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Soft light streamed into the pool, dappled reflections disturbing the slumbering goddess. Her long brown hair drifted loosely in the water. The goddess opened her deep blue eyes; under the sunlight, the blue was so dark it was nearly black. She leapt from the water and transformed into a white cloud, soaring into the sky. Yet Helios did not drive his sun chariot across the heavens today—the power of daylight already reigned above.
Not far off, across the sea’s surface, a shell chariot pulled by dolphins approached. Seated within was a goddess with long dark-brown hair and bright, intelligent eyes, smiling warmly. Tyche flew toward her and landed upon the chariot.
“My sister, wise Metis, welcome to my domain.”
The wise goddess with shining eyes gently took Tyche’s arm.
“My dearest sister, Tyche the bearer of mists, I have come to escort you to the feast of the gods.”
Together, the two goddesses soared toward distant Mount Othrys, which gleamed with radiance, guiding the arriving gods. At the mountaintop, in a garden where the gods sang, danced, and drank, Prometheus came forward to lead them. Tyche carefully observed the assembly: the Twelve Titans seated upon their thrones, each a mighty primeval deity.
The Twelve Titans—six male and six female—were once destined to be six pairs of consorts. The shining goddess Theia and the god of light Hyperion gave birth to Helios, god of the sun; Selene, goddess of the moon; and Eos, goddess of the dawn. The prophetic Phoebe and the god of the heavens and darkness, Coeus, were the parents of Leto, goddess of moonlit nights, and Astraea, goddess of the shooting stars. Cronus, king of time’s irreversibility, and Rhea, goddess of the flow of ages, reigned together. Tyche’s own parents were eldest brother Oceanus and the sea goddess Tethys. The remaining four Titans never became consorts: Crius, god of growth; Iapetus, god of mortal souls; Themis, goddess of justice; and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. The Titans, it seemed, were never perfectly united—no wonder they would one day fall to the Olympians.
Tyche and Metis approached Tethys, bowing to Cronus in respect and offering gifts to Rhea. Metis presented a scroll adorned with flowers and script, while Tyche offered a robe strung with pearls. Rhea accepted with a smile. Then Tyche gifted to Gaia, the Earth Mother, a robe of mist and a crown crafted of blossoms and fruits. Gaia removed her ornate golden crown in favor of this garland, nodding in satisfaction as the gods praised her beauty.
Gaia then loosened her golden girdle, transforming it into a golden basin.
“Daughter of Tethys, clever Tyche, I gift you this basin, which will pour forth gold and gems, as a reward. You often spread your mist upon the earth, moistening my body—this is what you deserve.”
Turning to the gods, Gaia declared:
“Of all the offerings, Tyche’s gift pleases me most. She is worthy of the divine office of the arts.”
None opposed her. The cosmic laws confirmed Gaia’s proposal, and the priesthood of handicrafts silently descended into Tyche’s hands. Though divine offices were precious, the domain of handicrafts carried no real power and was often overlooked. Still, Tyche joyfully absorbed its essence, feeling new strength flow into her. Though it did not elevate her divine rank, she was happy with this unearned blessing.
The feast continued. Golden humanity served wine to the gods, and joyous performances lasted for many days. Among the celebrants came radiant Astraea, the starry maiden. With her black hair and dark eyes, she quickly won Tyche’s favor. The goddess of shooting stars veiled herself in black gauze traced with golden patterns, shining even brighter for the contrast. She bowed lightly.
“I greet you, goddess of skillful hands and artistry.”
Tyche returned the bow. Both being goddesses of weaker power, they instantly formed a bond. After exchanging compliments, Astraea voiced her request:
“Dearest Tyche, forgive my boldness. Might you gift me with some cloth woven of mist, that I may better reveal the presence of shooting stars within the night sky?”
Tyche smiled.
“I would be even happier to weave you an entire robe, swift goddess of the meteors.”
The two spoke with great delight, setting a time for Tyche’s visit. At parting, Astraea gifted Tyche a handful of glittering stardust.
The joyful revelry was suddenly broken by a cry from Rhea, queen of the gods. Her first daughter, the pure Hestia, was about to be born.
The golden-haired child radiated a sacred brilliance. The gods were entranced by her beauty—only Cronus’s face remained inscrutable. From the moment of her birth, Hestia resonated with the cosmic laws. Their power shielded the infant goddess, and all could sense the stirrings of a new divine essence. A fresh godhood was forming, though her priesthood had yet to appear. Already, Hestia was more than a demigod—she was destined to be a true goddess.
The gods marveled at her astounding talent. Few divinities were born with godhood already within them—only the first-born Titans had entered existence as fully grown and divine. Once her divine office matured, Hestia would naturally become a complete goddess of minor power.
But Tyche alone noticed the shadow on Cronus’s face. The king of gods seized the infant from Rhea’s arms, his expression shifting darkly. Weakened by childbirth, Rhea could not resist, and pleaded desperately:
“King of the gods, Cronus! I beg you, return my daughter to me! A goddess cannot be king—her existence poses no threat to your reign!”