Tyche raised her arm, voice ringing with authority. "Have you no shame? You trample the dignity of a Sovereign as though it were dust—turning a goddess's worth into bargaining chips for your lustful desires!"
The last warring gods hesitated, their conflict stilled by her presence.
"The soul of a goddess is not yours to sell or seize!" she thundered. "They are sovereign beings, free and sacred. To treat them otherwise is an abomination—an insult to the very laws that govern existence!"
A wave of support surged behind her. Goddesses who had long remained silent now rose, standing at her side in quiet defiance.
At Tyche's signal, Astraea draped Aphrodite in modest robes while Iris plucked the white roses from her hair, casting them aside like relics of folly.
Pontus stepped forward, his expression darkening. "This does not concern you."
"Oh, but it does," Tyche countered sharply. "As ruler of the Oceanids, I will not stand idle while my kin suffer such disgrace."
She raised her staff once more. "Divine Law! I summon you! Let justice be rendered among us!"
The will of the cosmos stirred. An unseen force settled upon Olympus, pressing upon all present. One by one, the Twelve took their seats. Iris and Arce led the stunned Aphrodite before the divine court.
Rhea, lost in her own world of devotion to Kronos, played deaf to all else. Tyche, unwilling to provoke unnecessary attention, feigned ignorance of the royal couple's affairs.
Tension flared between the sexes. Men and women clashed—not with weapons, but with words.
Tyche spoke again, her voice carrying the weight of destiny. "Great Law, grant us change! Let each deity shape their own being—free from the chains imposed by birth!"
A hush fell over the assembly.
What a dangerous demand.
If the law granted this freedom, many goddesses would cast off their feminine forms without hesitation. Masculinity meant power, influence, recognition—something long denied to them.
The male deities recoiled. Even those who had once stood firm faltered under the pressure.
"Enough," Themis declared at last. "Let equality be your decree. No longer shall gender dictate respect."
From the depths of fate itself, the Dominion of Child and Woman's Guardian ascended—from Weak-God rank to Intermediate Divinity. A new era whispered into being.
Pontus seethed. "You push Eros toward Gaia's grasp. How will Tartarus and Nyx respond?"
Tyche turned on him smoothly. "Lord Pontus, do you not see how pleased Lord Eros appears?" She gestured toward the dazed Love Goddess. "I have given him something far richer than mere desire—conflict, passion, fury… all dripping with raw emotion."
She stepped closer, her smile serene. "Did you truly believe he would approve of you parading his vessel like a courtesan? Did you ask his permission before turning Aphrodite into a prize to be won?"
Pontus's silence was answer enough.
His ambitions had been laid bare. Had the throne passed to Aphrodite, he might have justified his actions. But now, Mnemosyne still held power—and Aphrodite stood humiliated before all.
He bore the blame.
Tyche pressed forward. "And think carefully, my lord. Why remain tethered to indecision when you could stand beside me instead?"
Her tone softened, coaxing. "You know better than any what it means to be caught between forces greater than yourself. Waiting for the highest bidder only delays the inevitable."
Pontus stiffened. Memories flickered—the battles between Uranus and Gaia, his own wavering allegiance, the day Okeanos and Tethys seized control of the seas, reducing him to a shadow beneath the waves.
"I have already made my stance clear," he muttered, yet his gaze betrayed uncertainty.
"You hesitate," Tyche observed gently. "Because you are not so blind as to believe Eros's will is absolute."
She let the truth settle.
Eros had yet to fully embody his dominion; his consciousness remained fragmented, shaped too deeply by unbridled passion. His emotions ruled him, not reason.
Tyche offered a final temptation. "The Night herself would listen if I spoke on your behalf. And should you wish it, even Tartarus may grant you refuge."
Pontus exhaled slowly. "I cannot act rashly. Such a path may earn me the wrath of a Primordial."
Tyche's smile deepened. "Then take your time. But remember—there is more than one way to fulfill an oath."
She lowered her voice, eyes gleaming with meaning. "Darkness hungers for emotion as well. Perhaps Erebus would welcome your aid."
A pause.
A nod.
Though no promise left his lips, the silence spoke volumes. He had not said no .
As the assembly dissolved, Tyche allowed herself a rare moment of triumph.
Another piece had shifted on the board.
And the game was far from over.
Tyche departed in high spirits, leaving Pontus with time to deliberate. She had no doubt he would choose wisely—after all, he had endured Gaia and Uranus's war once before. A god who had survived such a storm would not hesitate long.
