(Goddess Aselia's Pov) 

I looked upon the face of the man I had once loved, searching desperately for a glimpse of the god who once cherished harmony above everything. But all I found in his stony eyes was unyielding ambition. 

We stood on the edge of creation itself, at the celestial realm of Aetheris, where stars flickered in and out of existence with every breath we took. The golden light of my robe spilled over my shoulders, soft but heavy, like a weight I couldn't shake. I waited alone until he arrived: the god who had been my lover, my partner, my equal in creation. Once, his presence radiated wisdom. Now, his aura devoured light, his eyes so intense they seemed capable of burning stars from the sky. 

"Aselia," he said, his voice strong and commanding like a god's, yet warm with a sense of familiarity.

"Don't call me that," I replied, resolute but trembling. The sound of my name from his lips twisted my heart painfully, he was the only one who had ever said it with such gentleness. "Not after everything you've done. Not after what you've become."

For a moment, I saw pain flash across his face, but it vanished. "You misunderstand me," he said, his voice colder now. "You always have." 

"Misunderstand?" My voice rose, cracking like thunder through the heavens. "I understood you better than anyone, Idon! You were my partner, my balance. We dreamed of harmony—worlds where our creations could flourish. And now, look at what you've wrought!" I gestured to the vastness around us, worlds in ruin, broken by his hand in pursuit of…what? Even now, I struggled to comprehend his motives fully. 

Idon's gaze followed mine, but there was no shame in his expression. "It was all necessary," he said, spreading his arms wide, his eyes fierce. "This disorder, this destruction—it's the price of ultimate unity. A unity only I understand. Sacrifice is required for perfection, Aselia. Order must emerge from chaos." 

"Your sacrifice has only brought suffering!" I choked out. My grief was too heavy to hide, but my anger broke through anyway. "You're lost in your own arrogance, your own greed." My words cut like a blade, sharpened by the heartbreak of a love that had once burned as brightly as the stars we had forged together. "Do you think harmony comes without sacrifice? Without pain?" His voice was steady, but his eyes flashed with something between anger and sadness. He shook his head slightly, his expression hardening as if to mask a deeper wound. "You're blinded by your mercy, Aselia," he said, the words sharp yet heavy, as though he regretted having to say them aloud. But his face was still laced with the unshakable pride of someone convinced of their truth.

"Mercy isn't blindness, Idon. It's strength. And you've forgotten that." I said firmly. "You betray everything we stood for, Idon. You betrayed… You betrayed me." My voice faltered, the weight of the words crushing me. "And the harmony we both cherished."

He looked at me then, and something raw flickered in his eyes—a vulnerability he quickly cloaked. "I never betrayed you, Aselia," he spoke softly. "I did this…for us." 

I froze, the twist of his words confounding me. "For us?" I whispered. "How could you ever believe this obsession with control, this tyranny, was for us?" 

He stepped forward, the gravity of his presence enveloping me, powerful and undeniable. I could feel the force that had once drawn me to him. "You were always too merciful," he said, his voice low and almost pleading. "Too trusting. You wanted a universe of freedom, a garden of peace where chaos could still bloom. But true peace… true peace requires sacrifice and discipline. It requires someone with the strength to protect the innocent from the corrupt." 

I clenched my fists, trembling. "No, Idon. True peace requires balance, not fear, not a single, crushing hand. You can't see it, can you? You don't realize what you've become." My voice softened to a whisper, each word heavy with sorrow. 

His eyes flickered, caught between defiance and an old sadness. "I became what I had to," he said quietly. 

"Then you have become a stranger," I said, stepping back, my gaze filled with pity and grief. "And you leave me no choice. I must rebel, for the sake of all we created together—to protect it from...from you." 

For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw his hand twitch, as though he might reach out, as though he might bridge the chasm between us. But he held back, his face a mask of steel. 

"You would stand against me?" he asked, his voice low, almost cracking. "You… You would do that, Aselia? Against me?" "Even if it means destroying everything we built together?" 

"If that's the price to restore balance…then yes," I said. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. I didn't even notice when one fell. Or maybe two. "Even if it means losing you forever." 

A silence heavier than the void stretched between us. He nodded slowly, his face a mix of pride and heartbreak, holding both strength and sorrow. "Very well, Aselia. If you must be my enemy, then so be it. I would rather you hate me than understand the truth of what I have become." 

I looked at him, my voice barely above a whisper, soft yet resolute. "You don't realize, do you? I never stopped loving you. Even now. But our people? I love them more."

With that, I turned away, summoning a gale of starlight, the cosmos wrapping around me like a shield. I left him standing alone, his heart hollow yet burning with a fire that wouldn't die, a flame destined to consume until only the ashes of his dreams remained. And as I vanished into the veil of stars, a single tear traced down his cheek, shimmering in the darkness—the last spark of a love that had once united us. 

Soon after, in The Timeless Realm where even gods dare not tread, came the whisper of a prophecy—an elven child shall be born in the human realm to bear the light of a goddess and the weight of ages. It was whispered this child's birth would alter the balance of The Cosmic Plane, and only she would have the power to restore the six worlds within it. A child who might yet mend what Idon and I had broken.