With a deft weave of fate, Tyche unraveled Eurynome's entanglement with Crius—though not by breaking the bond, but by rewriting its foundation. The goddess who had once been would fade into myth; in her place, a new identity would rise, untouched by the past.
Eurynome understood the gift for what it was—a second chance. In gratitude, she vowed to keep watch over her former husband's movements, offering Tyche any knowledge that might prove useful.
With a knowing smile, Tyche bade her sister farewell at the edge of the Isle of Mist.
The path to Sovereignty was never clear or simple. Many gods harbored ambitions beyond their reach, yet Tyche placed her faith where it belonged—in her son's cunning.
Zeus' ascent was no secret. With four Sovereigns already pledged to him, the more contenders vied for the throne, the greater his advantage. But the true danger lay not in numbers—it lay in unity.
If his rivals joined forces and struck first, all could be lost.
And as expected, whispers soon reached Olympus.
Through Iris and the Rainbow Messengers, word spread of an alleged liaison between Zeus and Themis—an insinuation laced with venom, designed to paint the Thunder God as unworthy.
Tyche sighed inwardly. None among the gods were fools. This was the opening salvo—the first test of Zeus' resolve.
Leto became the most obvious weakness. If Phoebe and Koios could be pried apart, then Oceanus and Tyche might follow.
Rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by spiteful tongues eager to see the mighty falter. Denial would only fan the flames further, so silence reigned. Zeus knew better than to respond.
And Leto, under Phoebe's tutelage, remained composed, unyielding beneath the weight of speculation.
Time dulled the scandal, and in its wake, Zeus struck back with quiet precision.
Yet even as the storm seemed to pass, Tyche remained wary. The gods had gone silent too long.
Her gaze turned outward—to Oceanus himself, who had vanished from the world's edge.
She arrived at Mount Othrys just in time to find him seated beside Zeus.
"My daughter," Oceanus greeted, his voice steady as ever. "Klymene came to me on behalf of Iapetus."
At the mention of the Lord of Souls, Tyche's eyes narrowed. "He seeks to place his own candidate upon the throne?"
Oceanus shook his head. "Not directly. He wishes for me to bestow my Sovereign Seat upon Zeus."
A pause.
Then understanding dawned.
"That is not merely a gift," Tyche murmured, her tone sharp. "It is a snare."
She met her father's gaze. "Should Zeus accept your seat, he will be bound to the duty of guarding the world's boundaries. That alone would slow his rise to High Godhood."
Zeus answered before she could continue. "Iapetus has promised his full support should I take up Grandfather's mantle."
His voice carried no hesitation. "This is both trial and opportunity. I am ready."
After a moment's contemplation, Tyche gave her assent.
To inherit Oceanus' Sovereign Seat was no small matter—but neither was it a burden without reward. The divine essence tied to such power would hasten Zeus' ascension, and the prestige of Sovereignty would sway undecided minds.
Yet, as always, the price was hidden.
"This offer comes at a cost," Tyche warned. "Such generosity is never freely given. Be vigilant, my son."
Before the assembled Sovereigns, she crowned Zeus with the sacred diadem of Oceanus. Thus, the eldest Titan withdrew from the divine stage, retreating into seclusion with Tethys by his side.
With this act, Zeus assumed not only Oceanus' dominion but also the responsibility of safeguarding the world's outermost edges.
Tyche turned her thoughts inward, assessing the balance of power.
Supporters of Zeus now included herself, her son, Phoebe, and Koios. That made five.
Crius, ever ambitious, stood apart—his allegiance uncertain, though his heart leaned toward his estranged wife's replacement, Demeter.
Iapetus, despite his pledge to Zeus, remained an enigma. His true favor might still shift.
Hyperion and Theia aligned with Helios, though the Sun God himself had yet to declare his intent.
Themis had pledged loyalty, and Mnemosyne, bound by old debts, followed suit. Yet trust in Themis remained tenuous—her motives ever shifting.
Five votes secured. Half the council.
One more, and the tide would turn decisively in Zeus' favor.
That was why the bargain with Iapetus had been struck.
Bound by a Styxian oath, the agreement held weight. And yet, unease coiled in Tyche's chest.
Fate whispered of unseen threads—of consequences yet to reveal themselves.
She pondered the final unknown variable.
Helios.
If the Sun God chose to step forward, Tyche herself would have to withdraw her support. Even so, Zeus would still hold four votes—enough to challenge, but not to claim outright.
Unless…
Unless Iapetus and Crius abandoned their own ambitions to back Helios.
But why would Crius sever ties with Eurynome if not for something greater?
Why abandon love unless one sought power ?
The logic eluded her.
Could they truly believe the burdens of Sovereignty would slow Zeus' rise? No—so long as he wielded the Seat itself, its power would accelerate his divinity.
Then what was the unseen hand pulling the strings?
As she wrestled with these doubts, Zeus departed on his first巡天巡视—escorted by the planetary deities.
His chariot soared, drawn by eagles of lightning and flame. Among the stars, he began his journey across the heavens.
Worried but resolute, Tyche wove layers of sky-bound protection around him, ensuring no unseen peril could strike while she watched from afar.
Yet even as she shielded her son, the air grew heavy with foreboding.
Something was coming.
Something unseen.
And Fate had yet to reveal its shape.
