That evening, in the quiet solitude of her temple, Tyche busied herself with carving a life-sized mirror for her mother. She selected radiant corals for its embellishment and fashioned golden cabinets on either side, their handles shaped from lustrous pearls.
Draping it in a veil woven from the threads of night, she summoned Iris with satisfaction and entrusted her with the gift—alongside a vial of newly crafted perfume—to be delivered to the oceanic halls beneath the waves.
Iris departed at once, transforming into a luminous arc that arched across the deep.
Left once more to idleness, Tyche wandered toward the underground currents, channeling her power to hasten the birth of the subterranean water domain.
The essence of water embraced this nascent function tenderly, giving rise in turn to the domain of purification—an attendant deity born of the depths, awaiting only the completion of its sister to emerge.
Seizing the moment, Tyche reached out to the primal source of water itself. Ever generous, the essence welcomed her lovingly, flooding her being with divine insight and strengthening her godhood beyond measure. Yet such communion was perilous; prolonged exposure risked dissolving one's self entirely into the flow, losing all sense of individuality.
Tyche tread carefully each time she sought this union, and the essence, ever fond of her wisdom and restraint, spared her from becoming a mere vessel. Thus, she was granted this rare and sacred bond.
Upon withdrawing, she returned to her temple and willingly descended into a deep, restorative slumber. Ice spread across the marble floors, and thick mists veiled the sea, turning away any who dared approach without invitation.
Her water cycle domain danced joyfully within her soul, refining her divine nature as she devoted herself wholly to its growth.
Time passed—how long, none could say—until at last she stirred, awakened by the completion of her transformation. With a wave of her hand, the ice receded, revealing the world anew.
The two Rainbow Goddesses awaited her, their forms illuminated by moonlight. Alke spoke first: "My Lady Tyche, the goddess of the night visited you in your sleep. She brought word that Astraea is soon to ascend to lesser divinity."
Delighted, Tyche replied, "Then I shall journey to the stars to offer my regards."
Iris added, "Grandmother Tethys cherished your gifts and sent this in return—the blessing of the goddess of the Quiet Bay."
Tyche hesitated. "Electra is your mother, not some distant sovereign. There is no need for such formality."
Iris paused, then inclined her head. "As you command." Beside her, Alke offered a silent bow, making her own position clear.
A sigh escaped Tyche's lips. Divine kinship, though bound by blood, often ran thin by nature. Thaumas' coldness had left wounds upon his daughters' hearts, wounds even Electra's maternal devotion could not fully mend. Though she had shielded them by instinct, she could not change her husband's heart—and so she withdrew, leaving her daughters to grow in silence.
Iris led Tyche to the shore, gesturing toward great oysters in the shallows. "These produce pearls that glow like stars in darkness. Grandmother said you have an eye for beauty, and personally retrieved them from the deepest caves of the abyss."
Examining the offered gems, Tyche marveled at the ocean's bounty—its treasures as countless as grains of sand. Under daylight, each pearl shimmered faintly; under night, they would gleam in full splendor.
She filled a golden casket with the finest specimens, donned her aurora-woven cloak, and carried her mirror and perfume high into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.
The vast星空 (xīngkōng)—the starry expanse—was silent and devoid of life. Its celestial bodies shone brightly, yet were dimmed by the presence of Hemera, the Day. Only when Nyx took her place would the heavens reveal their true brilliance.
Gliding through the cosmic void, Tyche followed the trail of meteors to a yellow-hued star, where gentle Selene awaited. Taking her arm, the Moon Goddess guided her to a temple bathed in silver light. Upon a golden throne sat Phoebe, the Titaness of prophecy, smiling warmly in welcome.
"O cunning Tyche," Phoebe greeted, "you deserve a sanctuary among the stars—a seat from which your dominion over climate may shine eternal." She extended a small crystal orb. "Take this. Choose your domain among the heavens."
Only upon accepting it did Tyche realize—the orb was a miniature star, its vast power sealed within by divine might. To release it would restore its former glory.
Honored yet unsettled by Phoebe's favor, Tyche bowed and presented her offerings. "Noble Phoebe, accept these humble tokens as tribute."
Phoebe's eyes gleamed upon the golden mirror, its back adorned with grapevine motifs, its frame studded with purple pearls resembling clusters of fruit. Lifting it, she praised freely, "It comes as no surprise that Mother Gaia believes you alone worthy of the craft domain. Truly, Metis' wisdom has favored you."
With modest grace, Tyche responded in kind.
Phoebe dismissed Leto with a gesture, then took Tyche's arm gently—yet her voice chilled Tyche to the core. "Why do you walk outside fate? In my visions, you were destined to become a minor deity of abundance. Yet now, you stand as a lesser goddess."
Swallowing hard, Tyche forced a smile. "Mighty seer, if even you cannot see the answer, how can I?"
Unperturbed, Phoebe seated her beside the throne, her tone soft yet piercing. "Fear not, Tyche. You are the anomaly. Your existence bends the course of destiny, scattering unknown possibilities upon the river of fate."
