After admiring the golden mirror, Tyche presented a flowing robe to Astraia—its pure white fabric edged with starlit gold, shimmering with every movement. Light motes drifted from its hem like falling constellations.
Astraia accepted it eagerly, draping it over her shoulders in delight. Tyche followed with a sheer veil of stardust gauze, settling it upon her dark hair. The radiant fragments danced across her form, making her glow even under daylight's brilliance.
In return, Astraia gifted Tyche a collection of fine cloths—woven from moonlight, dawn, and night itself—and from her necklace, she placed a glowing meteor into Tyche's palm.
"Carry this," she said solemnly, "and you may enter my domain among the stars. I look forward to your visit."
With that, she vanished into the heavens, trailing light behind her like a falling comet.
Tyche returned to her island, sealing the waters once more in mist. She slipped off her golden sandals and dove into the pool, sinking toward the shell where she had first awakened.
The joy of reunion faded, replaced by the quiet hush of solitude.
She sat upon the shell, fingers idly rolling a smooth pearl between them.
Through the underwater currents, she ventured beyond the depths, seeking great pearl-bearing mussels. Astraia's gift had reminded her—she still lacked enough mirrors for her mother and sisters.
As she focused on the task, she arrived at a hidden bay. Rising from the waves, she beheld an island unlike any other—a goddess seated upon the rocks, smiling gently as she turned.
Divine recognition stirred within Tyche.
This was Eurynome , goddess of the ocean's waves and pastures—ruler of abundance, sister to the tides.
At a gesture from the elder goddess, a wave lifted Tyche from the sea, guiding her ashore.
"Dearest sister," Eurynome welcomed, linking arms with her. "Be at ease. You are welcome in my domain."
Together, they wandered the island—an abundant paradise. Flowers bloomed in endless color, crystal paths led to towering marble pillars, and sacred springs flowed in perfect circles around the temple.
Nymphs bearing silver trays approached, offering fresh fruits and nectar in crystal flasks. As the two goddesses reclined beneath the shade, attendants flocked around them, eager to serve.
Caught between surprise and admiration, Tyche studied her elder.
No wonder she hadn't seen Eurynome at the divine banquet. Already a Mid-Tier Deity , her power rivaled that of the Titans—second only to the primordials and Olympians. Even Kronos treated her with respect, not command.
Mid-tier gods were sovereign within their realms, bound only by duty—not by fear or force.
Watching Eurynome move with effortless grace, Tyche set her next goal.
Before the coming war, she must ascend to Mid-Tier herself. Only then would she have the freedom to choose neutrality. The warring factions would court such independent powers rather than threaten them. They could watch from afar, decide when and if to act—win, and all rejoiced; lose, and they could withdraw unharmed.
She offered Eurynome one of her crafted mirrors, expecting praise—and received it.
Though kin by blood, divine bonds were fragile. Save for Gaia, few mothers held true influence over their children. Affection among gods was rare—more a matter of politics than emotion.
To Tyche, these relationships felt more like alliances than family. Only time and shared deeds could forge something deeper.
The feast ended smoothly, and Eurynome gifted Tyche seeds that could bloom into every known flower—her token of gratitude.
As Tyche watched her sister return to revelry, she sighed with quiet longing. Gathering her treasures, she returned home atop the mist-laden waves.
Nothing compared to the comfort of her own domain.
Scattering the seeds around her pool, she channeled her power, summoning a field of white lilies that bathed the island in sweet fragrance.
Now, she turned her thoughts inward—to the development of her divine domains.
Craftsmanship, though dormant now, would flourish with the rise of the Bronze Race. It alone might elevate her to Mid-Tier, though it granted no combat strength.
Ocean currents steadily grew stronger, nurturing the sea's essence with each shift. Their potential was vast—but slow to mature.
Temperature, her most potent weapon, remained limited. Without control over fire and ice, its full scope could not be realized.
Only the domain of mists remained fully hers—understood, wielded, and capable of evolution.
If she could expand its nature—if she could weave fog into fate, illusion, or secrecy—then ascension was possible.
And so, with silent determination, she began shaping her path.
From gentle mist-weaver to something far greater.
The domain of mist was, at its heart, part of the broader mantle of weather. If Tyche could claim dominion over rain and unite it with her mists—bolstered by the subtle influence of temperature—then the birth of a nascent climate deity was within reach.
Yet one obstacle loomed unspoken in the future.
Zeus.
Lightning, after all, was the missing keystone to complete the cycle of the skies. Without it, her control over climate would remain incomplete—an insurmountable gap between her and the true might of a powerful goddess.
To seize such power now—before Zeus' rise—would be bold, even wise in some eyes.
But it would also mark her as his enemy from the very dawn of his existence. And in divine politics, such enmity was rarely without consequence.
