Tethys welcomed Elektra among her long-lost sisters, offering her solace and companionship before retreating once more with Oceanus to their solitary domain at the world's edge.
Tyche, sovereign of the seas, concealed the full truth of Aphrodite's transgression, soothing her divine kin with a voice as gentle as a tide-bound breeze. "The arrogant Aphrodite defied the Queen of Heaven, and for this, Rhea has decreed that she shall never again set foot upon Mount Othrys."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered sea-goddesses—many astonished by the severity of the punishment.
Tyche continued, "I have stripped Aphrodite of her title as goddess of the ocean. From this day forth, her actions are no longer our burden."
Her sisters, ever trusting in Tyche's wisdom, soon dismissed the fallen love goddess from their thoughts, turning instead to Elektra, who now found herself surrounded by compassionate faces and tender words from those who mourned her loss.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Tyche slipped away from the temple, summoning her sons to join her upon the sea's surface.
The waters still bore the scars of divine conflict—sediments stirred by the clash between two primordial powers, leaving many regions cloaked in a murky, deep-blue haze. Though Tethys and Kannas had swiftly quelled the tempests and whirlpools, the ocean had not yet fully calmed.
Tyche did not reveal her own role in the chaos. Instead, she recounted the events with the detached clarity of an impartial observer.
Zeus remained silent for a moment, then fixed his mother with a knowing gaze. To him, the circumstances were riddled with inconsistencies, and it was difficult not to suspect that his formidable mother had played a hidden hand.
"Is Aphrodite truly the daughter of Pontus?" he asked—not directly questioning Tyche's involvement, but probing instead the ambiguous relationship between the sea-born goddess and the primordial god.
After a pause, Tyche decided to offer her perceptive son a carefully measured portion of truth.
"All gods know that Aphrodite was born from the severed symbol of Uranus' lost authority, carried within the embrace of the primal sea. Yet her true essence does not belong to sky nor sea, but to love and beauty—domains ruled in their purest form by Eros himself. Just as Gaia holds dominion over earth, no deity may wrest such primal forces from their original bearers."
She continued, "Astraea and Leto received fragments of Nyx's night-power, for the goddess of darkness chose to remain beside her beloved Erebus rather than fulfill her duties. Thus, she entrusted her role to two daughters of Koios, inheritors of shadow."
Zeus nodded thoughtfully. "So Aphrodite's birth bears the touch of the original god of love."
He paused, then asked softly, "And what, Mother, is your purpose in all of this?"
Tyche was unsurprised by her son's insight. With a wave of her hand, she summoned a veil of mist to conceal the three divine figures upon the waves. Like Tethys before her, she began to recount the ancient secrets of creation—the rise of the five Primordials, the shifting of sovereignty among the gods. These truths, veiled from most, lay bare before her eyes.
When Zeus learned that Cronus had ascended only after overthrowing Uranus, he questioned, "Can the throne be claimed through conquest alone?"
"No," Tyche replied gently. "Uranus became the first King of Gods because Gaia willed it. And Cronus rose to power largely due to the Titans' recognition of his rule."
She gazed at her younger son. "Legitimacy lies in consent. Power flows upward—from the obedience of the many to the will of the few."
Zeus' expression shifted, comprehension dawning. "Then authority is built on loyalty, not force."
"I understand what I must do."
A quiet smile touched Tyche's lips. Many knew the truth—that virtue gathers allies, while tyranny breeds isolation—but few truly lived by it.
She turned her attention to her eldest son. The trials of independence had matured him. He had truly reflected upon his path.
With maternal tenderness, she embraced both towering sons, bade them farewell, and returned to her island.
Before she could vanish into the mists, a streak of starlight descended—a meteor heralding the arrival of Astraea.
The Starry Goddess bounded forward, eyes alight with excitement, eager to share tidings. She seized Tyche's hands like a child bursting with secrets.
Seated by a shimmering pool, Astraea delighted in recounting how Rhea had dragged Aphrodite by her golden hair from the throne room, laughing uncontrollably at the image.
"The Queen has ordered the destruction of Aphrodite's temple and rose garden atop Olympus. Her exile can no longer be hidden."
"She wanders the mortal realm now, unwelcome even among the gods. Still, she retains her rank as a Sovereign Deity. Many fear retaliation should they harm her, for the High Gods may feel bound to protect her dignity."
Tyche felt no pity for the spoiled goddess. Eros would ensure her safety. Any who believed her vulnerable would find themselves gravely mistaken.
Seeing her friend less enthralled than expected, Astraea sighed contentedly and prepared to depart—her gossip shared and joy complete.
But Tyche stopped her. "How fares Hecate? Has she made progress since ascending to Middle Godhood?"
At this, Astraea sat back down, sighing. "She achieved her ascent shortly before Zeus, but her fate remains stagnant. The Blessing Domain eludes her grasp."
Setting aside her goblet, Tyche suggested, "Let her study under me for a time. Perhaps her wish for the Blessing Domain lies entwined with her Curse Domain."
Delighted, Astraea agreed without hesitation. Overjoyed at the offer, she hurriedly returned to the heavens to fetch her daughter.
It was not long before the swift-footed Starry Goddess arrived once more at the Isle of Mist, accompanied by Hecate—who was warmly greeted by the attendants.
Philyra, grateful for Hecate's earlier warning, led the nymphs in preparing a grand feast in her honor.
The newly-ascended Erinyes joined the gathering, their domains aligning closely with hers. For once, the reserved Hecate found herself speaking freely, engaging in conversation with the Furies.
Tyche also presented a belated gift for Hecate's ascension.
Smiling, she unfurled a gleaming fleece imbued with arcane radiance. "I've enchanted it with a unique spell—one that grants small wishes within limits. May it inspire you toward the Blessing Domain."
