Aphrodite, the Weaver of Desires

Tyche's willingness to comply surprised both Eurybia and Eurynome—though they remained unaware that this accommodating mother had merely wished to avoid divine intrusions upon her domain.

Her graciousness earned their gratitude, and after repeated expressions of appreciation, the two goddesses departed with satisfied smiles.

Tyche knew more than most about the royal couple's affairs. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief at having avoided another encounter with the deranged Rhea. Mad love , she mused, was best left to stories on parchment.

The remaining guests dispersed, and Tyche turned to her son in hushed tones. "The gods shall hold a grand feast for you atop Olympus. The four ruling deities seem determined to make up for the disruption at Helios's banquet."

Kannas, ever dutiful, nodded without hesitation. He saw his mother's efforts clearly—and he would not deny her such a simple request.

Attendants cleared the remnants of the feast, casting scraps to Kannas's wolf companions. The beasts wove joyfully between the attendants, eager for morsels from above.

Among the orchards, the gathered deities strolled beneath golden boughs. Thea, radiant as dawn, reassured the young god. "There is no need to worry, my child. Simply savor your moment of glory."

Tethys arrived bearing armor—an ornate set forged in volcanic depths, crafted from the ocean's richest ores. Delighted, Kannas donned it at once, striding proudly to show off to his younger brother.

Zeus feigned disinterest, only to be spared further embarrassment when his grandmother intervened.

With pride in her eyes, Tethys watched her daughters beneath the shade of ancient trees. A quiet exchange with Okeanos followed—a single nod sealing an unspoken agreement. Then, turning to her kin, she spoke words that sent ripples through the gathering.

"Tyche," she declared solemnly, drawing the attention of all present, "the time has come for you to claim what is yours. You have proven yourself the true sovereign of the seas—you shall inherit my mantle."

Hyperion and Thea exchanged glances, their gazes shifting to Helios behind them.

Before Tyche could protest, Tethys continued firmly, "I have remained within my temple too long—I wish to reunite with your father."

She brushed a strand of hair from Tyche's brow, cupping her face with maternal warmth. "My greatest duty was always to protect you and your sisters. Now that you have shown your strength, I may finally rest."

Okeanos wrapped an arm around his wife, his voice steady. "We are not abandoning you. We simply seek respite from separation. Should you call us, we shall answer."

Still reluctant, Tyche embraced them tightly, whispering promises of protection before releasing them.

As preparations began for Olympus, murmurs of Tethys's abdication rippled among the gods. Yet Tyche herself felt a sudden chill—an unease settling over her like a shadow.

Journeying toward Mount Olympus, she sought out Phoebe, the Oracle of Fate.

The seer offered a strained smile. "Your guidance has shaped your sons well. And Kannas's Dominion of Misfortune has strengthened the very fabric of fate itself…"

Yet her words danced around deeper truths, never touching the core of Tyche's concerns.

A cold weight settled in Tyche's chest. There was only one explanation for such guarded silence—a Primordial had interfered.

Gaia.

It could be no other. Only the Mother of Titans could force even an ascended Phoebe into wary retreat.

Recalling Dione's warning, Tyche connected the pieces. Pontus's recent actions, the alliance between abyss and night—these must have stirred Gaia's suspicion. And now, she had acted—interfering in the birth of Aphrodite.

Caution flared within Tyche. This feast would bring trouble.

Inside the great hall, revelry reached its peak. Tyche steadied herself. Whatever came next, she would meet it head-on.

Then—something shifted.

The gods, meant to honor Kannas, were entangled in embraces, lost in passion's thrall. Even Tyche, who had little regard for courtly decorum, bristled at the blatant disrespect.

She summoned a blast of northern wind. Chilled and sobered, the deities recoiled, startled by the intrusion.

From the sea arose a shimmer of rose-gold light. A goddess emerged from the waves, her golden tresses veiling her form. Water droplets clung to her skin, enhancing her allure.

Thetis, goddess of the deep waters, draped a silken veil across her shoulders. Born of foam and tide, the new deity stepped ashore—where soft grass unfurled beneath her feet, as if unwilling to let her touch the earth.

Tyche turned her gaze to the rulers of Olympus. Neither Radiance nor Ocean welcomed this unexpected arrival. Krios and Iapetus wore grim expressions—their dignity shaken.

The stunned gods scattered under the silent condemnation of the Greater Powers. Calm but unreadable, Tyche watched as the golden goddess approached.

Radiant in sheer cloth, she moved with effortless grace. Roses bloomed in her wake, filling the air with intoxicating fragrance. Gods gazed upon her like entranced moths, drawn to a flame none dared flee.

Silence fell. Then laughter—soft, melodic, stirring desire in all who heard.

The assembly erupted in whispers. Whose daughter was she? What power did she wield?

Only when the shape of Pontus appeared behind her did the truth reveal itself.

Unfazed, Tyche met the ancient god's gaze. "Lord Pontus, have you come to celebrate Kannas's ascension?"

Pontus hesitated. "It was Gaia's will. I could not refuse."

A move foreseen. Tyche steeled herself. With practiced ease, she extended an invitation. "You aided me in securing the Tsunami Dominion. Join us, and bless my son with your presence."

Pontus offered a weary nod, then introduced the goddess beside him. "This is Lady Aphrodite, born of waves and foam—the embodiment of love and beauty."

Barefoot yet unbowed, the love goddess entered the hall. Her sapphire eyes gleamed with seductive charm, and instantly, male deities swarmed her, vying for her attention. Female gazes darkened, filled with jealousy. No goddess could rival her radiance—each curve, each glance exuded allure so potent it seemed almost unnatural.

