Perhaps Ilmater had prepared himself for this from the very moment he fell from the sky.
So by the time Tyr, already blinded and immersed in his fading memories, heard those words, it was already too late.
In Tyr's perception, it was a ray of light shining into a long dark night. Perhaps it was not especially bright, yet it was so gentle, tranquil, and peaceful—like a beacon illuminating human nature.
But in Helm's eyes, his lean, short, slightly balding old friend was sitting cross-legged atop that motionless chaotic demon hound, a broad and gentle smile upon his unremarkable face.
The red cords binding his pale hands began to move without wind, dispersing like trailing threads of blood and merging into those mottled, crack-covered chains. The chains then seemed to come alive, binding Ilmater himself as well.
Like a drowning man who had tied a demon stone to his feet, he and that evil thing, temporarily sunk into slumber, slowly sank into the Howling Madness Tunnel's eternal darkness.
He would turn himself into shackles that bound evil, and be exiled forever alongside it in the bleakest place in the world, where loneliness and madness reigned.
Ilmater was an ancient deity, yet because his divine domains were endurance, suffering, martyrdom, and perseverance, he had always stood apart from the other gods and received little regard.
Even his doctrine of aiding every wounded person in the world and bearing suffering for others had once been misunderstood and mocked by mortals, who said that this god's followers must all be masochists.
Tyr instinctively tried to raise a hand to stop Ilmater's near-suicidal act, but Helm beside him suddenly held him back.
Helm said nothing, yet Tyr instantly understood what he meant.
Helm wanted him to respect Ilmater's choice—the choice to live out his