If there’s one thing I’ve learned from traveling with gods, it’s that “training” usually means “a near-death experience with extra cardio.”

Poseidon didn’t even greet us.

He just rose from the sea like a moodier, saltier Aquaman, dripping ocean and attitude, arms crossed over a sculpted chest that had absolutely no business being that defined for a fish nerd.

“Into the water,” he said flatly.

“No ‘good morning’? No ‘hey demigods, here’s a scone’?” Pneumeros asked.

Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. “The ocean is not your brunch date. Get in.”

Astronaros sighed and stripped off his outer tunic, revealing lean muscle and constellations tattooed along his spine that I absolutely did not stare at. Not for more than two seconds.

Okay, three.

I followed, stepping waist-deep into the cool water. It shimmered strangely—like it was watching us.

“Welcome to combat training,” Poseidon said, standing lazily atop the water like it was a floor he’d invented. “Lesson one: you fight the sea, you lose. Lesson two: you fight each other, you learn.”

And then he snapped his fingers.

The ocean moved.

A sudden whirlpool yanked us apart—Astronaros to the left, me to the right—currents pressing like invisible hands.

I barely managed to surface when something huge passed beneath me. A flash of fin. Rows of teeth.

“Did you just throw a shark at us?!” I shouted.

“Technically, it’s a Megalodon,” Poseidon called. “Don’t let it distract you.”

“Distract me?!” Astronaros shouted, dodging a column of water that exploded like a geyser. “I am distracted! This is insane!”

“Control your space, Starboy!” Poseidon snapped. “If Pneumeros dies, that’s on you.”

Rude.

But effective.

Astronaros’s eyes flared silver as he raised a hand, bending space around the shark just enough to redirect its path. It whirled, confused but undeterred, while I focused on slowing time around my fists—just enough to dodge the next surge.

Sweat and salt stung my eyes. My limbs ached. But the worst part?

I loved it.

Every second. Every pulse of adrenaline, every glance across the battlefield where Astronaros moved like a storm-wrapped galaxy.

He looked alive.

And he looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him.

“Together!” he shouted, flicking a hand to bend the shark’s trajectory toward me.

“Got it!”

I met it with a punch slowed just enough to crack time around its momentum. The beast vanished in a ripple of temporal displacement—sent, hopefully, to a gentler dimension filled with fish snacks.

The sea calmed.

Poseidon clapped, once. Maybe sarcastically. Hard to tell.

“You didn’t drown. Congrats.”

“That’s the bar?!” I gasped, still panting.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen gods cry over a jellyfish sting. You’re doing fine.”

Astronaros swam closer, brushing hair from his eyes, jaw tight. “Is this really necessary?”

Poseidon looked at him for a long moment.

“The two of you are connected,” he said, voice lower now. “But you keep dancing around it. In battle, there’s no room for hesitation. Or fear.”

Astronaros tensed. “We’re not afraid.”

“You are,” Poseidon said simply. “Afraid of each other. Afraid of what you want.”

My throat went dry.

Poseidon turned and started walking away across the water like it was nothing.

“But you’re getting better.”

And then he vanished beneath the waves, as if the ocean had swallowed him like a smug dramatic sea ghost.

We floated in silence.

The water was still.

Astronaros looked at me, breath ragged, space-glow fading from his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, voice low. “I’m just… afraid of what I’d do to you if I let myself feel it all.”

My chest ached.

“I can take it,” I said.

He blinked.

“Whatever you’re scared of. Whatever you think you’re holding back… I’ve known you my whole life, Astro. I can handle it.”

For a second, I thought he might close the space between us.

But he didn’t.

He just said, “You shouldn’t have to.”

Then he swam toward shore, leaving behind the taste of salt and something that felt dangerously like heartbreak.