Tyche's expression darkened.
She had no desire to bind herself to the doomed Titans by provoking Zeus too soon. To sacrifice future potential for present strength was not the path of the prudent.
No, she would wait.
For now, she turned her gaze elsewhere—toward the mantle of rain.
Veiling herself in mist, she ascended to the starlit sky. Her domain stirred the air; thick fog rose from the sea, swirling into the heavens. Clouds gathered above, heavy and brooding. The divine essence of temperature followed, cooling the vapor until droplets formed—soft, gentle rain falling upon the ocean's surface.
From the waves leapt dolphins, joyous in the gift of water reborn.
The world itself seemed to sigh in relief.
A new force stirred in the great weave of things—a quiet, yet undeniable presence.
Faintly, Tyche sensed the pulse of creation beneath the clouds. The World Will nudged her forward, like ripples across still waters—felt, but never fully grasped.
The mantle of Rain descended.
Her Mist, already awakened, reached out instinctively—two fragments of the sky's will merging into one.
In that moment, the essence of water opened to her.
Its depths whispered of countless domains—many slipping through her fingers before she could grasp them. But the connection, however fleeting, had shifted her place among the sea gods forever.
Even the most ancient deities now looked upon her with new eyes.
Water bent more readily to her will. Its secrets, once hidden, were now laid bare.
Satisfied with her gains, she returned to her temple, sinking into the pool where she had first awakened.
She needed time to absorb what she had gained.
Though she had not yet ascended to Mid-Tier Divinity, she stood on its threshold.
Only the final step remained—one she did not yet know how to take.
Time lost meaning in her slumber.
Then came the call of her currents—urgent, insistent.
She had neglected her duty for too long.
With a thought, she emerged from the pool, slipping through the undersea channels back to the open sea.
The sun blazed high, its golden chariot at its peak. She summoned her rain once more.
Gray clouds spread swiftly across the sky, veiling the sun's glare. A steady downpour followed, drenching the parched earth.
Where Rhea's sorrow had left the land barren, Tyche's rain brought renewal. Green shoots pushed through scorched soil. Even Gaia exhaled in silent relief.
Rain fell for a full day and night.
Helios rested his weary horses. Eos delayed the dawn.
When the storm finally passed, the world felt cleansed.
And the laws of fate acknowledged her change.
She was no longer merely the weaver of mists or the summoner of currents.
Now, she was a daughter of the sky.
Cloud and rain made her one of the Weatherborn , though still incomplete.
From then on, Tyche found herself bound to the rhythms of the heavens. Just as before, she toiled ceaselessly—only now, the burden of rain joined the work of mist.
She was a goddess of labor again.
And though her power grew steadily, she mourned the loss of rest.
Yet this pain was sweet.
For every drop she summoned, her divinity swelled.
Her newfound routine was brief.
Once more, Rhea's anguished cries shattered the calm.
This time, it was Demeter—goddess of harvest and abundance—who had been born.
Another child lost to fate.
Rhea wailed, her grief raw and endless. Motherhood had become her torment.
Yet the mantle of agriculture stirred with life, growing stronger with each tear she shed.
None dared challenge Kronos.
So the gods kept their silence.
Tyche alone sent forth a storm, masking Rhea's sobs with thunder and pouring rain.
A small mercy—but the only one she could offer.
Dolphins arrived bearing Tethys' summons.
Plucking a lily from her garden, inhaling its fragrance one last time, Tyche dove into the sea.
At her mother's palace, Tethys waited—her blue hair dimmed by worry.
"My beloved child," she greeted, "I have called you for your sister, Electra."
At those words, the other Oceanides gathered close.
Electra, once a carefree sea nymph dwelling near the shores, had wandered too far during a playful game with whales.
She had strayed into Pontus' abyssal domain.
There, Thaumas—the strange god of the sea's wonders—took her.
Oceanus heard her cry. Tethys wished to act.
But the deep was no place for them.
"You are closest to water's essence now," Tethys urged. "Pontus cannot deny you, and Thaumas will not dare oppose a rising goddess."
Without hesitation, Tyche called upon the currents.
They carried her swiftly into the ocean's depths.
Darkness pressed around her, but her senses led her true.
She felt her sister's presence—faint, but alive.
With a surge of force, she commanded the tides to break open the seafloor.
Mud and sand burst outward, scattering hidden creatures.
Before her lay a cavern sealed in coral.
She calmed the waters, drifting inside.
There, bound yet unharmed, was Electra.
Upon seeing her, the captured goddess darted forward with joy—her fish-like tail undulating gracefully.
Surprisingly, the coral parted willingly at her approach.
Confused, Tyche asked softly:
"My dear sister… where is the monster who took you?"