The Wedding of the Starry Night

A soft breeze brushed against Tyche's fingertips, stirring an unexpected tenderness within her. The child—born of shared divinity—awakened a maternal warmth she had not anticipated. For a fleeting moment, all resentment faded beneath the gentle pull of connection.

But clarity returned swiftly.

She withdrew from the emotion with deliberate force, locking away the instinctive affection. Eros' influence is dangerous , she mused. It clouded reason, softened resolve. Though pity remained, she would not allow herself to be swayed by unbidden sentiment.

The winds favored this child, completing what remained of climate's domain. Seizing the moment, Tyche extended her dominion further into the heavens, cementing her place as a rival equal to Uranus himself.

Carefully cradling the newborn consciousness, she cast one last glance at the silent Helios before turning to the gathered goddesses in gratitude. With quiet dignity, she departed.

Back on her mist-veiled isle, Iris and Arke awaited her return, flanked by dryads. Curious, Iris eyed the slumbering essence in Tyche's hands.

"Is this... your child, my lady?"

Arke shot her sister a warning glare, tugging her into a hasty bow. "Forgive her impertinence."

Tyche merely smiled. "From this day forth, he is your charge, Iris."

Unlike her composed sibling, Iris brightened at once, eagerly accepting the infant deity. She and the tree nymphs gathered around, marveling at the new life nestled in their arms.

"Climate and sky shall shape his form," Tyche instructed. "Prepare golden fleece for his cradle—he will soon take shape and ascend to lesser godhood."

As the nymphs dispersed, light filtered through the trees, casting luminous patterns upon the fog. Instinctively, she wandered toward the hibiscus grove, where golden blossoms bathed in sunlight now seemed almost offensive in their brilliance. Restless, she summoned Leto's gift—a veil of night—to shield them from view.

Returning to her temple, she exhaled deeply amid the scent of lilies. Her purpose had been fulfilled. The goddesses held her in high regard; the gods now understood she was not to be trifled with. A new image had taken root.

Yet loneliness settled heavily upon her shoulders. Beauty, power, and prestige could not fill the hollow ache within. Rarely did she permit herself such indulgence—but tonight, she surrendered to it.

Until Rhea's arrival shattered the solitude.

"You know this is my domain, Lady Rhea."

Sensing the ripple of time magic, Tyche quickly masked her emotions, rising with measured grace.

"Honored Tyche, protector of women and children, I seek your sanctuary."

No longer desperate, no longer pleading—this time, Rhea stood as an equal. The lesson of Themis' decree had not been lost on her.

"The law inscribed by Justice has hastened my daughter's birth. You must bear some responsibility."

With a sweep of fate's sight, Tyche confirmed it—the goddess of marriage stirred within Rhea's womb. Unlike Hestia, this child bore divine rank already. Cronus would think twice before consuming her outright.

"I will shelter her," Tyche said at last. "It is the duty of my station. But you must compensate me for the enmity of the King of Gods."

Rhea had expected this. From her robes, she produced a deep-hued divine fragment.

"This is my domain of secrecy. And should you aid me in defeating Cronus, I shall grant you dominion over history."

Amused, Tyche accepted without question. She saw through Rhea's empty promise—it bore no oath, no witness. Still, the secrecy shard was valuable. She would take the bait, though whether she would ever collect remained to be seen.

In amiable silence, they parted ways.

Turning the secrecy fragment in her palm, Tyche wove it with fate and mist. A new domain emerged—illusions and veils. She discarded the former, bestowing it upon her rainbow attendants. The latter, however, merged beautifully with her fate-weaving power.

At a mere thought, the island vanished into the mist, startling the Sirens perched upon the rocks.

Combined with the veil gifted by the River of Fate, she now possessed the means to obscure Hera's presence from prying eyes. Only time would tell when that skill would be needed.

The aftermath of her clash with Theia sent ripples through Olympus. None had expected a middle-tier goddess to stand against a greater deity and emerge unscathed. Tyche's renown soared, placing her among the ranks of sovereigns.

Cronus' ambiguous stance during the conflict only heightened suspicion. Ever watchful, Tyche remained wary of the Titan King's machinations.

But for now, all eyes turned elsewhere—for Astraea's wedding approached, drawing the gods' attention like moths to flame.

Upon Mount Otryn, deities gathered in solemn splendor. As Tyche arrived with her retinue, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Unfazed, she strode forward, embracing her radiant friend. The gesture blocked Selene's view, who stood nearby with her brother. Since the battle against Theia, relations with the solar lineage had soured. The moon goddess made no effort to hide her disdain.

Tyche, too, had no intention of provoking trouble. Without meeting Selene's gaze, she passed by calmly, earning a sigh of disappointment from those hoping for drama.

Attended by nymphs and spirits, the two goddesses took their places. Delicate garlands hung from the ceiling, while woodland sprites moved gracefully between the guests, offering nectar and ambrosia.

With a respectful bow, Tyche greeted the twelve thrones above. When she rose, her eyes met Rhea's briefly—no words were needed.

The twin solar Titans sat stiffly, but under Oceanus and Tethys' watchful presence, they restrained themselves.

Returning to Astraea's side, Tyche raised her goblet in silent toast. Their shared perception of fate allowed them to sense the hidden gaze of Cronus lingering upon them.

