Tyche watched in silence as Rhea's presence faded into the mist, withholding the final truth—that Eros himself would soon strip her of love itself.
It suited Tyche well for Rhea to remain at odds with Gaia and Eros. The Queen of Heaven was a master of patience; though her world trembled under the weight of secrets too dangerous to speak, she would bide her time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.
Tyche exhaled softly, murmuring to herself, "Truly, these are turbulent times."
She resolved to keep a low profile, observing from the shadows rather than drawing attention.
As she had foreseen, not long after, Rhea declared that Aphrodite's exile had served its purpose—love must be allowed to flourish once more upon the earth. With divine grace, she revoked the banishment, allowing the Love Goddess to return to Olympus.
Her sudden reinstatement baffled many gods who had schemed against her, sparking endless speculation. Even the Rainbow Messengers, tasked with reporting to the Sovereigns, began to doubt their earlier assumptions. Perhaps Aphrodite had indeed committed an offense worthy of exile—but not one as damning as they had imagined.
A knowing smile played on Tyche's lips. She offered no explanations.
Since the visits of Rhea and Pontus, Tyche had remained unseen by the gods, cloistered within her Isle of Mist. To the outside world, it seemed she had withdrawn in fear—but in truth, she waited. Her silence was not weakness, but strategy—a stillness that stirred the waters beneath the surface.
In time, clarity emerged from chaos. Like sediment settling in clear water, Tyche found the threads she needed. Quietly, she wove them into a net, waiting patiently for her prey to stumble into her snare.
Aphrodite, too, had changed.
The goddess of love bore new wisdom now, tempered by adversity. Her mannerisms softened, her charm refined. No longer the naïve princess of desire, she had become something greater—a queen among mortals and immortals alike.
Eros, ever generous, granted her access to deeper layers of his primordial essence. Upon her return to Olympus, she carried a new divinity—the Domain of Joy. No longer merely beautiful and alluring, she became the Goddess of Delight, sought after at every banquet.
With beauty, love, and joy entwined, she could sense the fleeting thoughts of those around her. Humble where once she was proud, she charmed the gods with effortless grace. Banquets flourished under her presence, and even the most cautious deities vied for her favor, eager to prove their devotion.
Olympus thrived in revelry.
Yet amidst the laughter and music, another figure rose—not through seduction, but through reason.
Zeus, the Thunder God, gained favor swiftly, aided by the silent support of those close to Tyche. Unlike Aphrodite, whose past made her a subject of suspicion, Zeus stood untainted—blessed by the prestige of his mother and revered among the goddesses.
Even Themis, the Titaness of Justice, extended her hand in alliance. Seeking a guardian for the sacred balance of law, she offered Zeus dominion over Justice itself.
Within the halls of Olympus, Zeus consulted with Themis on enlisting the Erinyes to serve as enforcers of divine retribution. Themis agreed eagerly, entrusting him with the task.
His words—measured, wise, and compelling—drew the attention of gods and goddesses alike. Where Aphrodite ruled hearts, Zeus ruled minds. Among the third-generation deities, none shone brighter than he.
Oceanus observed this through his avatars, his doubts dissolving like morning fog. His eldest son, Kannas, had no interest in sovereignty—his heart belonged to the stars. And so, his choice was made.
Seated beside the others in the temple, Tyche's avatar remained motionless—devoid of consciousness, a mere shell.
Beside her, Phoebe spoke again, turning to her elder brother with renewed urgency.
"My eldest daughter, Leto of Moonlit Grace, is gentle and kind," she said. "Koios and I have long feared that such softness may leave her vulnerable. Perhaps Zeus would make a fitting husband."
Not waiting for a reply, she added, "If Zeus promises to cherish our daughter, I shall grant him my Sovereign Seat."
With precedent set by Aphrodite—who shared divinity with Mnemosyne despite being a Middle Goddess—the requirement of High Godhood was no longer absolute. If the other Sovereigns accepted, Zeus' ascension was possible.
Oceanus raised a brow, then turned to Koios for confirmation.
When the Lord of Darkness and Intellect nodded, Oceanus smiled with quiet pride. The two oldest Sovereigns were placing their faith—and their legacy—in Zeus' hands.
Phoebe and Koios had only two daughters, both highly sought after among the Titans. Their bloodline was rare, their blessings coveted.
Many had pursued Leto before—Atlas, son of Iapetus and Clymene, had long sought her hand. Yet Phoebe had refused them all. Only when Iapetus sought aid from Tyche did he understand—his son was not favored by fate.
Now, standing before Oceanus, Zeus was approached by his grandfather, summoned from the midst of his admirers by a single call.
Surrounded by planetary deities, he made his way through the gathered gods.
Oceanus greeted him warmly. "Before your birth, Leto and Astraea aided your mother in mending the sky's wounds. She is a goddess of uncommon kindness."
He added gently, "Even if love does not bloom between you, you will never find her burdensome."
But Zeus, gazing steadily at his grandmother and grandfather, replied, "I do not seek Phoebe's Sovereign Seat."
A pause.
"If I were to fall in love with Leto, such a gift would taint what should be pure. Love bound by duty and inheritance can never be free. And if we cannot trust each other wholly, what foundation do we stand upon?"
Silence fell. Then admiration.
