Once more, the divine power of frost manifested; as icy tendrils enveloped his body, the fury within him gradually subsided. Still shaken, Kannas wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
"My mother once taught me to be wary of the influence divine power can have upon oneself," he declared solemnly, passing on her wisdom. "Let this serve as a warning to you all!"
Tyche, rarely so severe, rebuked her sons with uncharacteristic sternness. Kannas was still too young—unaware of how the corrupting force of calamity had tainted his divinity. Fortunately, it had been detected in time, preventing irreversible consequences.
"Do not be swayed by mere words—I have taught you this many times before!" the goddess implored earnestly.
"Dear son, perhaps I have sheltered you too much. You have never faced hardship or trials. Now is the time for you to stand alone."
With reluctant resolve, she cast Kannas from her embrace, forcing herself to let him face the storms she had long shielded him from.
Her handmaidens, unwilling to part with him, brought forth his flock and whispered comforting farewells. They pleaded with their goddess, begging Tyche to revoke her decree—but each entreaty was met with a hardened heart and an unyielding refusal.
Zeus accompanied his brother to dwell in the celestial realm—not only for companionship but also to expand his divine connections, as most Olympians held favor with Tyche.
As her sons departed, Tyche felt no regret for the path she had chosen.
Kannas's winged horse and Zeus's dark eagle took flight, flapping their mighty wings until the divine figures vanished beyond the horizon.
Rather than resentment, Kannas bore his exile with calm acceptance. A gentle breeze brushed past the goddess's hair, carrying with it a beautiful trumpet vine blossom. Tended lovingly by the nymphs, the vine flourished upon its tree, blooming in cascading torrents of fiery orange.
Burdened with unrest, Tyche left her island and descended into the shadowy realm between earth and abyss—the domain of the dead—intending to return an unclaimed gift to Styx.
From the River of Obsession, Styx emerged unexpectedly, taking the golden vial from Tyche's hands. The goddess of fate wore an odd expression, smirking as she asked, "Have you noticed nothing amiss?"
Following Styx's gaze, Tyche examined herself and was startled to find a faint thread of fate coiled around her essence. Tracing it with the power of destiny, she encountered a veil of crimson mist—an unmistakable signature.
"Aphrodite!" Tyche's voice was sharp with fury, her eyes turning icy.
The two goddesses briefly merged, then parted. Bound by shared divinity, Styx carried away the entangling thread along with their union.
"Who dares manipulate a goddess of fate with the powers of love?" Styx murmured in disbelief.
The Fates occupied a singular rank among deities; even the mighty revered Astraea, a mere mid-tier goddess. Had Tyche not been preoccupied with her sons' departure, such a thread would have been detected the moment it neared her.
A chilling laughter escaped Tyche's lips—rage veiled beneath composure. So Aphrodite dared scheme against her? After weathering countless tempests, nearly foundering in this shallow tide!
Eyes blazing with fury, Tyche clenched her teeth. "If she delights so greatly in weaving love's bonds, let her feel them herself."
Under the intervention of the two goddesses, Aphrodite's thread of fate twisted unnaturally, knotting with that of Cronus before dimming abruptly.
"How absurd," Tyche mused darkly, a dangerous smile playing at her lips. "The goddess of love treats love as mere sport. Allow me to show you the price of meddling with it."
Upon the radiant slopes of Mount Othrys, Rhea, ever possessive of her husband, suddenly faltered. An inexplicable sense of dread gripped her heart.
She clutched tightly at Cronus' arm, overcome with anxious uncertainty.
Meanwhile, Aphrodite wandered through a field of white roses. Ignoring the treasures strewn about—tokens from countless suitors who showered her with rare gems—she grew weary of their fawning devotion.
Holding a newly offered golden bracelet, her fleeting joy gave way quickly to boredom. She cast it aside carelessly, gazing at the scattered riches now meaningless at her feet.
Yearning for something truly unique, she plotted to send her admirers on quests for unparalleled treasures. Gold and jewels no longer stirred her interest—possessing too much rendered them valueless.
Young and inexperienced in true affection, Aphrodite naively sought to own every beauty the world could offer.