Exchange glances filled with disdain, the two goddesses wove a veil of destiny, obscuring their thoughts from the god-king's prying sight.

The two goddesses of fate wove their silent communion, and the gathered deities merely assumed they exchanged private words, turning away with little interest.

Tyche offered a sheepish smile. "My sincerest apologies, dear Astraea. It seems my presence has once again stirred unrest at your wedding."

Astraea only grinned, intrigued. "What mischief are you plotting now?"

Following Tyche's subtle gaze, Astraea spotted the regal form of Rhea seated among the guests. Understanding dawned instantly. "You mean to say—Cronus' child is about to be born?"

Tyche gave a solemn nod. "As protector of women and children, I must act. This newborn goddess already bears her divine domain—marriage itself. Even Cronus would hesitate to consume one who poses no threat. If he dares defy the will of the gods, his rule shall surely tremble."

Unbeknownst to the revelers, within Rhea's womb, the unborn goddess stirred—drawn by the music and laughter of the feast. Her arrival was imminent.

At her birth, the forces of law, love, and fate resonated in unison. Themis, guardian of justice, felt her decree strengthened; Aphrodite, deep in the ocean's embrace, sensed the call of love's sacred bond. Three divine realms intertwined—law, love, and destiny—each recognizing the other in quiet reverence.

Themis rose to proclaim the blessed event, and as she did, Tyche and Astraea joined in harmony, their voices leading the chorus of goddesses who sang praises in kind.

Cronus' expression darkened, yet he made no move to seize the infant goddess.

Emerging into the world, Hera opened eyes of sapphire blue. In an instant, her form matured into that of a radiant maiden of seventeen or eighteen summers. Invested with the mantle of marriage, she ascended as a lesser deity, her golden hair shimmering like woven sunlight beneath the temple's glow.

Surrounded by goddesses, she was draped in a silver robe woven by Tyche's own hands.

"What fortune!" Tyche declared with a smile. "A goddess of marriage born before her union—truly, fate has guided this moment."

Phoebe and Astraea nodded in agreement, and the three Fates spoke as one: "O youngest daughter of Rhea, you shall rise as the most exalted of queens, for such has been written since time's beginning."

Hearing the decree of the Fates, the gods raised their voices in blessing. Even Cronus softened, rising to take Rhea's hand as their daughter approached.

Goddesses escorted Hera forward, and with graceful dignity, she curtsied deeply before her parents. Rhea embraced her lovingly, kissing her brow, while Cronus, sensing his wife's warmth, smiled gently, running his fingers through his daughter's radiant hair.

For now, the discord between the Titan King and Queen seemed forgotten, their unity restored before the eyes of Olympus.

Watching from the crowd, Tyche suppressed a sigh. How convincing they were—how easily one might believe their reconciliation genuine, if not for the knowledge of Rhea's true designs.

Laughter returned to Mount Otryn as the gods resumed their revelry. Soon, Perses and Helios approached the two goddesses. With a knowing smirk, Astraea took her betrothed aside, leaving Tyche alone with the sun god.

Meeting his golden gaze, Tyche braced herself for silence—but Helios surprised her.

"I wish to guide the new wind god," he said simply. "To teach him the duties of his domain."

Seeing her hesitation, he continued. "You dwell in the sea, but winds belong to the sky. I am best suited to train him."

After a pause, Tyche relented. Helios had long been admired for his steadfastness. To perform his daily task with unwavering diligence—despite its monotony—was rare indeed.

"Thank you, Lord Helios. His body will soon form. By day, he shall learn from you. By night, he shall return to me."

Offering her final blessings to Astraea, Tyche slipped away from the festivities to her sanctuary upon the waters. There, Rhea's spectral form awaited.

"You seek another bargain, Divine Queen?" Tyche asked lightly, though she already knew.

"Our last agreement stands," Rhea admitted. "But he does not believe your prophecy! He seeks to find fault in my daughter—to give himself cause to devour her!"

Tyche's voice hardened. "Then let her bear the cost of evading fate."

She softened slightly. "Cronus holds the right to judge transgressions. None may question him. But tell your daughter—never remove the robe I have given her."

With a weary sigh, she turned away. "That is all I can do."

Returning to the Isle of Mist, she found Iris eagerly presenting a golden fleece cradle. Within it lay a child with chestnut curls and gray-white eyes alight with joy. Through shared divinity, she perceived his name etched into the fabric of existence.

"This is Keanos," she announced to her attendants. "God of Wind and Direction!"

The dryads sang songs of celebration as a breeze swept through the trees, carrying their voices across the island.

Smiling, Tyche took Keanos' small hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his brow. The boy giggled, waving his arms—and a sudden gust sent the nymphs stumbling back, grasping at each other for balance.

He laughed, delighted at the chaos, while Tyche shook her head in fond exasperation, tapping his nose playfully before handing him to Iris for a feeding.

Once full, Keanos drifted into peaceful slumber, oblivious to the way the nymphs fussed over him, tucking him into his cradle and lulling him with soft melodies.

Time passed swiftly. The babe grew into a youth, curious and mischievous. He listened to the whispers of the wind, yearning to see beyond the island's borders. Watching him send flocks of sheep spinning in circles with playful breezes, Tyche decided the time had come.

It was time for Helios to begin his lesson.