The Confession

Guided by Tyche's will, the hawks bore her chariot toward Astraea's temple. At once, Hecate opened the gates, welcoming her into the starlit sanctuary.

Astraea had just returned from her celestial watch, shedding the heavy veils of night for lighter robes. Her gaze flickered to the bronze chariot with knowing amusement.

Tyche ignored it entirely. "I have come to thank you," she said plainly. "For watching over my slumber."

Astraea smirked. "And I suppose you also came to avoid someone?"

She leaned in conspiratorially. "I saw a goddess in a hawk-drawn carriage heading toward Helios' temple not long ago. She looked very much like you."

Tyche groaned, slumping back into her seat with all the dignity of a deflated cloud. At her side, Hecate blinked at this unguarded display—unused to seeing the mighty Sky Queen so unguarded.

Astraea burst into laughter. "Oh, Tyche. You truly are hopeless."

She sobered quickly. "Selene sent me with a question—what is your answer to Helios? Will you accept him?"

The words struck deeper than expected. Tyche hesitated, then covered her face with both hands. "I don't know."

Gently, Astraea pulled them away, holding her friend's gaze. "You run as though hunted by lions. As though strength alone could shield you from love's touch."

Her fingers traced Tyche's cheek. "But even the swiftest must pause beneath the stars. You deserve joy, Tyche. More than anyone."

Tears threatened to spill. Tyche closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath. Leaning forward, their brows touched, grounding them both.

A soft embrace followed.

"You're right," Tyche whispered. "I do want him."

Astraea nodded. "Then why hold back?"

Tyche exhaled, voice thick with sorrow. "Because we live forever. And love fades. What if one day he no longer sees me? What if I wake to find myself alone again?"

She pressed closer. "Our parents were rare, yes—but theirs was not love, only convenience. Even now, they endure each other rather than cherish. If such is the fate of gods... how can I believe in eternal love?"

Astraea held her tighter. "Eros does not promise permanence. Only truth. Pain and joy walk hand in hand. Without one, the other has no meaning."

She kissed Tyche's brow. "If his heart should turn cold, would that make your happiness any less real? Would it erase the warmth you shared?"

Tyche murmured, "No… but the pain would remain."

"Then bear it," Astraea said gently. "And still choose love."

At last, a smile tugged at Tyche's lips—small, uncertain, yet genuine.

Hecate watched in silence, puzzled by the conversation. Love seemed a strange thing—so fragile, so fleeting. Yet these two goddesses spoke of it as something worth the risk.

Astraea changed the subject. "Your gift for Hecate… where did you obtain such magic?"

Tyche extended her hand, revealing a dusky fragment of divine essence. "From the web. It belongs to you now."

Recognition dawned in Hecate's emerald eyes. This shard pulsed with echoes of necromancy, laced with the deeper mysteries of sorcery.

"It will help you," Tyche continued. "Combine it with your curses, weave it through your prophecy. One day, it may grant you dominion over wishes—the key to your ascension."

Hecate accepted it reverently, already feeling its power stir within her flame. With a grateful nod, she withdrew, leaving the two goddesses in quiet reflection.

"I never thought I would say this," Tyche mused, gazing at the sleeping form of her niece. "But perhaps you were right about love after all."

Astraea laughed. "I always am."

With a final embrace, Tyche took her leave, ascending into the heavens aboard her hawk-drawn chariot. She traced idle patterns along the golden waves carved into the frame, lost in thought.

Above, Helios and Keanos patrolled the sky. Their silhouettes danced against the sun's glow, locked in silent communion.

Tyche altered course, guiding the hawks toward the eastern peaks.

Word of her arrival spread swiftly. Nymphs scattered at her approach, recalling the battle between Tyche and Theia that had once shattered the mountain. Fearfully, they retreated into the woods.

Within the temple, Eos and Selene stood ready. They greeted her with solemn grace, leading her inside where Theia awaited.

The elder goddess rose, radiant as ever. "Welcome, Lady of Fate."

She gestured for the attendants to bring wine, careful to hide the tremor in her hands.

Tyche accepted the goblet, sipping slowly. "I wish to speak with Lord Helios."

Theia's expression shifted—just slightly. Then she smiled, serene and unreadable.

"Of course. He awaits in the inner sanctum."

As Tyche passed through the threshold, Theia lingered behind, watching her go with wary affection.

She had seen this coming.

Even before the River of Fate had spoken its truth.

And though she feared what lay ahead, she dared not interfere.

Let the winds decide.

Let the sun chase the storm.

Let love unfold—even among gods.