Hecate accepted the golden fleece from Tyche's hands, her eyes alight with wonder at its wondrous enchantment.
The spell bound within the scroll was known as Limited Wish , a rare and potent magic. With her keen mind, Hecate quickly discerned its workings.
She unfurled the fleece over an empty goblet and whispered, "I desire a cup of wine."
As she lifted the fabric, the chalice shimmered—now brimming with sweet, golden nectar.
Delighted, she conjured delicacies one after another until the fleece's radiant glow dimmed to a faint flicker, reluctantly halting her experiment.
Tyche chuckled gently. "Its power renews naturally after seven nights, though you may hasten its restoration with your own divine essence."
Hecate rose and bowed deeply in gratitude. As Tyche helped her up, she added, "This is but a beginning—a spark toward the Blessing Domain. A long path still lies ahead."
Beside them, Astraea beamed with joy, thanking her dear friend before returning to the heavens to scatter stars across the night sky, leaving Hecate behind on the Isle of Mist under Tyche's tutelage.
With quiet resolve, Tyche began Hecate's instruction.
"O wise goddess of curses," she intoned, "remember this: all gifts fate bestows carry a hidden cost. The same holds true for the power of wishful creation. If wielded without restraint, such blessings will invite the scorn of destiny—and loss shall follow."
"And so it is with curses," she continued solemnly. "The pain inflicted upon others shall return to the caster in kind. Every wound dealt echoes back. Use this power with wisdom."
With that, Tyche opened a gateway to the Underworld, guiding the four goddesses to the banks of the River of Obsession.
The spirits upon the river did not stir at their arrival, lost instead in the haunting illusions reflected upon the surface. Silent tears streamed from hollow eyes, falling soundlessly into the water.
Turning to Hecate, Tyche gestured gently. "Go now. Bring solace to these souls who refuse to depart."
Hecate obeyed, approaching a sorrowful shade weeping crimson tears. She spoke firmly yet kindly, "Speak your unyielding longing. Entrust it to me."
Her necromantic power stirred the spirit awake. It gazed upon the luminous goddess and fell prostrate before her, crying out in anguish.
"Merciful goddess! Let me see my husband and child once more!"
The woman had perished in the temporal chaos unleashed by the clash between Rhea and Cronus. Though Dike had shielded those dwelling beneath Olympus, this soul had been beyond salvation, caught outside the mountain when time unraveled.
Hecate, inheriting the threads of fate from mother and grandmother, traced the woman's thread through existence. Her gaze settled upon the foothills of Mount Othrys.
There, Prometheus—the forethinker—guarded his beloved creations. The first mortals thrived under his care, living lives of peace and prosperity. Their days stretched endlessly, untouched by age or pain; even death arrived like a gentle slumber.
It was not long before Hecate found the woman's family. Her expression darkened as she beheld them, then softened with understanding.
"They are already on the path to join you," she murmured.
Guided by fate's decree, two new shades emerged into the realm of shadows. The husband spotted his wife instantly, calling out in joy. After endless separation, the lovers were reunited at last.
A delicate thread of pure white divinity coiled around Hecate's fingers—a faint glimmer, yet enough to illuminate hope. The aura of darkness that clung to her began to clear, replaced by a calmer, steadier light.
Tyche clapped softly in approval. This goddess possessed a brilliance rivaling Zeus himself. Phoebe's legacy would find worthy continuation in her.
Hecate remained by the River of Obsession, freeing tormented souls, while Tyche led the Erinyes onward—to the abyssal prison of torment.
From afar, anguished cries echoed through the caverns. The Furies exchanged uneasy glances.
Pain-laden Alecto turned to Tyche, her voice trembling. "My lady… is this the Pit of Torment?"
Tyche nodded. "From this place springs the domain of suffering, punishment, and vengeance granted to you. You shall now serve as its wardens. Soon, the Underworld shall grow crowded indeed—if left unguarded, wayward souls might escape."
"You may call upon Styx of the River of Obsession if aid is needed. She is trustworthy."
Eager and resolute, the Furies accepted their charge. Before departing, Tyche offered a final warning:
"Do not let your domains consume you. Remember—you are their master, not their prisoner."
Meanwhile, Nyx's children nestled deep within shadowed caves, content in the comforting presence of their mother by the River of Oblivion.
Alone once more, Tyche encountered Thanatos, god of Death. His great black wings fluttered as he stepped from the dreamscape where he carried away the dying, guided by his twin brother Hypnos.
He bowed respectfully. Tyche inclined her head in return.
"Why do you not bring the dead to the Underworld?" she asked.
Thanatos sighed, his expression weary. "Not from neglect, my lady. The golden race, protected by Prometheus, flourishes and multiplies. Their numbers have grown beyond what I alone can manage."
Tyche smiled knowingly. "Then you won't mind sharing the burden? There is a deity well-suited to guide souls to their eternal rest."
Thanatos frowned. "But who would willingly trade the pleasures of Olympus for endless toil in the gloom below?"
Tyche's smile widened. "Then you accept the idea of a new deity entering your domain."
"I suppose," he conceded. "So long as they understand the weight of this duty."
Without further explanation, Tyche turned and opened a portal to the sky.
Selene drove her silver chariot across the heavens, casting moonlight upon the world. Tyche did not disturb her passage, instead soaring northward toward the brightest star above.
Polaris shone with crystalline brilliance. Astraea and Astraeus had ceded its dominion to Kannas. Upon this radiant star, the God of Calamity built his temple. Springs gifted by sea-nymphs flowed into rivers along verdant banks. Grass blanketed the hills, and flocks grazed peacefully under the watchful eyes of wolves.