The Plea of Pontus

With the newly-forged shield cradled in her arms, Tyche descended into the abyss—where light surrendered to water's embrace. Here, deep beneath Olympus' reach, she sought an audience with the eldest of sea deities.

Pontus' domain welcomed her in silence.

No storm, no fury—only stillness, as if awaiting judgment.

From the shadows emerged Electra, her radiant form a beacon within the depths. She embraced her sister warmly, her joy evident. "O fair Tyche! Welcome to the ocean's heart."

Her beauty had only grown since her union with Thaumas. No longer bound by duty alone, she now carried herself with ease. Her daughters thrived in the skies above, and here beside her swam the one sister who had never turned against her.

Electra guided her through the halls of the sea, murmuring updates on Iris and Arke before bowing deeply. "Pontus has not forgotten your intrusion upon his essence. Yet he does not blame you."

Tyche exhaled in relief. "I feared he might resent me for taking what was once his."

Electra shook her head. "He understands. Gaia took it from him—not you. And besides," she added with a knowing smile, "he wishes to speak with you himself."

Beyond coral palaces and glowing kelp forests, they neared Pontus' temple—an ancient structure woven from the bones of the world itself. Even Thaumas' wonders paled in comparison. Here, bioluminescent jellyfish drifted like fallen stars, their soft glow illuminating the sacred halls.

"Thaumas would be proud," Tyche mused, watching the creatures dance.

Electra smiled. "Indeed. But we must leave you now."

At last, she stood before the god of gods—the firstborn of Gaia herself.

Pontus did not rise at once. His gaze, sharp and knowing, met hers across the chamber.

"You have come seeking answers," he rumbled.

Beside him, Phorcys and Ceto lingered, their presence a silent warning. Nereus had vanished, but Doris and her daughters remained unseen.

Tyche inclined her head. "The world shifts, Lord Pontus. Tartarus devours emotion. Darkness stirs. And I suspect… so do you ."

A flicker passed over his face—gone in an instant.

"You are perceptive," he admitted. "Too perceptive for your own good."

She stepped forward, holding the shield between them. "I know why Uranus' power will never return to him fully. That fragment fused with Eros' essence—it cannot rejoin its source without breaking the cycle."

Pontus nodded slowly. "Eros seeks more than love. He seeks selfhood . And so he wove a new deity from what was lost."

Tyche's fingers tightened around the relic. "And you aided him willingly?"

The sea god leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Would you rather live under the rule of those who see us as tools? Cronus bows only when forced. Gaia rules as a mother, yet treats us all as children."

His voice darkened. "Uranus saw us as slaves. And Nyx watches in silence, waiting to claim her own."

He studied her carefully. "You, too, seek something beyond fate's decree."

Tyche did not deny it.

"The world is changing," she said instead. "And I wish to understand why."

Pontus finally rose. "Then listen well."

The currents hushed around them, as if the ocean itself wished to hear.

"Eros promised me dominion over love's tides," Pontus continued. "In exchange, I allowed him to use my waters as a womb."

His eyes gleamed with something deeper than mere malice. "But that is not all."

Tyche's pulse quickened.

"He also forged a pact with Aether and Hemera. Through their light, love may touch even the highest realms. With Nyx' blessing, desire shall shape the next age."

A cold realization settled over her.

"Not just love," she whispered. "But control."

Pontus gave a slow nod. "Exactly. When primordials gain will , they gain power . And power changes everything."

He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Even you, Fate-Weaver, are no exception."

Tyche swallowed hard.

He was right.

Nyx, once distant and unknowable, had already begun weaving her own designs. Gaia, awakened by grief, had become more than earth's sovereign. And now, Eros—long dismissed as mere force—sought recognition among the great ones.

Pontus watched her struggle with the revelation, then spoke again.

"I have given him a vessel. But in doing so, I have ensured that none shall hold love's domain alone."

His voice dropped lower. "Not you. Not Helios. Not even Rhea's unborn child."

Tyche's breath caught.

So that was it.

By scattering fragments of love's essence—by allowing Eros to create a new goddess of affection—Pontus had broken the monopoly over passion.

Now, love belonged to many.

And none could wield it unchecked.

She exhaled slowly. "You have made yourself dangerous."

Pontus merely smiled. "Let them fear me. Let them wonder what else I might give away."

Silence stretched between them.

Then Tyche asked the question that had burned within her since her descent.

"Why tell me this?"

Pontus studied her, his gaze heavy with meaning.

"Because you are the only one who understands ," he said simply. "And because you, too, are not afraid to break the chains others accept."

A pause.

"And perhaps," he added, "because I believe you may succeed where I failed."

Tyche looked down at the shield in her hands.

A new world stirred within its depths.

One where love was no longer a weapon.