With a subtle wave, Tyche dismissed the attendants. A quiet smile played at her lips as she met Theia's gaze.

"You flatter me, Lady Theia," she said lightly. "But I suspect you already know why I have come."

The elder goddess inclined her head, amusement flickering in her golden eyes. "You are no mere sightseer, that much is certain."

Tyche took another measured sip of wine. "I wish to thank you—for your guidance in Keanos' ascension. His success was not entirely his own."

A shadow passed over Theia's face. "Gratitude is unnecessary. My actions served my own ends."

She leaned forward slightly. "You see further than most, Tyche. Surely you understand—Keanos' direction domain did not arise by chance. It was meant for Helios."

Tyche's lips curved into something unreadable. "Then let me repay your foresight with one of my own. Tell me, Lady Theia—how much are you willing to give for your son's rise?"

Theia did not flinch beneath Selene's wary stare or Eos' silent unease. "You always were perceptive."

She set down her goblet, expression turning solemn. "Helios cannot ascend without order in the heavens. Keanos will carve his path through the firmament, stabilizing the sun's course. With that foundation laid, Helios may claim greater power."

Tyche exhaled slowly, setting aside her cup. "And what do you gain from this?"

Theia smiled—a slow, knowing thing. "That is not what concerns you now, is it? You seek something else."

Tyche did not deny it.

"The wealth domain," she admitted. "From your grasp to mine. In return, I offer time's essence—its past and memory."

Theia studied her for a long moment before rising. "Very well."

The exchange was swift—two divine fragments meeting across fate's loom. Wealth's luster deepened within Tyche's grasp, no longer an abstract concept but a tangible force. Time's echoes settled within Theia's flame, weaving itself into prophecy's fabric.

"Your mother would be proud," Theia mused as she escorted Tyche outside. "To see how cleverly you play the game."

Tyche merely smiled. "Let us hope your son proves worth the effort."

Eos arrived with the chariot, its hawks eager to take flight. With a final nod to Theia, Tyche departed.

Keanos joined her soon after, leaping from his steed onto the chariot with practiced ease. He waved farewell to Helios before settling beside his mother.

"You spoke with Grandmother Theia again?" he asked, watching the temple shrink behind them.

Tyche nodded, sipping her wine. "A trade between old players."

As they neared the Isle of Mist, she turned to him.

"It is time you prepared for your own ascent."

His brow furrowed. "But I thought—"

"You must claim more than wind alone," she interrupted gently. "Storms and hurricanes shall be yours to command. I will grant you drought and frost—but beware, do not grow complacent. Ascension is never given freely."

He absorbed her words carefully. "What of fire and earthquakes?"

"Helios will share fire when the time comes," she said. "But the sea's wrath belongs to you alone. Poseidon will not yield easily."

At the mention of his coming rival, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.

Tyche placed a hand on his shoulder. "Even if you fall short, you will endure. The gods will not dare strike down a child protected by six sovereigns."

A rare, wistful smile touched her lips. "When did I become such a doting mother?"

Back in her temple, she turned her attention inward.

Wealth's fragment had taken root, growing steadily under her care. Only one piece remained—hidden within the newborn god destined to rule the dead.

Hecate's domains flourished under Astraea's tutelage. Curses, shadows, and fate intertwined with necromancy, forging new paths toward dominion. Even the Furies found purpose, their vengeance lending weight to fortune's balance.

Keanos trained tirelessly upon the sea, his winds shaping tempests and gales. Climate bent to his will, yielding storm-born power. Frost and hurricane danced at his command.

The world watched.

And waited.

Then came Hades.

Born of sorrow and secrecy, he emerged weak and pale—his wealth-bound divinity unsettling to many. The gods recoiled at his presence; even Gaia turned away.

Cronus reached for him.

Yet Rhea did not resist.

Gasps rippled through Olympus.

Tyche alone saw clearly.

This was no passive surrender.

This was strategy.

By allowing Cronus to consume Hades, Rhea ensured his survival until the right moment. And when that time came, Tyche would reclaim the lost fragment—before it could return to Tartarus' depths.

For now, she bided her time.

The crystal veil shimmered in the sky, untouched by chaos beyond. Her dominion over fortune strengthened with each passing day.

She indulged in small joys—meals shared with nymphs, conversations with Astraea, lessons with Keanos.

Yet beneath the peace, threads wove tighter.

Fate stirred.

And love?

Love lingered like embers in the dark—waiting only for wind to rekindle it.

Tyche did not flee from it now.

Not when she understood the cost.

Not when she was ready to pay it.