As Tyche comforted the three grieving goddesses, a familiar presence stirred within the temple.
Gaia arrived in silence, her expression unreadable. Yet in her eyes—so often cold and distant—flickered a shadow of sorrow too deep for words.
She did not linger.
"The Sovereign Authority shall remain in the care of the High Gods," she declared, voice calm yet firm. "Until Cronus' children come of age."
The gathered deities bowed their heads, concealing ambitions behind veils of humility. None dared defy a Primordial's decree.
As Gaia turned to leave, she took Demeter, Hestia, and Hera with her.
Tyche watched, uncertain but resigned. At least they are with their grandmother, she thought. Even if Gaia would not nurture them with tenderness, she would offer protection.
As Gaia passed her, she cast one final glance—her lips curving into an enigmatic smile.
A chill ran through Tyche. Was this the beginning of another confrontation?
But Gaia said nothing. Her expression returned to impassive neutrality as she departed, her granddaughters trailing behind.
Half the burden had been lifted.
Tyche now turned her gaze upon the two remaining siblings—Poseidon, restless and anxious; Hades, silent and steady.
Unlike his brother, Hades did not rush after his sisters. Instead, he held Poseidon back, his composure unwavering even in grief.
Seeing the quiet strength in these young gods, Tyche felt a rare softness stir within her.
Her voice rang clear across the hall. "O you scheming hearts! No treachery escapes the eyes of fate. In the name of the Guardian of Children, I shall watch over these sons of Rhea until they reach their full power. Should any among you dare challenge my will—you shall find ruin at your doorstep!"
The guilty flinched beneath her gaze, shrinking into the shadows.
Hades inclined his head in solemn gratitude.
With a gentle nod, Tyche welcomed him. "This is Kannas, my eldest son, god of calamity and change."
"And this is Zeus, my youngest, master of storms and thunder."
Kannas greeted them warmly, while Zeus extended an invitation to his domain—an offer Hades declined with quiet grace.
Thus ended the wedding feast—a night that began in celebration, only to conclude in tragedy and transformation.
Zeus, newly wed, departed with his mother and bride to the Isle of Mist.
In the distance, the towering firs stood shrouded in mist, draped like gossamer veils by the nymphs who tended them.
Iris and the Rainbow Messengers had arrived ahead of them, bearing Tyche's instructions. The handmaidens had prepared the halls with great care, offering fruits and nectars fit for a queen. All was ready before their return.
Tyche pushed aside thoughts of Rhea. She had done all she could. The rest was in the hands of time.
If Hades and Poseidon could ascend to Middle Godhood before reaching maturity, there might yet be a place for them among the Sovereigns. As for their sisters—under Gaia's watchful eye, they were beyond her reach.
She guided Leto gently through her domain. Though the Moonlit Goddess was now her daughter-in-law, Tyche treated her with equal regard—not with the warmth reserved for kin, but with the respect due to an ally.
Leto, ever gentle, remained slightly uneasy. To have her husband's mother once a distant figure of legend, now standing beside her as family—it was a shift requiring careful adjustment.
Yet with Astraea and Zeus between them, there would be no enmity.
At Zeus' signal, Iris led Leto to the treehouse where he had once dwelled in youth. The attendants discreetly withdrew, leaving mother and son alone in the echoing halls.
"Are you ready?" Tyche asked, her voice low with concern. "To face what awaits?"
It was a path strewn with thorns. If she could, she would have spared him this burden.
Zeus, tall and resolute, met her gaze with quiet confidence. "Grandfather Oceanus stands with us. So do Phoebe and Koios—for Leto's sake."
He continued, thoughtful. "Themis can be swayed. But the House of Light remains undecided."
Tyche exhaled. "Mnemosyne still owes me two favors. She will stand with you."
"As for Hyperion and Theia…"
Unlike Kannas—who had been born from the union of Tyche and Helios—Zeus had no such divine lineage binding him to the Sun God. His birth had been shaped by borrowed power, not shared essence. Helios had never regarded him with affection.
Meanwhile, Hades and Poseidon faced harsher trials. In a realm filled with enemies, merely attaining Middle Godhood before maturity would be a feat in itself. The Sovereign Seat was a dream far beyond their reach.
Yet Zeus stood on surer ground.
If he could ascend to High Godhood before the brothers reached adulthood, the interim rulers would have little choice but to grant him the throne.
Of the ten Sovereigns, five already supported him. Only Helios posed true opposition.
Should the Titan Lords rally behind the Sun God, the contest would grow perilous. After all, Helios was older, more revered among the Titans. And the ambiguity of the Luminaries only heightened Zeus' wariness.
"I shall take no side," Tyche admitted, shaking her head. "If it comes down to you and Helios, I will remain neutral."
Zeus accepted her stance without protest. Even without her support, four Sovereigns remained in his corner. With Themis likely to join, his chances were strong.
"Themis desires the Blessing Domain," Tyche mused. "And justice under your rule would ensure her laws endure. She will see the value in backing you."
Zeus seized the moment. "Then may I request the aid of the Erinyes? For those who break the law must suffer retribution."
Tyche considered it. The Pit of Torment was not so demanding that all three Furies were required at once.
"Very well," she agreed. "One of them shall serve your cause."
Thus, the foundation of Zeus' reign was laid—not in blood, but in strategy.
