Single for Eternity
Chapter 112: Iyra—Goddess of Light

Chapter 112: Iyra—Goddess of Light

Tauriel pressed her lips into a thin line but said nothing.

She had to remind herself why she was here.

She wasn’t here to argue over what was right or wrong, or to be swept into Ebon’s tangled philosophies.

She was here for one reason.

One person.

Iyra.

Her friend.

Tauriel locked eyes with Ebon, her voice cold and firm.

"Tell me about Iyra. What happened to her?"

The glimmer in Ebon’s eyes dulled, his casual amusement fading.

"The fate of the world doesn’t concern you, but your friend does?" he said quietly, almost to himself. "Fascinating."

He let out a slow, weary sigh, shoulders relaxing as if burdened by unseen weight.

"Iyra... is trapped," he said. "Sealed, would be a more accurate term."

Tauriel felt her blood boil. Her fists clenched at her sides.

"Why? Why is she sealed?!"

Ebon met her fury with a calm, unreadable expression. "Iyra isn’t just any goddess," he began. "She is the Goddess of Light and Life itself."

"I know that," Tauriel snapped, barely containing her emotions.

He nodded. "Then you should also understand that her very existence is anathema to corruption. Her mere presence purifies it, burns it away."

Tauriel gritted her teeth, remembering the raw, radiant warmth Iyra had always exuded — a light that could heal wounds and banish darkness without effort.

Ebon continued, his tone heavier. "And that... is exactly why she chose to be sealed."

Tauriel blinked, stunned. "She chose this?"

He gave a small nod.

"But how does her sealing help against corruption?" she demanded.

Ebon raised two fingers calmly. "There are two reasons. One of which is that I have full permission to do whatever I want to her body."

Before he could elaborate, Tauriel glared at him with such suspicion that Ebon quickly clarified:

"—Experimentation." He smirked faintly. "Not whatever dirty thing you’re imagining."

She scoffed loudly, unimpressed. "You can’t blame me. The way you talk—"

"I’m a married man, Tauriel," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "And happily so. I wouldn’t dare cross a line."

Her expression said she still wasn’t fully convinced.

Shaking his head, Ebon pressed on.

"The first reason is that, with her permission, I can study her existence — her nature, her affinity — to find a way to weaponize it. To create something that can counteract corruption directly, even without her."

Tauriel frowned but stayed silent.

"And the second reason," Ebon said, his voice growing more serious, "is her ascension."

Tauriel’s confusion was plain. "Ascension? What do you mean? Gods can ascend?"

Ebon lifted an eyebrow, looking at her as if she’d just said something extraordinarily naïve. "You really don’t know?"

She shrugged, almost sheepishly. "I always thought gods were... naturally occurring. Born from the world’s will or something."

The vein on Ebon’s forehead twitched violently.

"For your kind information," he said with clear restraint, "Deities like yourself are one thing. But true gods — those who ascend to Elderhood — are something far greater."

Tauriel’s jaw dropped. "There’s a realm above Deity?!"

Ebon nodded.

"Yes. Elder Gods stand above Deities. And even beyond them..."

He paused, his voice lowering to a near whisper, thick with reverence and awe. "—are the Primordials."

"The pinnacle of all things," he said. "The embodiment of creation, existence, destruction, and every concept in between. Concepts like Life, Death, Time, Chaos... even Nothingness."

Tauriel swallowed hard, the scale of it all crashing down on her.

Iyra was attempting to ascend beyond deityhood — to become an Elder God.

Tauriel let out a dry, hollow laugh.

"So, she’s doing whatever she can to save the world, huh? Truly like her."

Ebon raised a brow, his expression subtly sharpening.

"Why do you think she’s doing this to save the world?"

The laughter caught in Tauriel’s throat, dying before it could fully form.

"Then... why?" she asked, voice low.

Ebon answered with a face devoid of any mirth. "Because she’s guilty."

Tauriel’s amusement evaporated instantly. Her posture straightened, and her expression turned grave.

"What kind of guilt?" she asked cautiously.

Ebon’s voice was calm, almost too calm.

"Because of Iyra," he said, "her husband — the God of Darkness, Ness — was corrupted. His very existence was erased from the main world."

Tauriel felt her scalp go numb, her entire body stiffening in shock. "What... when did that happen?"

Ebon’s lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile.

"You’re asking the wrong question," he said softly. "You should ask: How did it happen?"

Tauriel’s fists clenched at her sides. This man —

— No, this thing —

— was absolutely infuriating to speak with.

Tauriel’s nails dug into her palms.

"Fine," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Tell me, Ebon. How did it happen?"

Ebon studied her, his dark eyes cold and ancient, as if weighing the worth of giving her the truth.

Finally, he spoke.

"Ness was never meant to fall," he began. "He was strong — one of the purest forces of Darkness. Not corruption. Not decay. But Darkness itself: the balance to Iyra’s radiance."

Tauriel’s breath caught.

"But Light," Ebon continued, voice low and sharp, "is not a passive force. It consumes. It judges. And it demands purity."

He stepped closer, and Tauriel could feel the weight of his words, heavy and bitter.

"Iyra, without realizing it, sought to purify Ness. To change him. To ’save’ him from what she perceived as darkness within him. But Darkness was what he was."

Tauriel felt a cold sweat break across her skin.

"Her light didn’t cleanse him," Ebon said. "It burned him. Piece by piece, it tore apart his essence, unraveling his identity until there was nothing left but a hollow, tormented shell."