Zeus' response deftly steered the conversation away from his grandfather's question, shifting focus to the Sovereign Seat Phoebe had so generously offered. Yet it was this very evasion that pleased the Oracle Goddess most.
Phoebe and Koios exchanged a knowing glance, their admiration for the Thunder God deepening. In him, they saw not just ambition but restraint—a rare balance among gods.
Among the divine assembly, the success of both Kannas and Zeus was widely attributed to their mother—Tyche, the Naiad-born goddess who had ascended to Sovereignty through sheer cunning and fate's favor.
As an ally of Tyche and one who had once glimpsed the currents of destiny herself, Phoebe suspected the truth behind Zeus' origins. Coupled with old prophecies whispered in hushed tones, she understood more than she let on.
To her, Zeus was destined for far greater heights. Under the guidance of the Goddess of Opportunity, he had inherited her wisdom and foresight. The time was near.
Her own daughters, though gifted, lacked the strength to hold a Sovereign Seat. It was wiser to barter for their safety than risk their ruin. Astraea, ever strong-willed and favored by Tyche, would fare well—protected by her bond with the Fate Goddess and her union with Perses, the Destroyer.
But Leto… gentle Leto, fragile as moonlight—she needed a shield, a guardian, a husband upon whom she could lean.
"She will be a faithful wife," Koios interjected earnestly, his voice edged with urgency. "And you shall have the full backing of the House of Prophecy."
"I shall meet the Moonlit Lady in due time," Zeus replied with a gracious smile before bowing and departing, leaving no promises in his wake.
Aphrodite, oblivious—or perhaps deliberately indifferent—continued weaving joy into the revelry, laughter echoing around her like golden bells.
"Phoebe wishes you to wed Leto?" Tyche asked, surprised.
Hadn't Astraea told her it was Kannas ? When had the plan shifted?
Zeus nodded. "Mother, I seek your insight. What does fate reveal of my union with Leto?"
Understanding dawned. He would decide only after hearing the prophecy's outcome. With quiet grace, Tyche withdrew into the River of Destiny.
"The path leads to two mighty offspring," she intoned. "One shall bring light to the world—a son. One shall bless the earth with abundance—a daughter."
Zeus leaned back, fingers tracing his jawline in contemplation. Tyche emerged from the vision, motioning for a cup of honeyed wine to be poured for her son.
"My child," she murmured gently, "if your heart does not belong to her, do not bind yourself. I will not see love become another pawn in divine bargains."
He did not answer immediately. "Even if I do not love her, I will honor her."
A faint, bittersweet smile touched Tyche's lips. "Then may you never regret the choice you make."
The handmaidens, untouched by such burdens, rejoiced at his return, showering him with gifts. Philyra whispered, "By the Queen's command."
Zeus accepted the treasures with grace, calling forth his planetary attendants to carry them aboard his celestial chariot.
When the nymphs learned of his new domain in the heavens, their joy dimmed slightly. Philyra presented him with a flock equal to Kannas', watching his departure with quiet longing.
From that day forward, the Isle of Mist fell silent. Tyche withdrew entirely, vanishing from divine sight—retreating like her mother Tethys into seclusion.
It was Iris who brought word to Olympus:
Zeus and Leto were to be wed.
Tyche received the news with calm acceptance. Reflecting on the tangled web of divine relations and lineage, she found herself smiling at how deeply entangled she had become—once so perplexed by the chaos, now its willing participant.
At last, after years of silence, she left her island and ascended to Mount Othrys to witness this pivotal moment in her son's immortal journey.
The ceremony was grand beyond measure. Arriving in a chariot borne by white falcons, Tyche stepped onto sacred ground, Sovereign in presence and power.
Astraea greeted her warmly, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Why remain hidden for so long, dear friend?"
Smiling, Tyche took her arm. "Water's essence has revealed to me the path to elevate my Dominion over the Cycle of Waters."
Astraea clapped in delight. "Come! Share this glad tidings with our kin!"
Inside, Zeus and Leto stood bathed in blessings, while Kannas lingered apart, instantly sensing his mother's arrival and hastening to greet her.
Relieved at the excuse to avoid confronting her future daughter-in-law, Tyche joined him. The Olympian Sovereigns gathered in full, honoring both the House of Prophecy and the Fateborn Queen.
Yet even amidst celebration, Tyche noted Rhea's icy expression—and beside her, Aphrodite, hollow-eyed and distant. Eros had taken root within her, feeding greedily on the emotions swirling through the air, heedless of the storm brewing in Rhea's gaze.
A flick of Tyche's wrist sent a flurry of luminous butterflies fluttering between the two goddesses, forming a veil of fate's design.
She approached Rhea, voice low. "Whatever you intend, do it after the vows are spoken. I will not interfere—but I will not allow you to desecrate this day."
Rhea's eyes flickered toward Cronus, distant and unfeeling. "She has taken what was mine. I can no longer feel him."
Her voice trembled—not with sorrow, but fury barely restrained. Within her, the battle raged between resurfacing reason and the monstrous hunger of possession.
Tyche remained seated beside her, watchful, prepared.
Unaware of the tension beneath the revelry, the gods danced on, swept up in Eros' influence, offering their emotions freely—unwitting sustenance for the Primordial of Desire.