The celestial spheres shimmered with radiant halos, and upon them, Tyche wandered aimlessly. She had entrusted Leto to deliver her gifts to Astraea, who now hovered on the precipice of ascension. For safety's sake, none would see her until the transformation was complete.
Guided by the whispers of fate, Tyche descended into the eastern mountains, where a faint thread of causality bound her to another deity. Unseen forces stirred—a quiet pull between the essence of heat and the dominion of cold.
Selene arrived in her chariot, her presence as soft as moonlight. "Lady Tyche," she greeted warmly, "welcome to the Temple of Radiance."
Startled, Tyche turned toward the distant, gleaming sanctuary and realized where she stood—the domain of Theia, goddess of sight and light, and Hyperion, the Titan of heavenly light.
"Lady Selene," she replied with grace, "I follow the guidance of Lady Phoebe. May I be granted an audience with your noble parents?"
Selene smiled knowingly. "A vision from the seer is not to be ignored. Come."
Together, they passed through blinding brilliance into the temple's heart, where a golden-winged goddess awaited them in regal splendor.
"Hail, O Radiant One," Tyche bowed deeply. Selene stepped beside her mother, offering a teasing remark. "Mother, behold—Tyche, the pearl of the sea, has come to us."
Theia's voice rang with sovereign authority. "My brother and sister are indeed blessed. Their children abound—Metis of wisdom, Eurybia of strength, Dione of ice-seas… and now you, Tyche, goddess of climate and waters. Four lesser deities strong—your lineage flourishes."
Tyche accepted the praise with a gracious smile. "Your own children shine brightly, my Lady. Your offspring were among the first Titans to ascend—Helios and Selene, luminous rulers of day and night. And young Eos, goddess of dawn, holds a sacred duty in opening the gates of heaven."
A pleased chuckle escaped Theia's lips. The weight of sovereignty lifted, and warmth filled her tone. "I understand why my foresighted sister guided you here. Stay with me until night falls."
Exchanging glances with Selene, Tyche nodded. A white throne rose from the temple floor, and Theia gestured for her to sit.
Perplexed but obedient, Tyche obeyed. As she did, the aurora-bound fragment of her power stirred, drawn by the raw radiance of the place. A ribbon of northern light danced across the chamber.
Theia halted Tyche's instinctive attempt to reclaim it. "Fear not. Light bends to my will—it is only natural that it should respond to me."
Flushing slightly, Tyche withdrew her hand. It was ill-mannered to wield divine force unbidden in the presence of a greater deity, yet Theia seemed unfazed. Instead, she began to impart the mysteries of illumination.
Tyche listened intently, casting aside all distractions. In time, the atmosphere grew warm and convivial among the three goddesses.
The harmony was broken by the arrival of a new figure—a golden-haired maiden whose presence brought the scent of morning air.
"My sister Selene," came the gentle voice of Eos, goddess of dawn, "Leto has waited long enough."
With a hasty farewell, Selene departed in her chariot, vanishing into the waiting embrace of night.
Eos turned curious eyes upon Tyche. "Lady Tyche, I have heard much of you." With practiced ease, her rose-tinted fingers wove through the lingering aurora, shaping it into a delicate rein.
Tyche marveled at the skill. "Dawn-born Eos, your artistry astounds me. You could rival even the craft goddess herself."
A modest blush colored Eos' cheeks. "I only braid reins for my brothers' and sisters' chariots. Nothing compared to the wonders you create."
She turned to her mother. "Father is tending to the sun-horses. He shall join you shortly."
Receiving Theia's approval, she offered one last bow before retreating.
Watching her go, Tyche felt a pang of sympathy. Living in the shadow of such illustrious siblings must weigh heavily upon her dignity. She was no mere attendant to the sun and moon—yet she still performed tasks fit for servants.
Glancing at Theia, who regarded this as perfectly natural, Tyche silently thanked the fates for her birth beneath the waves. Tethys was uncommonly tender-hearted, and Oceanus, though distant, had given his daughter primordial essence when needed most. Among gods, they were rare blessings.
The temple brightened as golden light poured in, heralding the arrival of Helios. Tyche thought of Astraea's jests and how Astraeia, the goddess of meteors, must have foreseen this meeting—and perhaps hinted at it.
Helios strode forward, his mighty frame crowned with fire-lit gold. His gaze, like his mother's, burned with authority. Tyche found herself stiffening under his scrutiny; only the whisper of frost along her limbs steadied her nerves.
"Lord Helios," she greeted respectfully.
"Lady Tyche," he returned, his voice echoing his mother's regal bearing.
Theia called out with unmistakable pride. "My son! Come stand by me!" No effort was made to hide the love and admiration in her tone.