He paused.

"And into that hollow," Ebon whispered, "Corruption seeped in."

The corridor around them seemed to pulse, shadows deepening.

Tauriel staggered back a step, her mind reeling. "No... she would never—"

"Not intentionally," Ebon cut in, sharp as a blade. "She loved him. But love without understanding can be as destructive as hate."

His words struck deeper than she expected.

Tauriel felt her legs weaken. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

"And when she realized what she had done," Ebon said, his tone now almost pitying, "it was already too late. Ness fell into Corruption’s embrace. And in the aftermath, reality itself rewrote his existence — erasing him from memory, from history, from life."

He raised his hand toward the living walls of the corridor.

"For those not strong enough to resist — he simply never existed."

Tauriel shuddered.

"So that’s why Iyra...?"

Ebon nodded. "Her guilt crushed her. She could no longer bear the weight of her power, of her existence. So she chose to ascend — to burn away what she was and forge something new. Something... worthy."

For the first time, Tauriel saw a flicker of something human in Ebon’s eyes.

Regret.

Loneliness.

"She sought me," he said softly, "because she knew only a monster like me could protect her during her vulnerable transformation. Only I would be strong enough to resist the world trying to devour her before she became something greater."

Tauriel couldn’t speak. She simply stood there, trembling, as the weight of the truth suffocated her.

Iyra wasn’t saving the world.

She was running from herself.

Tauriel stood frozen, her fists trembling at her sides. Finally, she forced herself to breathe.

"Take me to her," she said, her voice hoarse but firm.

Ebon regarded her quietly, then inclined his head in a slight nod. Without another word, he turned and began walking deeper into the endless corridor.

Tauriel followed, her boots striking muted echoes on the ground beneath them.

The corridor twisted and narrowed, the vibrant murals shifting into more somber images — great battles fought in silence, cities decaying into ash, stars collapsing into black voids.

Tauriel tried not to look. The stories on these walls weren’t meant for her.

But there was one question nagging in her mind. "Why are you helping her?"

Ebon turned, his voice calm. "I have my reason...you might even know it. I don’t hate corruption, I’m not against the order. But I still don’t want those two interfering in my life."

Tauriel hummed. She knew what he meant, why he was fighting corruption. Why he was protecting Iyra.

Minutes or maybe hours passed — she couldn’t tell in this timeless place — until finally, they reached a massive door.

It wasn’t ornate or regal. It was simple, heavy, and made of some dark, almost living wood that pulsed faintly with life.

Ebon placed his hand on it.

"She’s on the other side," he said quietly.

Tauriel stepped forward, her heart in her throat.

"What state is she in?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Ebon hesitated.

"She is... between states," he said finally. "Neither mortal nor divine. Neither awake nor asleep."

He pushed the door open slowly, revealing a vast chamber bathed in soft golden light.

At the very center of the room floated a crystalline cocoon. Inside it, curled up like a sleeping child, was Iyra.

Tauriel gasped.

Iyra looked almost unchanged — beautiful, serene, her golden hair flowing around her like a halo. But there was something different too — something deeper.

An unbearable sadness etched into her features even as she slept.

Tauriel staggered forward, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Iyra..." she whispered, pressing her hands against the crystal. It was warm to the touch, like the embrace of a sun.

"She can’t hear you," Ebon said behind her. "Her consciousness is sealed, protected during the metamorphosis."

Tauriel clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to scream, to break the cocoon, to pull her friend out and shake her awake.

But even without being told, she knew — disturbing the process would kill her.

She pressed her forehead to the cocoon, letting her tears fall silently.

"You idiot," she whispered. "Always carrying the world on your back... always alone..."

Ebon remained silent, giving her space.

Minutes passed.

Finally, Tauriel straightened up, wiping her face roughly.

Her voice was steadier now, colder.

"And what happens after she wakes?"

Ebon walked closer, his footsteps deliberate.

"She will not be the same," he said simply.

"She will transcend Godhood — and with that, she will no longer be bound to the Aetherion, or even to this reality or any reality. She will be... something more. Something greater."

Tauriel’s brows furrowed. "Greater?" she echoed. "At what cost?"

Ebon tilted his head slightly, as if pondering the weight of the question.

"At the cost of her mortal side," he said. "Her memories. Her attachments. Perhaps even her name."

Tauriel’s heart twisted painfully.

Iyra wouldn’t just lose her humanity — she’d lose herself.

"And you let this happen?" she snapped, rounding on Ebon.

His expression didn’t waver.

"I protected her choice," he said simply. "Even if I disagreed. Even if I... mourned it."

The last words slipped out almost unintentionally. Tauriel caught them, her anger faltering.

"You mourned her?" she asked quietly.

Ebon looked away, his face unreadable.

"I am not the villain you think I am," he said. "Even monsters can grieve."

The room fell silent again, filled only with the soft hum of Iyra’s cocoon.

Tauriel turned back to her friend, laying a gentle hand on the warm crystal.

She closed her eyes.

"I’ll wait," she said. "No matter how long it takes. I’ll be here."

She felt, or maybe imagined, a faint pulse of light from the cocoon — almost like a heartbeat in response.

Ebon said nothing.

For the first time in an eternity, he simply stood there, a silent guardian, watching over the remnants of something pure.

The world outside continued to rot. The corruption continued to spread.

But here, in this small sanctuary between the broken seams of reality, hope still lingered — fragile, painful, and achingly beautiful.

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