Nymphs attending the King and Queen of Gods passed by the rose bushes, drawn in by their fragrance. Long deprived of their mistress's summons, they wandered into the floral thicket.
Unwilling to tolerate their presence near her sacred blooms, Aphrodite prepared to reveal herself—only to pause, intrigued by their hushed whispers.
They spoke of the distant King and Queen, absent from courtly affairs for some time.
"Lady Rhea has scarcely left her temple since the Sky Goddess defended Lady Aphrodite—when even the laws of reality trembled."
Another chimed in eagerly, "Have you not heard the prophecy spoken by Lady Tyche?"
Intrigued, Aphrodite crept closer, concealed by the blossoms.
The gathered nymphs, caught up in excitement, failed to notice the goddess looming behind them.
One particularly bold nymph, now the center of attention, whispered conspiratorially, "It was Lady Tyche who revealed the means to evade the curse! As long as Prince Cronus continues to sire children, the throne shall remain untouched."
A daring voice ventured, "Then does that mean Lady Rhea carries the King's child?"
Doubt followed swiftly, "But there has been no word of her expecting."
"Perhaps that is precisely what troubles her," the nymph grinned knowingly. "Could that not explain why the royal couple remains secluded? Rhea fears the King may grow impatient and seek heirs elsewhere."
Blushing at such audacity, several nymphs stifled their companion's mouth, giggling nervously as they fled the rose garden.
Aphrodite regarded the sudden revelation with grave seriousness. Reflecting upon it deeply, she found the nymph's speculation disturbingly plausible.
At once, her heart stirred—what could possibly be more precious to a goddess who could never ascend as Queen of Heaven than the very throne itself?
The enamored goddess paced restlessly within her temple, turning toward the mirror where her radiant visage gleamed like a celestial star. She murmured to herself, almost reverently, "That crown is the rarest treasure in all creation—and I alone am worthy of its splendor."
With renewed determination, Aphrodite resolved to wrest the divine seat from Rhea's grasp, embarking on her scheme with unwavering confidence.
Yet Rhea and Cronus seldom left their sacred halls. For days, Aphrodite lingered beyond the temple's threshold, watching in vain. Not once had she glimpsed Cronus himself—a failure that filled her with frustration and wounded pride.
Refusing to accept defeat, she attempted an audacious intrusion, only to be unceremoniously cast out by a furious Rhea whose expression darkened like storm clouds before thunder.
Never before had she suffered such indignity, and certainly not without consequence. Her enraged outbursts fell on deaf ears, offering nothing but amusement to the gathered deities atop Mount Olympus.
Consumed by humiliation, Aphrodite swore vengeance for this grievous insult.
When Tyche received word of these events through Iris and the rainbow messengers, a knowing smile graced her lips—one tinged with amusement so deep it made even the tartness of an olive taste sweet.
"A spectacle unfolds once more," she mused, eyes glinting with intrigue. "And this time, I shall not need to intervene."
She summoned Iris with quiet urgency, instructing her to visit the temple of Mnemosyne, the Titaness of Memory, bearing a delicate request.
Swift-footed Iris returned soon after from Mount Othrys.
"Great Mnemosyne has granted your plea," Iris relayed solemnly, "and bids me say—it is the first of its kind."
Tyche inclined her head in appreciation before commanding her attendants to bring forth the grandest mirror in the realm, to be mounted upon a pillar in her sanctuary—so that she might observe the unfolding drama upon Olympus at her leisure.
Meanwhile, Aphrodite, ever watchful of Rhea, seized the opportunity when news reached her that Mnemosyne—her fellow sovereign—had lured Rhea away under the pretense of seeking fresh air.
Delighted, Aphrodite imagined a future in which she would graciously return the mantle of sovereignty to Mnemosyne once she claimed the divine throne for herself.
Full of confidence, she slipped silently into the hushed sanctum of the royal temple, where she found Cronus seated alone upon the throne of kingship.
Seeing no one else present, she let her golden tresses cascade like sunlight, weaving through the chamber's vast emptiness with a subtle emanation of her divine allure.
