With a forced smile, Tyche brushed aside the unsettling premonition that gnawed at her mind. Though fate had whispered of a favorable outcome, she could not shake the feeling that it would unfold in a way she would never welcome.
Her unease deepened with every passing moment, and soon, she found herself unable to feign interest in idle revelry. With a subtle glance toward Astraea, she signaled her intent to leave.
Understanding immediately, Astraea rose gracefully, linking arms with Eurynome. "My lady," she said with a charming smile, "pray accompany me to Father's temple. He is most eager to meet my betrothed."
Eurynome, ever composed, accepted the invitation without hesitation. Perses bowed respectfully to Phoebe before following his mother and future bride.
Tyche wasted no time with pleasantries. Turning to Phoebe, she spoke plainly. "Lady Phoebe, I must know the cause behind this disturbance within my divinity."
Bound by their oath upon the Styx, and recognizing the gravity of celestial imbalance, Phoebe readily agreed. Their fates entwined, they reached beyond the River of Destiny, threading through its currents in search of truth.
Phoebe's silver shuttle wove strands of causality from Tyche's essence, unraveling the tangled threads. At last, an image surfaced—Tyche wandering aimlessly through the skies, unmoored and adrift. But before they could discern more, a blinding surge distorted the vision, forcing them to retreat.
Brows furrowed, Tyche exhaled sharply. "Something is interfering."
Phoebe tapped her throne thoughtfully. "Whatever it is, it bears the mark of my radiant sister."
"There was an exchange," Tyche admitted. "I traded climate's essence for heat's dominion—with Theia's guidance."
"That explains much," Phoebe mused grimly. "She is light incarnate, rivaling Hemera herself. Perhaps she seeks to extend her reach into the heavens, casting even day into shadow."
"It's worse than that," Tyche murmured darkly—but left her fear unspoken.
Phoebe did not press further. "Perhaps this is your chance. Fate has already chosen the ending."
Taking her leave, Tyche transformed into a streak of auroral light, racing toward the eastern peaks. She landed before the Temple of Eternal Radiance, waiting patiently as storm clouds gathered above. A sudden downpour broke across the mountains, startling woodland spirits who gazed skyward in wonder.
At last, the temple doors parted. Eos emerged, her expression tight with guilt, avoiding Tyche's gaze as she ushered her inside.
Within, Theia sat in serene majesty. Tyche wasted no time. "What have you done?"
Though Eos flinched, Theia remained composed, gesturing for Tyche to sit. Nymphs offered golden goblets brimming with nectar.
"You relinquished control of climate when you exchanged it for heat," Theia said smoothly. "Its use is no longer your concern."
Frustration simmered beneath Tyche's calm exterior. "The gods all seek to delay Uranus' return. Why now? Why risk destabilizing the skies? Do you think Gaia will look kindly on such interference?"
Theia merely smiled, raising a hand to part the storm. "I only wished to ease my son's burden. Must I be condemned for loving him?"
Anger flared within Tyche. Her goblet crumbled to dust in her grasp. Sky-born power surged, shattering the temple's roof and summoning another deluge. Hail lashed the marble walls, sending nymphs and Eos scrambling for shelter.
Theia rose in fury. "Have you lost your mind, Tyche!"
The heavens trembled, drawing the eyes of the divine. Thunder roared as torrents surged forth, flooding the valley below. Ice encased the mountaintop, turning the battlefield to her favor.
"You misunderstand," Tyche declared coldly. "It was you who first struck against me."
A wall of water surged forward, forcing Theia back. No longer would she play the obedient daughter of the Titans. This was war.
Blizzards spread like wildfire, locking Theia within a frozen domain. Though mighty, the goddess of light lacked the strength to counter Tyche's full assault. Her dominion over vision faltered under fate's veiling glow, leaving her blind amidst the chaos.
Selene arrived moments later, drawn by the commotion. Tyche met her with a cutting glare, unleashing a wave of auroral light that scattered her chariot's steeds. Only Selene's firm grip saved her from being thrown.
Fate's power wove a veil around the temple, shielding the confrontation from prying eyes. Among the watching gods, astonishment rippled—gentle Tyche, so often reserved, now unleashed.
In the depths, Tethys and Oceanus intercepted Hyperion, while Metis, with Pontus' reluctant blessing, led the oceanic forces in a flood that swallowed the land.
Upon the rising tide, Tyche called upon the sea. Waters answered her call, surging in harmony with her wrath.
Theia raised a barrier, straining against the onslaught. Her power over sight stripped Tyche's vision, but fate's gift granted her perception beyond mere sight. Equal in defiance, neither yielded.
This was only the beginning.
The divine war raged through day and night beneath the silent gaze of the god-king, who neither intervened nor forbade it. The other gods, sensing Cronus' ambiguous stance, watched from afar, wary yet captivated.
