The Plea of Memory

A sudden realization struck Tyche. If Pontus had turned her own proposal to his advantage, then surely she could return the favor—and fan the flames further.

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. "This spectacle shall not end as you expect."

With a flick of her wrist, she sent Iris once more to Olympus. Let Astraea know of the coming storm—she would relish the chaos. And with her presence, the stage was set for an even greater performance.

Iris returned swiftly, bearing Astraea's eager confirmation. She would come.

Kannas and Zeus exchanged glances, both puzzled and intrigued by their mother's amusement.

Dressed in solemn finery, Tyche led her sons and retinue toward Mount Othrys. Her falcons flew with unusual urgency, as if sensing the brewing conflict.

Never before had Olympus seen such a spectacle. At Aphrodite's behest, a vast arena had been erected. Draped in layers of crimson silk, the Love Goddess stood amidst a sea of white roses, her form accentuated by the clinging fabric—a living painting of seduction and vanity.

For a moment, Tyche considered shielding her sons' eyes. Even Kannas, ever the rogue, turned away in mild embarrassment. Only Zeus remained unaffected, his gaze impassive as he followed his mother into the temple halls.

Tyche couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Once fated to be a womanizer, now unmoved by beauty. How many troubles might this restraint spare him?

The divine assembly gathered, and Tyche studied Mnemosyne's expression carefully. Yet the Titaness remained unreadable—like a statue carved from ice.

Pontus stood beside his supposed daughter, whispering encouragement, stoking the gods' passions. Aphrodite, dazed and distant, seemed lost in some dream, her mind drifting far from her body.

At last, Astraea arrived with Perses, flanked by Eurybia and Coeus. To Tyche's surprise, Cleionymus, Astraea's younger brothers, accompanied them—children of Krios and Eurybia.

Perses had already fathered Hecate with Astraea, so he stayed away. But Astraieos and Pallas entered the hall—though Krios made no move to stop them.

Kannas stiffened at the sight of Pallas. Though Tyche had punished him long ago—transforming him into prey for Kannas's hunts—he still dared to walk among them.

Yet Tyche had moved past it. For Astraea and Eurybia's sake, she greeted them politely.

"Lord Pallas," she observed coolly, "it seems you have reclaimed your Wild Dominion."

Pallas bowed deeply, his once-feral golden eyes now calm. "Thanks to you, Lady Tyche."

He offered a sheepish smile. "And please accept my belated apology."

She nodded, then shifted her gaze to Astraea, who had already leaned in with mischief gleaming in her eyes.

"Fate brought him back to you," Astraea whispered conspiratorially. "Will you not give destiny a chance?"

Tyche smirked. "Not when I've seen where love leads. Look at Aphrodite—must all women be reduced to prizes?"

Astraea rolled her eyes. "Pontus claims to be her father, yet allows her to be paraded like a courtesan? What kind of 'father' is he?"

Tyche's voice dropped low, laced with irony. "Perhaps even the dearest things have a price. How much of his affection is genuine? That remains to be seen."

She let the thought settle before adding, "And I intend to make sure this fire burns hotter."

Delighted, Astraea took her seat beside her mother, whispering excitedly to Leto until Zeus and Kronos's arrival silenced them.

Tyche idly toyed with a translucent emerald, waiting for Pontus to speak.

Under the weight of countless gazes, the ancient sea god finally stepped forward to declare the contest's rules.

Tyche groaned. "It's just a bloody bride-battle. Why must he drone on so?"

Mnemosyne approached, her expression carefully composed. "Lady Tyche, thank you for what you did."

Tyche dismissed her sons and attendants with a subtle gesture. "You need not thank me. My words were for the stability of the pantheon. Love is a force of creation—but not one suited to rule."

Her eyes flickered toward the distracted goddess above. "She lacks the depth required of a Sovereign."

Mnemosyne hesitated only briefly before revealing her true purpose. "Then I ask again—for your aid."

Tyche feigned indifference. "I am sorry, Lady Mnemosyne. There is little I can do."

But Mnemosyne's gaze drifted to Zeus and Kannas, standing beside their grandfather Okeanos—who introduced them eagerly to every arriving deity.

Okeanos, ever the elder statesman, wove connections effortlessly, presenting his grandsons as rising stars.

Realization dawned upon Tyche.

Mnemosyne was offering a trade.

Zeus and Kannas—her future, in exchange for her past.

A deal with fate itself.

Tyche met her gaze with measured calm. "Tell me, Lady Mnemosyne… what would you offer in return?"