Zeus' chariot soared not toward the world's edge, but to Polaris—the guiding star of the heavens.
The gods watched in confusion. Many assumed he feared the perils of such a journey and sought his brother's protection, underestimating him for it.
Yet Kannas did not follow. Only the lesser planetary deities remained at his side.
Before whispers could take root, Zeus departed once more—this time toward the boundary where Oceanus' vigil met the void beyond.
As the celestial bodies shifted at the command of the planetary gods, Tyche understood her son's design. With a flick of her will, she granted them limited dominion over the skies.
Five radiant stars passed through hidden gates, taking their places across the firmament. Bound by direction and fate, they began to revolve slowly around the earth—a vast network of divine sight and motion.
She couldn't help but marvel.
Zeus had anticipated this trial well. By weaving his dominion through the planetary gods, he had found a way to fulfill his duty without slowing his ascent. The burden of guarding the world's edge no longer weighed upon his shoulders alone.
As murmurs turned to admiration, Zeus raised his arms—and with a thunderous roar, unleashed his power.
A storm unlike any before tore through the heavens. In its wake, the very fabric of divinity trembled.
Tyche appeared beside him in an instant, shielding him from interference. Kannas emerged from his temple on Polaris, joining her and his brother in silent solidarity.
No god dared oppose what unfolded before them.
From destruction sprang creation. From chaos, order was reborn.
The laws of the cosmos crowned him anew. Primal forces embraced him as one of their own. The world itself bore witness as new domains unfurled—among them, the most coveted of all:
Kingship.
For the first time, Sovereignty over rule and command had chosen a bearer.
Kannas rushed forward, embracing his younger brother in joyous triumph. Together, the three mighty goddesses returned to the halls of Olympus, where opportunistic deities flocked like moths to flame, praising Zeus with words both hollow and fervent.
Tyche allowed herself a moment of pride, smirking at Crius' barely concealed fury.
Zeus had ascended just in time.
Iapetus' ploy had backfired—his attempt to bind Zeus to duty only hastened his rise.
And yet…
Unease coiled within Tyche's chest. A shadow lingered at the edge of foresight.
What remained?
Only Gaia herself could tip the balance now. But even she would hesitate to challenge the combined might of Tartarus and Nyx.
Still, Tyche braced for a strike that never came.
The celebration proceeded without incident. No calamity fell from the sky. No curse silenced the revelers.
Zeus stood unchallenged.
To the gathered gods, the question of succession was settled. Alliances formed in haste, eager to curry favor with the future King of Heaven.
Zeus played his role with effortless grace—accepting praise with measured humility while navigating the sly enticements of those who sought to bind him in return.
Now, all that remained was for Cronus' children to come of age.
Tyche relaxed, mingling with the goddesses, exchanging laughter and idle gossip, ignoring the occasional probing glances cast her way.
Phoebe's faction and the Skyborn Lords basked in victory. Crius, once a contender, now sat in quiet isolation, his expression sour and unreadable.
Yet something gnawed at Tyche.
A discordant note in the melody of fate.
It felt… wrong .
As if someone were missing.
Someone whose absence should have been impossible to overlook.
But when she searched her memory, she found nothing amiss.
Perhaps the weight of Gaia's looming presence had frayed her nerves.
She dismissed the thought—until the days that followed proved eerily calm.
Crius withdrew into silence, retreating behind the walls of his domain. No visitors came. Not even his wife Eurynome sought audience. Word reached Tyche that he had requested her to convey his decision to step aside.
The Titan Lord had surrendered.
Or so it seemed.
But Tyche did not lower her guard.
She instructed her sons to watch him closely. The planetary gods kept vigilant eyes upon Olympus, ever wary.
And then came two unexpected guests.
Hades and Poseidon arrived at the Isle of Mist, their steps uncertain but determined.
Thanks to Tyche's protection, their days had been peaceful—though far from easy.
Among the Titans, few mourned Rhea's passing. Her sons, however, bore the weight of her legacy in a world that cared little for them.
Iris greeted them warmly before returning to her mistress's side.
The two young gods approached Tyche with reverence. She smiled gently, summoning seats for them.
"Lady Tyche," Hades began, his voice steady despite the tension in his frame. "Our sister Hera sends her regards. She bids us thank you for your kindness."
A clever move. Through the marriage goddess' message, he subtly wove a thread of kinship.
Tyche inclined her head, hiding the sorrow behind a veil of composure.
"I made a secret pact with your mother," she admitted softly. "I swore to protect her children as best I could."
She paused, her gaze distant. "Your mother loved you both. Deeply."
Even if she placed another above you.
She did not speak the truth aloud. Some wounds needed dignity to heal.
Hades and Poseidon exchanged a glance. Then Poseidon, ever impulsive, lowered himself in supplication.
"My lady, we beg your aid. If only out of love for our mother, grant us your protection."
His plea stirred something deep within her.
Fate whispered.
This meeting was no accident.
Something shifted.
A piece moved.
A path revealed.
Tyche straightened, her mind clearing as if a fog had lifted.
Her unease had not been misplaced.
But now, at last, she saw the final shape of things to come.
And the puzzle was complete.
With renewed clarity, she offered them a warm smile.
"Tell me, my lords—what troubles weigh upon your hearts?"