Within Tyche's eyes burned a radiant white glow—fate's threads laid bare before her vision. She moved with effortless grace between Theia's attacks, dodging shafts of piercing light as though strolling through a garden.
"You seem less certain than you claimed," she taunted, lips curling in disdain. "Does your confidence waver, Lady Theia?"
From atop the temple's crumbling remains, Theia's expression darkened. "Is it truly so wrong to shape new divinity from what was freely exchanged? Must we come to blows over this?"
To the watching gods, such an act might seem trivial—a mere fusion of divine essence birthing a new deity. Yet Tyche, weary of divine hypocrisy, could not suppress her fury at Theia's feigned innocence.
Between her fingers, the fateful die ceased its turning, pulsing with a sinister crimson glow. Along unseen threads of causality, it reached for Theia.
Fate howled in judgment.
Without warning, the ground beneath Theia gave way. Her foot slipped into a jagged crevice, her radiant barrier flickering. Seizing the moment, Tyche struck—a surge of sky-born force sent the Titaness hurtling backward, shattering icebergs in her wake before she soared once more into the heavens.
"Yield the newborn!" Tyche commanded, voice like thunder. "Surrender the child!"
But wounded pride would not yield. With a cry, Theia shattered the intervening ice wall, her form swelling into a towering divine avatar. A colossal hand descended toward Tyche, poised to strike.
Anticipating the assault, Tyche summoned a torrent that slammed into Theia's legs, throwing off her balance. Though she evaded the blow, currents coiled like serpents around Theia's limbs, only to be torn apart by her raw power—sending sheets of rain cascading across the battlefield.
The two goddesses clashed in a spectacle of celestial force, their duel leaving even the elder gods breathless.
Tyche opened a portal, vanishing from sight. Strength alone would not win her victory—Titanic flesh endured where Oceanid bodies faltered. One solid strike from Theia would decide everything. She had no choice but to weave through openings, striking from shadows.
Her fractured sky-sphere pulsed erratically, drawing strength from the celestial domain. Doorways flickered into existence, each leading her just beyond Theia's reach.
Roaring in fury, Theia summoned gemstone spires from the earth itself, their crystalline points piercing through the frost-laden air. Space itself seemed to shrink under their onslaught. Forced further back, Tyche's battle finally broke free of the mist-shrouded island.
Then came the intervention.
Phoebe, Themis, and Astraea stepped between the warring deities. Phoebe restrained Theia, Astraea calming Tyche with a steadying touch.
A long silence stretched between them before both goddesses turned to the goddess of justice.
"Hear my plea," Tyche declared first. "Theia shaped a child from my essence without consent—she has violated my sovereignty! As a goddess, as a woman, I cannot abide this theft!"
Themis raised her golden scales, wings unfurled. "I judge all truths! Before me, none may speak falsehood!"
She turned to Theia. "Did you indeed shape new divinity from the remnants of climate?"
Calmly, Theia answered, "I birthed a new deity—but I did not steal. That essence was lawfully obtained through Helios' exchange with Tyche. It is no longer hers to claim."
Themis turned to Tyche. "Is this true?"
Tyche inclined her head. "Yes. I traded it to Helios."
The scale tipped slightly toward Theia, but Tyche pressed on. "Yet this does not grant her the right to use it for creation! Had she forged new domains or shared dominion over the skies, I would have accepted it. But a child ?"
Her voice rose with conviction. "This concerns the sacred right of motherhood! No goddess should bear life without choice—no child should be born of schemes and ambition! To choose or reject motherhood is our inviolable right!"
Silence fell. Then, from the golden light, Rhea emerged. Despite past grievances, she stood beside Tyche.
Gasps rippled through the gathered deities. Goddesses nodded in solemn agreement, voices rising in support. The scales shifted decisively toward Tyche.
Theia, cornered, exhaled sharply. "I concur with Tyche's words," she admitted at last. "Let Justice decree the verdict."
The scales tipped fully. Themis raised her golden sword, sealing fate's decree. Divine law inscribed itself upon the cosmos—granting Tyche a new mantle: Protector of Mothers and Children.
Lifting the radiant fragment, Tyche basked in the praise of goddesses rejoicing in this hard-won triumph.
Then came Metis, leading the sea-born goddesses—and behind them, struggling against their restraint, Helios himself.
His golden eyes still gleamed, yet Tyche's sight had returned now that Theia had yielded.
She approached him slowly. "Did you know, Lord Helios?"
He remained silent.
Her gaze sharpened. Ice began forming once more beneath his feet.
Eos appeared in a flash of rosy light, interceding desperately. "He knew nothing! Mother only told him you had accepted his proposal—he believed he was offering aid, not complicity!"
The wind stirred Tyche's robes. Around her, a faint consciousness stirred—newborn, innocent, instinctively drawn to her presence. A child born of fate, seeking its mother's embrace.