Composing herself, Tyche asked gravely, "Oracle of fate… what is it you seek from me?"
Tyche met Phoebe's serene smile with a steady, frost-laced gaze. She clenched her fist, the sharp sting in her palm grounding her resolve as she asked once more, "Surely you did not summon me merely to warn me, my Lady?"
Phoebe remained composed, her eyes fixed upon Tyche with an unfathomable depth—as though peering beyond time itself, into the endless corridors of what was yet to come.
A chill crept up Tyche's spine. She raised her voice, firm and insistent. "My Lady?"
At last, the seer shifted her gaze, speaking with calm assurance. "Fear not—I have no intent to harm you. Your existence may yet prove a boon to fate itself."
The unease in Tyche's chest ebbed away. Divine beings were creatures of self-truth; they rarely lied to themselves, let alone others. To seek prophecy from one who commanded fate was to grasp certainty—a privilege granted at great cost, for such a gift demanded reverence and could never be defiled.
So she welcomes my presence because it serves her purpose? Tyche mused inwardly. Keeping her expression unreadable, she inclined her head humbly. "Is there anything I may do for you?"
To her astonishment, Phoebe spoke plainly. "Would you claim dominion over fate?"
Caught off guard, Tyche tread carefully. "Fate flows under your guidance, my Lady. No deity can rival you in this realm."
Phoebe's eyes darkened slightly. "Yet I have seen—fate's essence shall give birth to three Moirai, who will bind all destinies into their hands. When that day comes, fate shall slip from mine, and I shall fade… sinking into the depths of its river, forgotten."
She reached out and clasped Tyche's hand, her smile returning. "But you—you are the beginning of change."
With a graceful gesture, Tyche helped Phoebe rise, her voice measured. "Me? Fate is vast and unyielding. What can I possibly do?"
Phoebe's expression turned solemn. "You will become the goddess of opportunity, scattering fate's unity and preventing the Moirai from ever arising!"
A long silence stretched between them. At last, Tyche spoke, each word deliberate: "By the River Styx, we shall seal our pact."
Phoebe's voice rang clear: "By the sacred waters of the underworld, I grant Tyche a fragment of fate's power, and in return, she shall thwart the birth of the Moirai. By divine fire, we swear this bond shall hold!"
Tyche echoed: "I accept this accord, by divine fire, I shall uphold it!"
The power of the Styx stirred in response, binding their oaths with chains unseen. Should either break their vow, they would be ensnared within the eternal currents of the underworld, never to emerge.
With the oath sealed, a newfound warmth filled the air. Trust, however fragile, now tethered them together.
Phoebe extended a trembling hand, offering a radiant core of primordial divinity. Sweat traced down her brow, betraying the agony of severing part of her own being.
Tyche accepted the essence without hesitation and, under Phoebe's watchful gaze, absorbed it. Her divine flame roared brighter than before, a blazing testament to her transformation.
Satisfied, Phoebe slumped back onto her throne, whispering with weary affection: "Fate is not ours to command, only to guide. Remember—each choice you make will shape countless realities."
As if in answer, a luminous butterfly emerged from the flickers of Tyche's flame, alighting gently upon her fingertip.
Phoebe gazed at the creature, smiling softly. "A symbol of fate's choices… most fitting for you."
"Seek more fragments of fate," she urged. "Together, we shall replace the Moirai. I shall embody the future, and you—the present. Once the goddess of the past awakens, our foundation will be complete."
With that, she waved Tyche away. After a respectful bow, Tyche departed the temple of prophecy. A veil of fate cloaked the sanctuary, concealing it from sight. Phoebe would need much time to recover.
Tyche felt the new domain stirring within her soul. The domains of chance and choice had begun to take form. Upon their full emergence, she would wield power formidable enough to stand against even a greater deity.
The butterfly fluttered forward, following unseen threads of destiny toward places where fates entwined. Guided by its flight, Tyche beheld a crimson thread stretching across the cosmos, linking two divine figures.
One end bound to Astraea, soon to awaken as the goddess of stars and astrology; the other to Perses, the Titan of destruction—son of Crius and Eurybia, nephew and cousin alike through the tangled bloodlines of the old gods.
For the umpteenth time, Tyche winced inwardly at the convoluted relations of the divine. Another nephew-by-marriage-and-blood, she mused wryly.
Curiosity led her to brush the thread lightly. A foreign impulse surged through her, and instinctively, she felt these two should unite in marriage. The realization struck like lightning—her breath caught, and cold sweat dripped from her brow.
She recoiled sharply. "What am I thinking? That wasn't me!"
Frost spread across her skin, steadying her mind. As she stared at the red strand, she understood the true terror of fate's dominion.
No wonder prophecy was always veiled in ambiguity. To speak of what one sees binds the speaker to the very threads of causality. And once entangled, there is no escape from the pull of fate's design.