One where fate was no longer a prison.

And for the first time, she wondered—was she ready to shape it?

Pontus watched her go, the currents carrying her upward.

And far above, in the light of sun and stars, a new war was about to begin.

Not of kings.

But of gods .

And she?

She would be its architect.

Pontus' gaze bore into Tyche, his fury uncontained. He sat upright, his form shifting with the tides as he spoke.

"You already know ," he rumbled. "The sky's dominion holds the power to birth primordials."

His eyes darkened with resentment. "We all seek ascension—yet those who came before us deny us our right. Uranus was cast down, and still Gaia refuses to let go."

He exhaled sharply. "But I have found a way. Through Eros, through love's new vessel, I ensured that none shall wield fate without challenge."

Tyche remained silent, absorbing his words.

Then she asked, "And what of these newborn gods? What if they betray you?"

A slow, knowing smile curled Pontus' lips. "They cannot afford to."

He gestured toward the unseen world above. "Gaia would not suffer another primordial rising unchecked. She fears it more than war itself."

His voice dropped lower. "So long as the threat of her wrath remains, even the most deceitful among them will hesitate."

Tyche nodded slowly. The balance was delicate—one thread woven between titanic forces.

Yet as she turned to leave, one final question lingered on her tongue.

"Why tell me this?"

Pontus studied her, then said, "Because you are the only one who can break it."

A pause.

"And because I suspect… you already have ."

She left the depths in silence, the weight of revelation pressing upon her soul. As she surfaced, the sea welcomed her return.

Upon her isle, she found herself besieged by visitors.

Rhea had come first—an angry goddess seeking blame where there was none to give.

Tyche met her with open arms and a banquet laid in wait. But Rhea cared little for food.

"You dare mock me?" the Titaness spat.

"I merely speak the truth," Tyche replied, tearing into roasted lamb with feigned ease. "Your husband seeks escape from fate—and so do you."

Rhea flinched at the words.

"You gave him your child," Tyche continued. "Yet still, you grieve for love lost. You should grieve for the world he has built instead."

At that, Rhea rose abruptly. "You know nothing of love."

Tyche did not stop her departure. Only when the goddess vanished beyond the mists did she call out.

"Tell Cronus—he has what he sought. Let him stay away from me now."

As Rhea fled, the winds carried her shame across Olympus.

Word spread like wildfire.

Tyche had given prophecy to the Titan King—but at great cost. Her flame dimmed, her essence fractured. The Fates whispered of a second slumber, one that might last eons.

Astraea and Phoebe arrived soon after, worry etched into their brows.

"You risked too much," Astraea murmured, offering water laced with starlight.

Phoebe pressed a hand against Tyche's chest, sensing the hollowing of her flame. "Fate has taken its toll."

Tyche smiled weakly. "It could not be helped. He held my veil."

At once, both goddesses understood. The shield of invisibility—the gift from Vivian's broken soul—had been taken. And used to bind her.

"We shall make him pay," Phoebe vowed. "Let him feel the sting of fate."

Astraea shook her head. "No. This was necessary. He needed something to fear."

Tyche sighed. "I am just tired now."

She reached for the fruit Helios had sent—lemon, orange, pomegranate—all gifts from the earth, wrapped in dawn's warmth.

With a flick of her wrist, she planted their seeds.

Back in her temple, Iris arrived with word from Tethys. Then Eos followed, bearing Helios' offerings.

Tyche, weary but composed, refused all audiences.

Let them believe she had fallen into slumber again.

Let the world forget her name—for now.

Within the mist-wreathed halls, Arke whispered updates from Olympus.

"Cronus' second son has been born. A god of tsunamis and earthquakes—Poseidon."

Tyche perked up slightly. "Tethys worries for Keanos."

Arke nodded. "Indeed. Oceanus and Pontus have emerged from their domains. They stand with Crius and Hyperion in secret council."

She hesitated. "All four wish for Keanos to claim the storm-born domain."

Tyche closed her eyes thoughtfully.

Four sovereigns stood behind her son.

The path to power had never been clearer.

Yet danger loomed ever closer.

Even gods feared the wrath of fate.

And fate had just declared its next move.

Through Alecto's sharp gaze, she listened to the Erinyes' counsel.

"Keanos stands at the edge," Alecto murmured. "With such support, the tsunami domain is his for the taking."

Tisiphone nodded. "But Poseidon will not yield easily. His mother favors him."

Tyche exhaled slowly.

Let them fight.

Let them rise.

For she had seen the truth within fate's river.

One path led to glory.

Another led to death.

And the third?

That belonged to her alone.

She withdrew into the sanctuary of her island, letting the world turn without her.

The game had changed.

And she?

She had become something greater.

Not just a player.

Not just a weaver.

But the architect of fate itself.