The Unease in Rhea

Walking beside Keanos upon the island's winding paths, Tyche listened patiently as the wind god recounted his journey across the heavens. They reached the winged stallion resting nearby, and Keanos gently brushed its gleaming coat. The steed snorted in contentment, rolling lazily in the grass.

Tyche knelt beside it, running her fingers through its silken mane before rising with a smile. At once, the creature stretched its wings, scattering bits of hay and flower petals as it soared toward the dryads for fruit—receiving more than its fair share, as always.

Keanos, ever eager to share, spoke of an odd encounter during his巡视. "As we neared the end of our journey, I spotted a goddess descending from Olympus—Helios told me it was Hera, daughter of Cronus and Rhea."

His voice turned thoughtful. "I wished to greet her, but Helios forbade it. He warned me not to approach her."

That caught Tyche's attention. She pressed him for details, then asked, "Do you know where she went?"

"Northward," he answered.

North? That was troubling. Why would Rhea allow her daughter near the chasm leading to Tartarus? The cries of the imprisoned Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires echoed ceaselessly from those depths, driving all others away.

Her expression darkened. "Can you still see her?"

He lifted his gaze to the Pole Star, letting tracking's power guide him. "Yes—I found her!"

Through the celestial bond, Tyche glimpsed what he saw. Hera stood at the edge of the abyss, drawn by the monstrous wails. Below, Tartarus stirred hungrily, its formless tendrils reaching for the curious goddess.

With a flick of fate's thread, Tyche obscured Hera beneath a veil of mist, severing her presence from prying eyes. A portal opened, and in an instant, Hera stood before her, startled yet grateful.

"Lady Tyche."

A warm smile graced Tyche's lips. "Welcome to the Isle of Mist. This is my domain."

Unaware of how narrowly she had escaped, Hera bowed respectfully. Keanos stepped forward, offering a solemn nod.

"This is Keanos, god of winds and direction—master of the North Star and the art of pursuit."

Hera inclined her head. "Greetings, freeborn tracker."

Within the temple, they settled into comfortable conversation. Wine and fruit were served, then the attendants discreetly withdrew.

Tyche sipped her nectar before asking lightly, "Why did you leave your mother's side, Lady Hera?"

"I wished to commission jewelry from the Cyclopes," Hera replied without hesitation. "They are said to be master artisans."

Tyche raised a brow. "The Cyclopes? They craft only weapons of war. No one surpasses me in craftsmanship—I was gifted a golden basin that pours forth endless gems by Gaia herself."

She gestured for Keanos to present their treasures—mirrors, necklaces, and bracelets adorned with pearls and stones beyond compare. Hera admired them with delight.

Handing her a ruby pendant, Tyche feigned mild offense. "Who told you the Cyclopes could rival me? Surely some ignorant god."

Still admiring the jewels, Hera answered absently, "My mother suggested it. Perhaps she has grown weary of such finery."

A chill ran through Tyche. Rhea? That made no sense. The Titaness had spent years shielding Hera from Cronus' gaze—why send her now to a place so dangerous?

Then realization struck. This was not Rhea.

No imposter could mimic a deity within her own domain unnoticed. Which meant... Rhea had allowed this deception.

Heart pounding, Tyche summoned her attendants to prepare a gift box while her mind raced. Something was deeply wrong.

Stepping outside, she moved to the cottonwood grove, shrouded in night's embrace. From her robes, she retrieved the golden hourglass—a relic of time itself.

Before she could call upon it, her fate-sight flared in warning. Her pulse stilled. She nearly crushed the artifact in her grasp.

Fate's power surged, weaving protective seals around the hourglass. Only then did her heartbeat steady. Had Rhea betrayed her?

But why? Rhea had openly declared her intent to overthrow Cronus. Could she be playing both sides? Unlikely—she needed Oceanus and Tethys too desperately.

Shoving the questions aside, Tyche returned to the temple, sending Hera off with a gracious farewell. The moment she vanished into the mist, Tyche reached out to her water-bound avatar on Olympus.

The temple remained still as ever. From the spring emerged her ice-clad reflection. Cloaked in fog, she slipped among the Naiads who tended the halls.

Most gods kept only avatars here—symbols of divine authority rather than true presence. But something felt off about Rhea's.

Eavesdropping on the nymphs, she overheard hushed whispers.

"Since reconciling with the King, Lady Rhea has scarcely appeared," murmured a golden-haired spirit.

Another giggled, covering her mouth. "Perhaps she bears another child! With Hera's birth, their love has rekindled."

Their words painted a picture—but none explained the fate-warning.

Returning to the temple, she studied Rhea's fading divine aura. The power surrounding the shrine waned steadily. To the unknowing eye, it seemed like the natural drain of pregnancy.

Yet fate had screamed at her to stay away.

Just as she prepared to leave, her senses prickled again. Deep within the temple, a sealed silver casket pulsed with light. Prometheus' stolen divinity trembled—as if sensing her presence, desperate to speak.

Before she could investigate, Rhea's voice rang from the entrance.

"Thank you for protecting my daughter, Tyche."

Her tone was warm, genuine—even affectionate.

Yet Tyche felt only unease.

"Protecting women and children is my sacred duty," she replied smoothly.

Seated across from each other, Hera hovered behind her mother, dutiful and serene.

Tyche studied them both carefully. Something was terribly wrong.

"Why did you seek Hera?" Rhea asked suddenly.

Tyche recited her cover story. "Keanos sought a black panther to offer me in tribute. He spotted Hera by chance."

Rhea smiled knowingly. "Then perhaps Keanos should enter the Titan's service. What do you think?"

