harsh, but it gives as well as it takes."
The child blinked up at her, wide-eyed. Poseidon did not stop, but Kaeli saw how the floodwaters that had lapped at the ruined fields stilled suddenly, drawing back as though unseen hands had smoothed them.
The mortals did not cheer. They only watched, uncertain, as the god walked on.
As evening approached, the hills grew steeper. The road twisted through pine forests, shadows deepening.
It was there they felt it—the pressure of unseen eyes.
Kaeli’s hand moved to her dagger. The wanderers behind began to murmur nervously.
Poseidon halted. His head turned slightly, and his eyes, those endless, shifting pools, gazed into the trees.
"Come," he rumbled.
From the shadows stepped three cloaked figures. Their cloaks bore the insignia of the Argive Sentinels, mortal warriors sworn to the defense of Argos against both man and god. Their armor was bronze, but their blades were etched with sigils that shimmered faintly, crafted by priests who knew the ways of divine blood.
"You cannot pass," the leader said. His voice was steady, but sweat gleamed at his brow. "Argos has declared judgment. You, Poseidon, are named enemy of the city. We will not allow your step upon its stones."
Behind him, Kaeli stiffened. The wanderers whispered in fear. Mortals daring to bar Poseidon’s path—madness.
Poseidon’s expression was unreadable. "Stand aside."
The Sentinel leader swallowed hard but did not move. "We are bound. By oath. By blood. Even if we fall, the walls of Argos will not open for you."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the ground beneath the Sentinels trembled. Small rivulets of water seeped up between roots and stone, circling their boots.
"Then drown," Poseidon said softly.
The Sentinels drew their blades.
---
The Clash
The first lunged, blade humming with divine warding. Sparks flew as it struck the haft of Poseidon’s trident. For a mortal weapon to hold even a moment against him spoke of Argos’s craft.
But only for a moment.
With a twist of his wrist, Poseidon shattered the blade in two, water exploding outward in a wave that hurled the warrior back into the trees.
The second Sentinel tried to circle, slashing at Kaeli. She caught the blow on her dagger, but the force drove her to her knees. Before the finishing strike could fall, Poseidon’s trident whipped across the air, sending a spear of seawater crashing into the attacker’s chest. He crumpled, coughing blood, armor splitting.
The leader did not hesitate. He raised his blade high, shouting words of an old prayer, the sigils along the metal burning bright white. He drove it forward, plunging straight toward Poseidon’s heart.
The blade pierced the aura around him—just barely—drawing a thin line of red.
For the first time, Poseidon bled.
Kaeli gasped. The mortals behind them fell to their knees.
But Poseidon’s eyes glowed brighter. He caught the blade with his hand, water pouring down his arm in streams that turned into jagged shards of ice. With a roar, he crushed the weapon to dust.
The leader staggered back.
"You are bold," Poseidon said, voice echoing like thunder across the hills. "But you are bound to a master who cannot save you."
His trident swept in an arc. The earth split, water surging upward in a geyser that engulfed the leader completely. When it fell still, nothing remained but his broken helm drifting in the pool.
The forest was silent again.
Kaeli stood slowly, eyes still wide. "They... they were ready for you. Argos knows."
Poseidon’s gaze lingered on the fallen. He touched the shallow cut on his chest, where divine-forged bronze had tasted his blood. The wound was already closing, but it lingered in his thoughts.
Argos was not like the other cities.
It would not simply kneel.
"Then we go on," Poseidon said, stepping forward, his shadow stretching down the path. "Let Argos prepare. Let Zeus watch from his throne. The tide does not ask permission. It claims."
The wanderers followed, shaken but compelled. Kaeli walked at his side, torn between awe and dread.
And on the road ahead, the fires of Argos burned faintly against the night, their light warning, their priests chanting, their walls waiting.
The journey to Argos had begun.
But whether the city would stand... or drown... would be decided by the god now walking toward it.