Stone gave way to sand, and sand to salt-stained wood as the trio stepped into a city that breathed with the rhythm of the sea. The air was thick with brine and noise—ropes creaking, gulls circling overhead, waves striking the docks in a steady, indifferent rhythm.
Ships crowded the harbor, their masts like a forest of splintered spears. Sailors shouted across decks, merchants argued over cargo, and somewhere beneath it all lingered a tension that felt… older.
Ares stopped at the edge of the docks, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The ocean stretched endlessly, dark and shifting, its surface hiding more than it revealed.
"It's out there," Ignis said, stepping beside him, her voice quieter than usual. "The path to the underworld."
"Or what leads to it," Hercules added, though his usual confidence carried less weight here. His eyes lingered on the water a moment too long before he looked away.
They didn't have to wait long.
The sea changed first.
The waves stilled—not entirely, but enough to feel wrong. The surface tightened, as if something beneath it had drawn a breath and held it.
Then it rose.
Not violently. Not with force. The water parted, folding away from itself as a figure emerged, stepping forward as though the ocean itself had become solid beneath his feet.
Poseidon.
He did not rush. He did not need to.
Each step carried weight, the kind that bent attention toward him without effort. His presence alone seemed to quiet the harbor, if only for a moment.
Hercules straightened instinctively. Ignis watched carefully.
Ares didn't move.
Poseidon's gaze settled on him first.
"…You've grown," he said, not as praise, but as observation.
Ares said nothing.
Poseidon's attention shifted to the others briefly before returning to the task at hand. "You're heading toward the underworld," he continued. "Then the land route ends here."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward the far end of the docks.
"There are places the sea reaches that land cannot. You'll need someone who knows those waters."
As if called by the words themselves, a ship groaned against its moorings nearby. It wasn't the largest in the harbor, nor the most decorated—but there was something about it that suggested survival over time rather than comfort.
A man stood at its helm, arms crossed, watching them with quiet interest.
Theseus.
He stepped forward as they approached, boots striking the wood with steady confidence. His frame was lean but solid, his expression sharp, as if measuring them before a word had even been spoken.
"So," Theseus said, his tone edged with curiosity, "this is the group I'm meant to ferry into waters most ships avoid."
Poseidon gave a slight nod. "They'll need passage. You'll take them."
Theseus glanced back at his ship, then at the trio again. His eyes lingered on Ares a moment longer than the others.
"…You don't look like travelers," he said.
"We're not," Hercules replied simply.
That seemed to satisfy him.
"These waters aren't kind," Theseus said as he turned, already moving back toward the ship. "And what lies beyond them is worse. If you're coming aboard, you follow my lead while you're on my deck."
Ares stepped forward first.
"I don't take orders," he said.
Theseus stopped.
For a moment, the two simply looked at each other—the air tightening slightly, like the first moment before a blade is drawn.
Then Theseus smirked faintly.
"Then don't think of them as orders," he said. "Think of them as the only reason you won't drown."
A pause.
Then he continued walking.
After a moment, Ares followed.
—
The ship pulled away from the docks slowly, wood creaking as it adjusted to the shifting tide. The city began to fade behind them, its noise swallowed by the open sea.
The further they traveled, the quieter it became.
The water darkened, losing the reflection of the sky until it seemed to absorb light rather than return it. The wind shifted, colder now, carrying something distant and difficult to name.
Ignis stood near the railing, watching the horizon, her expression focused.
Ares remained near the center of the deck, still, grounded, as if the movement of the ship didn't affect him at all.
Hercules—
"…This is fine," he muttered.
He was gripping the railing harder than necessary.
The ship dipped slightly with the next wave.
Hercules' expression changed.
"This is… not fine."
Ignis glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "You're serious?"
"I've fought beasts larger than this ship," he said, his voice tightening. "I've broken mountains—"
The ship shifted again.
He stopped.
"…This is different."
Ares looked at him briefly, then away.
"You look weak," he said flatly.
Hercules didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he leaned further over the side of the ship, his grip tightening as his composure slipped just enough to betray him.
"…Say that again," he muttered, though there was no real threat behind it.
From the helm, Theseus let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"First time at sea?" he called out.
Hercules didn't answer.
The ship continued forward, cutting through darker and darker waters.
Behind them, the world they knew faded.
Ahead—
Something waited.
And the sea carried them toward it.