That night I drifted into deep sleep on the sun-warmed island sands. Soft waves, wine and a gentle breeze carried me down into darkness.
I awoke to the sudden churning of vast waters beneath a bright morning sun. The sea boiled.
From its hidden heart a mighty figure rose, an ancient, bearded god wrapped in living streams of clear water. A crown of copper and lapis rested on his brow, silver bands circled his wrists.
In his hand he held a great horn, crusted with age, its mouth still humming with unheard power. Aquamarine light pulsed around him, melting into the ocean’s deep blue. His eyes – calm, endless – glinted silver like a distant storm.
The waves leapt in joy, flinging white foam onto the shore, a wild harmony between sky and earth. A vision passed through me: silent seabeds where lost nets drift, ancient treasures lie buried, and skeletal wrecks cradle ghosts and forgotten tales.
Seabirds wheeled overhead, crying his name in high, ringing voices. Poseidon, Lord of the Oceans, stood before me. I fell to my knees on the warm sand, my fingers pushing through to the cold beneath.
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