Okeanos spoke with his daughter in quiet resolve, revealing his intent to step away from divine rule. Years spent apart from Tethys and his daughters had left him burdened with regret.

The Titan who once encircled the world had never dwelled upon Olympus for long. And now, as Tethys had forsaken her court for love of him, he wished not to remain a guardian of the earth's edges, but a husband at her side.

His grandsons—Zeus and Kannas—were the natural heirs to his dominion. With careful guidance, he passed them his vast network of alliances—a test, yes, but also a gift. Whether one or the other inherited his throne, neither would be left empty-handed.

Though Tyche despised the tangled web of divine politics, she did not resent her father's efforts. She left the decision to her sons.

Then Mnemosyne spoke—words that nearly made Tyche falter.

"I, too, am willing to share my Sovereign Seat with your son."

Among the gods, none doubted Tyche's cunning. Once an Intermediate Power, she had stood unshaken before Helios himself. She wrested the Dominion of Sky from Uranus's grasp through sheer will, ascending to Greater Divinity before inheriting her mother's mantle.

Fate had granted her foresight; none could fathom the depths of her thoughts. Even after Tethys's departure, the Oceanids still bowed to her rule—an undisputed force among the pantheon.

Yet now, even she struggled to mask her shock.

"You would wed one of my sons," she repeated slowly, "to keep your seat?"

Mnemosyne gave no sign of hesitation. "Either will do."

Tyche bit back the words rising in her throat. They are generations apart! They were born worlds away!

She needed time. With a composed nod, she excused herself and led her sons aside.

Carefully, she relayed Mnemosyne's offer, adding gravely, "This is no small matter. I ask you both—consider well the consequences."

Kannas and Zeus exchanged glances. Then Kannas answered first.

"Let Zeus decide. I have no wish to be bound by duties I do not seek."

He grimaced. "That goddess brings nothing but trouble. I'd rather spend my days hunting than entangled in divine schemes."

Tyche had expected this. Her gaze settled on Zeus.

He considered for a moment, fingers resting thoughtfully on his chin. "Mnemosyne seeks to use Mother's power to oust Aphrodite—but why choose us? Why not turn to Atlas, whose strength rivals hers?"

Tyche hesitated. She could not speak openly of Primordial struggles, so she offered a softer truth.

"Atlas's fate is bound. His mother, Klymene, carries the knowledge of his price—freedom traded for power. Only Ouranos's might can free him."

Zeus nodded, understanding dawning. "So Iapetus and Atlas serve Gaia now… and Mnemosyne, once loyal to the Earth Mother, finds herself cast aside."

His eyes sharpened. "If she truly sought alliance, she would have turned to those already bound to her cause. That she comes to us instead suggests a fracture."

Pride stirred within Tyche. Under her tutelage, Zeus had become a master of strategy—one surpassing even the wisdom of past rulers. His decision was clear.

At last, she turned back to Mnemosyne.

"Zeus has refused."

A flicker of disappointment crossed the Memory Goddess's face.

"Why must she bind herself to matrimony?" Zeus asked. "She could have struck a bargain without it."

Tyche smiled, indulgent. "Cunning is not always clarity, my clever son. Every gain demands risk. Even the Fates cannot roll only favorable dice."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I wish for you both to find love freely given, not duty-bound. But beware—doubt, if unchecked, may drive away those who would cherish you most."

Returning to her seat, she met Mnemosyne's plea with measured calm.

"I shall aid you once more. But not through marriage."

She raised a hand, silencing the murmurs before they began.

"I ask only your oath—three times shall you stand beside me, offering full support whenever I call upon you."

Themis, ever watchful, lifted her blindfolded gaze. Truth shimmered in the air between them.

"And know this," Tyche continued, voice steady. "Deceive a Fate, and the cost shall return to you tenfold. You would not like what awaits should you break your vow."

Mnemosyne hesitated—then accepted. "I swear—I shall give my aid three times, without question."

As the threads of fate wove around them, Tyche took hold of their binding. A solemn smile touched her lips.

"In return, I shall see you freed from this peril."

Though she had intended only to observe, she now found herself entangled in the game.

Within the temple halls, the contest neared its climax. As Tyche sealed her pact, the gods' brawl approached its final clash.

Astraea frowned at Tyche's absence—until she saw her friend rise from her seat, stepping into the chaos.

With a single strike of her staff, Tyche silenced the storm.

Her voice rang clear across the temple. "You gods shame yourselves. Let not desire stain the sacred halls of Olympus!"

The heavens trembled.

And the tide of fate shifted once more.