Tyche masked her alarm. "He is still untrained, unworthy of such honor."

A pause. Then, Rhea leaned forward, voice soft. "Do not worry. If he desires a domain, I shall grant it to him."

The air grew heavy.

A veiled threat—or a promise?

Either way, Tyche knew she was being watched.

Leaving the temple, she dove into the lake, vanishing beneath the waves. Back on her island, she collapsed among the lilies, trembling slightly.

The rainbow sisters gathered around, but she waved them away. Retreating to the pool, she let the waters soothe her frayed nerves.

Doubt gnawed at her. Had Rhea truly turned against her?

Or was there something far worse at play?

Only one thing was certain.

She could trust no one—not even the goddess who had once begged for her protection.

A dreadful realization settled upon Tyche, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Cronus has gone mad... utterly mad. Has he truly lost all reason?"

Her hands flew to her hair, gripping it as the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet. A deep, suffocating malice coiled within her chest, turning her stomach until she nearly retched.

The pieces fell into place—Theia's cryptic warning through divine fragments; Hera's inexplicable journey to the Cyclopes; Rhea's eerie indifference to her daughter's peril.

Cronus is devouring Rhea.

The thought sent a shudder through her very being. She rubbed her arms, though no chill touched her skin—only an icy dread that seeped into her bones.

It was unthinkable—and yet, entirely plausible.

Time itself bound the Titan King and Queen together, two halves of a single essence. For centuries, Cronus had languished beneath Gaia's dominion, yearning for ascension beyond mere sovereignty. What better path than to consume his wife—the only other deity who shared his domain? To seize time's primal force entirely would elevate him closer to primordial status.

And Rhea? Their love had long since crumbled into resentment. Though Hera's birth had momentarily mended their fractured bond, the queen had never ceased fearing her husband's wrath. That she would now allow her daughter near Tartarus—that could not have been coincidence.

No, this was no longer Rhea.

Theia must have seen it too. Hence the gift of sight's fragment—a silent plea veiled in generosity. She feared what might come next. Like Rhea and Cronus, Hyperion and Theia were dual aspects of light—divided yet inseparable. If Cronus set the precedent of consuming his own, none could say Hyperion would not do the same.

Even the elder Titans—born as mighty deities—might be tempted by such a shortcut to primordial power.

Tyche dared not dwell further. Her mind reeled, thoughts spiraling into chaos. Dwelling on it would accomplish nothing. Action was needed.

She turned to the moonlit pool, fingers idly tracing patterns in her dark tresses. A plan began to take shape.

Cronus did not yet know how much she understood. But he knew enough to watch her closely. Ever since she rescued Hera, his gaze had lingered like a shadow.

If she could not act openly, then let the heavens speak for her.

With a cold smile, she reached into the sky-bound realm, allowing her presence to ripple through the celestial sphere.

For years, the battle for the skies had raged. To the gods, it seemed Tyche had gained the upper hand—held back Uranus with Gaia's aid. Now, with the earth goddess withdrawing Uræa's power, the balance shifted.

Uranus stirred.

From the shadows of fate, Tyche moved unseen. She slipped past Cronus' prying eyes, returning to the celestial prison where the slumbering sky god lay bound. The chains that held him flickered weakly—Uræa's influence gone. With careful precision, she severed the last remnants of mountain-born restraint, siphoning its fading strength into herself.

Freed from constraint, Uranus' divine essence surged. His consciousness awakened, stirring against the confines of the cosmos.

At once, Coeus cried out. He, guardian of the unseen, first perceived the shift. "Brother! The sky stirs!"

Hyperion answered the call, emerging from the world's edge. Light and darkness clashed at the threshold of heaven, their twin presences heralding war.

Above the Isle of Mist, Tyche gasped theatrically, her form streaking upward in feigned alarm. As if summoned by fate itself, she arrived just as Uranus opened his eyes.

"By the stars!" she cried. "He awakens!"

The wounded sky god rose, reclaiming vast swathes of his stolen dominion. Tyche barely held onto her portion, her forces pushed to the brink.

Before the watching gods, she faltered—falling back under his onslaught. A single blow sent her plummeting from the heavens, her body caught midair by Keanos.

Helios followed swiftly, shielding them both with his radiant shield. "Go," he urged. "You've done your part."

Keanos obeyed, carrying her far from the battlefield.

Below, mountains rose to bar Uranus' descent. Unwilling to fight alone, the sky god called upon his father's ancient authority—but Pontus, still nursing the wounds inflicted by Eros' awakening, kept himself hidden in the depths, shielding the unborn goddess within.

Then came the final betrayal.

The sky itself—once leaning toward Tyche—turned fully against Uranus. She severed his connection, feeding his strength into her own domain. Weakened and disoriented, he faltered.

The Titans seized their chance.

Oceanus and Tethys summoned waves to catch Helios as he fell. Crius and Iapetus lent their might to Hyperion and Coeus. Theia and Phoebe stood beside their kin. Even Themis, trembling with fear, took up the scales of justice in battle.

Pounded from all sides, Uranus yielded. With a thunderous cry, he retreated to the heavens, vanishing into the firmament—for now.

Victory rang across Olympus.

The gathered gods convened upon the sacred mount. Mnemosyne, keeper of memory, whispered softly, "Mother Gaia stirs. She shall arrive shortly to lead us."

None spoke of Cronus and Rhea.

Their absence did not go unnoticed.

As Astraea offered quiet reassurances, Tyche and Theia exchanged a glance—then lowered their heads, hiding knowing smiles.

The storm had begun.

And they had lit the match.