Aphrodite's contest ended in anticlimax, her ambitions thwarted. With a satisfied smile, Tyche bid farewell to her father and Astraea, preparing to return to the Isle of the Unseen.
The Rainbow Goddesses had already readied her chariot, drawn by white falcons—but just as she reached for the reins, a hesitant hand caught her sleeve.
Astraea hesitated, eyes flickering between frustration and despair. At last, she whispered urgently to Hecate, who listened in stunned silence before being gently pushed forward.
Hecate, ever composed, now trembled slightly as she met Tyche's gaze—her emerald eyes wide with something close to disbelief.
"Lady Tyche," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "forgive my impertinence."
Tyche raised a brow. What could possibly trouble Astraea so greatly? Rarely did she see her friend at a loss for words.
Only when Astraea slipped behind a pillar did Tyche finally turn back to her daughter-in-law. "You need not be so formal, child. I hold your mother dear as a sister."
Swallowing hard, Hecate spoke again. "My uncle, Lord Pallas, has been considering… how best to win your affection."
A pause.
Then—laughter.
Of course it was love troubles again. She sighed inwardly. Of course it was.
"I have given it thought," she said gently. "But we are not suited. Please convey my regrets to him—and tell him I am honored by his regard."
Seeing that Tyche was not enraged, Astraea emerged from hiding, cautiously approaching. "You're not angry?"
Tyche smiled serenely. "Why should I be? If admiration is proof of worth, then I must be quite extraordinary indeed."
She turned playful eyes on her friend. "Did you not say this was fate's doing? And were you not the one who urged me to follow destiny's path?"
Enjoying the rare sight of Astraea flustered, she teased, "Who was it who always insisted I should embrace the joys of love? It seems you are all talk and no action."
Astraea exhaled, shaking her head in amusement before embracing her friend goodbye.
Tyche took the reins, ready to depart—until a voice called out behind her.
Pallas.
Kannas reacted first, stepping protectively between them. Zeus remained alert, watching in wary silence.
Tyche placed a calming hand on her eldest son's shoulder. "Let him speak."
She turned to face the Beast-Touched God. "Lord Pallas, I believe Star-Mother has already delivered my answer."
His golden eyes gleamed with quiet intensity. "She did. But why do you refuse me?"
Tyche's expression softened. "Because there is no reason for us to be together. We have met only thrice—once when I punished you, once more recently, and now."
He tilted his head, uncomprehending. "I need your clarity to remain whole. That makes us compatible."
A sigh escaped her lips. How strange that the very gods who played with hearts often failed to understand them.
"Do you even know what love is?" she asked gently.
Pallas blinked. "It is loyalty. When wolves find their mates, they remain faithful until death. One dies, the other follows."
Tyche's heart ached. "Love is not merely necessity—it is choice. It is the willingness to bind oneself, knowing full well the pain it may bring. It is the courage to stand beside another, not because you need them, but because you want them."
Her voice carried a note of sorrow. "And if one day you no longer needed me, would you still wish to be mine?"
Pallas fell silent. The question made no sense to him. He had never considered such a possibility.
As Tyche vanished into the sky, he lingered for a moment longer—then turned away, seeking solace in the wilds.
He found Aphrodite instead.
Still dazed from the divine assembly, the Love Goddess had yet to regain her composure when Pallas appeared before her.
She recoiled at his bare chest and feral gaze, but he only asked, "Can you give me unwavering devotion?"
Aphrodite, eager to escape his presence, replied without thinking, "Of course. All beings shall feel eternal passion through me."
Satisfied, Pallas left without another word.
Confused, Aphrodite watched him go.
Back upon the Isle, Iris animatedly recounted the events atop Olympus to the Naiads, who gasped at each twist and turn.
Zeus walked beside his mother, his steps steady. Kannas, ever restless, voiced his discontent.
"That brute dared speak to you like that?"
Tyche cast him a measured glance. "Your anger clouds your judgment, Kannas. Look at Pallas—see where unchecked emotion leads."
At once, the memory returned—the wild-eyed warrior, lost to bloodlust, reduced to prey beneath Tyche's decree.
A shiver ran through him.
Zeus alone remained calm. "He does not understand love, Mother. He sees only instinct."
Tyche nodded. "And yet, even instinct can resemble devotion—for those who do not know better."
She gazed upon the mist-laden grove, where droplets traced delicate paths down the cypress leaves. Life flourished in quiet harmony.
Even amidst the chaos of fate and desire, nature endured.
And so too would she.