With Tyche's blessing, Zeus descended into the Underworld, seeking the Erinyes. The Furies—drawn to justice and retribution—welcomed his proposal with fervor.
They raised their yew-wood torches, summoning serpents to guard the Pit of Torment in their absence. Cloaked in divine purpose, they ascended with Zeus to Mount Othrys.
Back upon the Isle of Mist, Tyche sighed at her son's haste. He had left so swiftly that Leto remained behind, alone yet unbothered by solitude.
The planetary deities stood watch over his chariot, and Phaethon, speaking for his brethren, offered to escort Leto safely to Zeus' celestial domain.
Tyche refused without hesitation.
How could such minor gods protect a gentle goddess amidst the veiled hostility brewing among the divine? No—hearts of lesser strength were no match for the treachery lurking beneath Olympus' gilded halls.
Iris was dispatched once more—to fetch Astraea and Perses. Ever grateful for Tyche's guidance in raising Hecate, Astraea arrived willingly, dragging her husband along with cheerful insistence.
Perses' power—though formidable—was too entangled with destruction to earn favor among the Olympians. Thus, he was never considered for Sovereignty. Tyche trusted him, however, and placed Leto under his care, urging her to return to her parents' side for now.
Zeus returned bearing tidings brighter than dawn.
Themis had pledged her support.
For the first time in ages, a genuine smile broke across his face. Now, all that remained was to ascend to High Godhood.
With the skies and calamities at his command, and the backing of his mother and brother, Zeus surged forward like wildfire—surpassing even the elder Middle Gods, nearing the threshold of divinity itself.
Tyche watched with quiet pride before offering counsel:
"My son, cast your lightning upon the withered forests. Kindle the cleansing fire. From its ashes, new life shall rise. In death and rebirth, the cycle of vitality shall strengthen your essence."
Zeus obeyed.
Thunder split the heavens as his bolts struck the earth, igniting towering flames that devoured the ancient woods. Then came the rain—a sudden deluge summoned by his will, dousing the embers but awakening the soil.
From scorched earth, green shoots emerged, drawn forth by the rhythm of renewal.
A surge of fertility—an echo of life's endless tide—flowed into Zeus. His thunder, once harsh and unforgiving, now carried the breath of creation, awakening slumbering forces and breathing vitality into barren lands.
As Zeus departed, invigorated and resolute, Tyche turned her thoughts inward.
It was time to rally the sea-goddesses on his behalf.
Oceanids and Naiads gathered in droves, eager to attend the Fateborn Queen. Though none among them could hope to claim Sovereignty themselves—not even the Primordials could alter that law—their allegiance mattered.
If the next King of Heaven would be born of their kin, why not support one who bore the blessings of both sky and storm?
Most agreed readily. Among the daughters of Oceanus, none shone brighter than Zeus. His ascension promised prosperity for the seas, and thus, most pledged their aid.
Yet among them, some hesitated.
Klymene, wife of Iapetus, excused herself abruptly—refusing to declare her stance before the assembly.
Metis, ever perceptive, eagerly volunteered to sway the sea-born concepts under Pontus' dominion.
And then there was Eurynome.
She lingered after the others departed, turning back toward the temple with reluctant steps.
Tyche already knew.
Eurynome's husband, Crius—God of Growth—harbored ambitions of his own.
Seated beside her sister, Tyche welcomed her warmly.
"Crius demands I draw a line," Eurynome murmured, her voice laced with resignation. "He believes the sea must remain neutral. That I can no longer offer you my support."
"And what do you believe?" Tyche asked gently.
A pause.
"I know he has already chosen another path," Eurynome admitted bitterly. "There was a time when love waned, and we parted ways—but this is different. This is betrayal."
Tyche listened in silence.
"In the old days," Eurynome continued, "gods could part for eons, yet still call each other spouse. But now, he seeks to wed again—before our bond is broken."
Her lips curled into a hollow smile. "Demeter, daughter of Rhea. Her power aligns perfectly with his desires. And should he take her hand, he would stand above all rivals vying for the throne."
Tyche nodded slowly. "You need not choose between us."
Eurynome shook her head. "No. I've made my choice. I no longer wish to remain at his side."
At last, she looked up, resolve burning in her eyes. "Sister, help me. With the power of fate, sever the ties that bind me to Crius."
Tyche exhaled softly.
Such a request—divine divorce—had never been done.
"No," she said gently, not unkindly. "Not through force. Not while the laws of the cosmos still hold."
She met Eurynome's gaze. "But perhaps… there is another way."
A knowing gleam lit her eyes.
"But it will cost you everything."
Eurynome did not flinch. "Tell me."
Tyche leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You must shed your name, your identity—your past self must vanish."
She smiled—a slow, enigmatic curve of her lips.
"You must become someone new."
Just as Zhou Shuren became Lu Xun, just as names could change without altering the soul, so too could a deity be reborn beneath a different mantle.
"This is the art of the Fates," Tyche murmured. "To rewrite the threads without breaking them."
A flick of her fingers, and the strands of causality shifted. The bond binding Eurynome to Crius would remain—but only to a version of her that no longer existed.
The Eurynome known to the world would fade. A new goddess would arise—one unbound, unseen, untouched.
And in doing so, she would escape the chains of a dying marriage.
Thus began the shaping of a new identity—a secret woven into the fabric of fate itself.
A revolution stirred in the divine order.
And Zeus' path to the throne grew ever clearer.