Cronus, already struggling against the pull of temporal currents, was weakened further by Rhea's absence. His mind wavered beneath the sudden intoxicating fragrance—an almost fatal distraction that nearly sent him tumbling back into forgotten epochs.
Far away, Rhea sensed the disturbance in time's flow and abandoned her sister's company, vanishing instantly to return to the throne room.
There she found Aphrodite lounging provocatively in Cronus' arms, unrepentant and defiant.
But instead of weeping or raging as Aphrodite had expected, Rhea's face shifted—from shock, to sorrow, to something far darker.
With a slow, deliberate step forward, she approached the smug goddess poised for mockery. Yet before a single taunt escaped Aphrodite's lips, a searing pain exploded across her skull—Rhea's wrath unleashed in a single, brutal motion.
In a frenzy of fury, Rhea seized Aphrodite by her golden locks and hurled her from Cronus' embrace.
Dazed and bleeding, the love goddess looked up just in time to see Rhea place a gentle hand over Cronus' eyes. Instantly, he slumped into unconscious repose.
Across Olympus, the gods bore witness as Rhea stormed from the temple, dragging the shrieking Aphrodite down the sacred mountain toward the abyssal depths of Pontus' domain.
Then came the clash—the war between two primordial forces.
Without hesitation or mercy, Rhea unleashed the full force of time's dominion. Pontus' luminous palace dimmed beneath the weight of her fury, crumbling into ruin as centuries rained down upon it in moments. Radiant jellyfish and schools of fish aged to dust; vibrant coral turned brittle stone. Pontus fought desperately to defend himself, pleading all the while, but his words were lost beneath the tempest of divine rage.
His children, powerless before such overwhelming might, could do nothing but plead with their deranged aunt.
The battle intensified, churning the seas into monstrous waves and spiraling vortices.
At the edge of the world, Oceanus and Tethys hastened home to calm their terrified daughters. On Polaris, Kannas felt the tremors of the oceanic upheaval and, alongside Zeus, descended swiftly upon his black eagle chariot. Disaster incarnate, he quelled the rising tsunami. Seeing this, Tethys bid the brothers protect the sea-nymphs while she and Oceanus ventured into the deep.
Such a cataclysm could not remain hidden from the gods. Tyche arrived shortly after her parents, joining the assembled sea-deities as the four primordial powers intervened, halting Rhea's rampage.
Sated at last, Rhea cast the trembling Aphrodite aside and turned to her elder siblings, voice composed yet heavy with apology.
"Dearest sister, revered brother, forgive my intrusion upon your peace."
She gestured contemptuously toward the fallen goddess at her feet.
"This daughter of Pontus has dared to dishonor both myself and the King of Gods. Such insolence cannot stand."
All Olympus had seen how Aphrodite had been dragged from Cronus' temple—but none spoke aloud what truly transpired: how she had sought to ensnare the god-king and failed, only to suffer Rhea's wrath.
Rhea declared, her voice cold and final: "By my authority as Queen of Heaven, I banish you forever from Olympus!"
Promptly, Tyche added her decree: "By my command as sovereign of the seas, I strip you of your dominion over the waves! From this day forth, the ocean shall reject your presence!"
Pontus and his kin remained silent, accepting the judgment of the two mighty goddesses.
The ocean answered Tyche's call. The divine essence of foam and tide that once belonged to Aphrodite withdrew, returning to its primordial source.
Satisfied, Rhea turned and departed, leaving behind a humiliated Pontus and weary Oceanus and Tethys. Tyche approached Elektra, the pale and shaken Goddess of Calm, offering quiet comfort.
Tethys welcomed her long-absent daughter Elektra into her own temple, for all the sanctuaries of Pontus' lineage lay in ruins, unfit for habitation until time could restore them.
Tyche did not press Pontus for allegiance, nor seek advantage in his moment of weakness. Silently, she followed her mother back to the sacred halls.
Awaiting them at the temple steps were Kannas and Zeus, protective guardians of the sea-goddesses. As they met their mother's gaze, questioning yet patient, Tyche merely shook her head enigmatically and offered a subtle glance—one filled with meaning too profound for words.