Tyche lingered behind, her voice barely above a whisper. "Pontus… does Lord Eros stand against us now?"

Pontus sighed, shaking his head. "Lord Eros bears no hostility toward anyone. He accepted Gaia's aid only to ensure Aphrodite's swift birth."

Tyche narrowed her eyes. "So this is merely a signal? A calculated move? Is he playing both sides?"

The ancient sea god rubbed his nose uncomfortably, hesitating before conceding, "One could say that."

Eros, the Primordial of Desire, should have been born after Gaia, when humanity first stirred—his dominion over love and passion made him a natural force in the realm of emotions. Yet the gods fed him indulgence and carnal pleasure alone, stalling his full personification until long after Nyx herself had risen.

Tyche felt a pang of pity for the so-called Love God. What a wasted opportunity—an unmatched beginning squandered into irrelevance, now reduced to hedging between factions like a merchant at court. Such indecision only invited scorn.

And yet, beneath her composed exterior, Tyche exhaled in quiet relief. By remaining neutral, Eros positioned himself as an unpredictable variable—one both Primordials would seek to sway. Aphrodite's safety was thus secured by proxy, shielded from direct interference by either side.

With practiced grace, she turned to greet the radiant goddess with a warm smile.

Aphrodite moved effortlessly among the divine crowd, basking in their admiration. Kannas, once the center of attention, found himself fading into the background. With a resigned sigh, he set aside his goblet, half-rising with the intent to slip away unnoticed—only to be caught by his mother's sharp gaze and forced back into his seat.

Tyche, ever the dutiful hostess, returned a cheerful expression the moment she turned away from her son. She greeted approaching deities with effortless charm.

Astraea approached, offering a cup of honeyed wine. "Is Olympus cursed like Uranus's halls?" she murmured, glancing around. "Why does every banquet bring chaos?"

A chuckle escaped Tyche. "Not all surprises are unwelcome. At least this time, your own feast ended on a joyous note—Hecate's birth was worth the interruption."

They exchanged smiles before Astraea shifted tone, suddenly serious. "Have you considered finding a wife for Kannas?"

The question caught Tyche off guard. She coughed lightly, setting down her drink. "Marriage? Surely it is too soon."

Astraea raised a knowing brow. "It is not. You underestimate how many goddesses watch him now."

She gestured subtly around them. "He is the youngest Greater Power among the second-generation Titans. You and Helios stand as titans among your kin. Under your guidance, Kannas has remained untouched by scandal—a rarity among gods. Every unmarried goddess here sees him as a prize."

Her voice dropped lower. "Even this newly-born Love Goddess may have timed her arrival with purpose. Do you truly believe it coincidence?"

Tyche chuckled at first—but then paused, realization dawning. Could it be true?

Eros's neutrality was unsustainable. Should war erupt between Gaia and the Abyss, indecision would leave him vulnerable. To avoid being cast aside, aligning Aphrodite with Kannas was a clever maneuver. Tartarus and Nyx would respect such a bond; even Gaia would hesitate to act rashly against a daughter of Eros under Tyche's protection. It was a delicate balance—buying time, preserving options.

Still, Tyche couldn't suppress a shudder. She recalled the myths of this Love Goddess—the scandals, the betrayals, the tangled affairs. If she dared meddle with her sons, Tyche would never show her face again.

But perhaps I'm judging too harshly, she mused. Aphrodite's power was weak—Love and Beauty held little weight in battle. Any of the Furies could best her easily. Perhaps her reputation stemmed more from desperation than malice.

Yet watching the goddess flirt so openly with eager suitors, Tyche felt another wave of unease rise. She clenched her jaw, barely restraining a grimace.

Astraea watched, amused. Her friend had cycled through amusement, shock, resignation, and now barely veiled horror—all within moments.

Setting down her cup with deliberate calm, Tyche attempted to shift the conversation—only for Astraea to deliver another blow.

"What do you think of my sister?"

Tyche froze mid-sip. She stared at Astraea, searching for any sign of jest.

"Leto?" she asked cautiously. Surely she cannot be serious. "You mean Leto? The mother of Apollo and Artemis? Zeus's fourth wife?"

Astraea nodded solemnly. "Father Coeus favors him highly. After witnessing Kannas's valor during the overthrow of Uranus, he spoke often of his admiration. He even asked me if you entertained alliances with the Oracles."

She pressed on. "Kannas's Dominion of Misfortune carries echoes of fate itself. He would serve as the perfect bridge between your line and the Fates."

Tyche remained silent, lost in thought.

Seeing this as contemplation rather than refusal, Astraea leaned forward eagerly. "Coeus guards the edge of the world. His dominion will pass soon—and if Kannas were to wed Leto, he would inherit not only wisdom but also prophecy's legacy."

Tyche flinched at the rising excitement in her friend's voice. Gathering her composure, she finally answered, "I wish for Kannas to find a wife who loves him deeply."

Seeing Astraea's disappointment, she added gently, "I will not choose for him. Only love shall bind him."

Even as she spoke, her mind churned with implications. An alliance with Coeus meant securing one of the last remaining Titan Lords. And Leto—though seemingly mild—was fiercely devoted to those she loved.

Still, Tyche could not ignore the complications. Leto was bound to Zeus, destined to bear his children. Forcing such a match now might unravel fates not yet ready to be rewritten.

No. Not yet.

For now, let the game play out.

Let Eros hedge between forces.

Let Aphrodite weave her web of desire.

Let the gods whisper and scheme.

Tyche would remain poised, ever watchful—for the storm had only just begun.