The mighty Helios strode forward, bowing reverently before his mother. Theia's voice softened with maternal pride as she introduced him. "This is my eldest son, Helios, the radiant god of the sun."
His golden-red eyes fixed upon Tyche, and a wave of searing heat surged through the chamber. Instinctively, Tyche summoned her frost-laced power to counter it. Cold and warmth—two opposing essences drawn together—collided in an invisible clash that stirred a sudden gust within the sacred hall.
Two lesser deities at their peak met in silent challenge, neither yielding ground. Then, with measured grace, Helios withdrew his radiance, and Tyche followed suit. Yet beneath their composed exteriors, their divine natures stirred restlessly, whispering of unseen bonds yet to be forged.
"The prophecy unfolds before you," Theia murmured, her tone laced with knowing intent.
Tyche met Helios' unwavering gaze and felt the weight of fate settle upon her brow. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a veil of auroral light between them, shielding herself from his burning scrutiny. Her voice was firm. "Lord Helios, I seek your dominion over heat. What price must I pay for it?"
Before he could answer, Theia interjected with a knowing smile. "If you were to become Helios' wife, such a gift would come freely."
Tyche rejected the notion without hesitation, her expression grave. "My Lady Theia, I have never shared even a word with Lord Helios. I will not enter into such a union on mere suggestion."
A pause. Then she continued, her words deliberate. "Many among my sisters have entered sacred unions, drawing the attention of gods and titans alike. Our line seeks only peace, not ambition."
Theia chuckled, shaking her head. "Cunning Tyche, you know well that the House of Light holds no claim to the throne. Your reasoning falls short."
"And yet," Tyche countered smoothly, "would your other children believe you? My father guards the River Okeanos, bound to its course. My mother dwells beneath the waves, tending to our younger kin. We do not meddle."
She turned her gaze toward Helios. "Among the second-generation Titans, none rival your son in might. All expect him to ascend beyond even greater divinity. Unlike my brothers—mere river spirits—he stands at the precipice of true power."
"If Helios should rise, then all eyes will turn to your house," Tyche continued, her voice carrying the weight of inevitability. "Three great deities of the same lineage—no one dares ignore such strength. And if Phoebe and Ouranos already favor your line, what then if my parents are drawn into your cause? Seven mighty beings aligned under one banner."
Her tone grew sharper, almost theatrical. "Consider too—Crius and my sister Eurybia have borne three children. My sister Klymene and Iapetos birthed Prometheus, the forethinker. Even they remain neutral out of regard for our kinship. Promise Themis and Mnemosyne no dishonor, and they shall keep their distance. As for Hera, her loyalties lie with her children—not with Cronus."
With mock astonishment, she clapped her hands. "Three against one—the outcome seems inevitable!"
Her words rang through the vast temple, and Theia's expression darkened, fury flashing across her regal features. For a moment, she abandoned decorum entirely, rising abruptly. "The House of Light has never sought the throne!"
Tyche's smile remained serene. "Yet fear does not ask permission. Does Cronus not tremble at the thought of being overthrown by his own children? He sees rebellion where there is none—and may yet miss the storm gathering at his side."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone feigned concern. "Perhaps a vow sworn upon the Styx—that your line will remain loyal to Cronus—would ease his fears. For the sake of your husband and children, my Lady Theia… perhaps it is best to decide sooner rather than later."
As Tyche's expression gleamed with feigned innocence, Theia's stormy visage shifted. Slowly, a new smile curled her lips—one of admiration.
"Ah, Tyche," she said at last, smoothing the folds of her robe. "I see now why you are spoken of so highly. You carry the wisdom of Metis and the cunning of Klymene."
She leaned closer, her voice warm with intrigue. "Let us make a bargain."
Unfazed, Tyche inclined her head. "I am eager to hear your terms, my Lady."
Helios, standing silently between the two goddesses, watched the exchange with growing astonishment. His keen gaze lingered on Tyche behind the shimmering curtain of aurora, filled now with curiosity and something deeper—an urge to understand the woman who wielded both ice and wit so deftly.
Theia straightened, her tone turning solemn. "I will persuade Helios to relinquish the essence of heat. But in return, when calamity befalls my house—as Phoebe has foreseen—I require your aid."
Without hesitation, Tyche replied, "Your offer lacks weight. Name another price."
"I will give up the domain of heat," Helios spoke at last, his voice steady. "It was born from my journey across the sky, but it is not essential to my power. The sun itself fuels me."
Their gazes met—mother and daughter, goddess and suitor.
Then Theia spoke again, her voice quiet yet firm. "In exchange, Tyche… you shall surrender a fragment of your climate's primordial essence."