Celesta's condition… is truly getting worse.
She's been unconscious for three days straight now. Even when she briefly regains consciousness, it's only for a few minutes—her words are fragmented, and her mind is barely coherent.
The doctors are helpless. They say this doesn't resemble any typical illness—
it's more like a collapse on a spiritual level.
Some have even whispered, privately:
"It's like… part of her soul has been hollowed out."
I wanted to laugh that off.
But one night, as I was sitting alone by her side, Celesta suddenly opened her eyes.
She gripped my hand tightly, lips pale, and managed just one word:
"The Grail… don't… touch it again…"
There was a fear in her eyes I had never seen before—
not fear of illness, nor death—
but of something far more ancient, like a nightmare about to swallow her whole.
As for Edgar… he acts as if everything is normal.
Still handling his duties, holding meetings, inspecting construction projects.
But I know—he's preparing something.
He's gone quiet, secretive.
Sleepless nights in his study poring over ancient texts that clearly don't belong to this era.
He's sent people deep into the city's ruins to dig for "remnants"—
he claims it's archaeology.
But I know—he's digging near the Grail's original resting place.
He thinks he's hiding it well, but that look in his eyes—
that burning hunger, that anxiety and obsession—can't deceive me.
I'm growing more and more uneasy.
The work is done.
The city is transformed—its streets filled with laughter and light.
Isn't that enough?
Edgar… what is it you still want?
Celesta, please—wake up.
Only you can stop him now.
Tonight, I witnessed something I will never forget as long as I live.
Celesta… finally woke up.
Truly woke up.
She sent word for us to meet her.
The place she chose: the abandoned factory on the city's southeast edge.
Once a construction base during the expansion's early days, it has long since fallen into disuse—
empty, save for the wind whispering between rusted beams.
I understood why she chose it.
No one would be listening there.
That night, beside the crumbling wall, Celesta stood cloaked in the shadows.
Her face was pale, but her gaze burned clear and steady.
The wind lifted her hair, and for a moment I could've sworn—
she wasn't a gentle advisor anymore,
but a lone prophet standing against fate itself.
"He's gone mad," she said bluntly.
"I suspect Edgar is planning to use the Grail… for a far bigger wish."
My throat tightened. I couldn't speak.
She continued, voice low:
"He wants endless expansion. Not just the city—he wants the entire nation, maybe even civilization itself to bend to his vision.
He thinks he can pay only a 'small price'.
But he doesn't understand—the Grail is no benevolent giver."
"It's a pair of scissors. You make a wish, and it cuts away something—something you don't even realize is missing."
Her fists clenched.
"I don't know what I've lost.
But I know—I'm no longer whole."
I said nothing.
Because… I felt it too.
Those of us who've stood near the Grail—
we've all lost something.
Emotions. Memories.
Maybe even… a part of ourselves.
I looked at her. And I couldn't hold it in any longer.
I asked the question that had haunted me:
"Celesta… why you?
Why is this happening to you?
Edgar's the one making the wishes. Shouldn't he pay the price?"
She gave a small, bitter smile—
a smile filled with sorrow, helplessness, and a calm that seemed to transcend death.
Then she slowly shook her head.
Her voice was soft, yet it struck to my very bones:
"I was worried about him.
You know… back then, he stood before the Grail nearly every day, always wishing, always hoping for the city."
"But I could feel the wrongness of it."
"So I started to stay by his side."
"Every time he made a wish, I stood next to him.
And as soon as he began to speak—
I made a wish in my heart too."
I stared at her in disbelief.
"You… what did you wish for?"
She replied, without a trace of sorrow—only a terrifying, tender kind of calm:
"I wished…
that if there truly was a price—
let it fall on me instead."
That look on her face…
It wasn't madness.
It was love—the kind that willingly burns itself out for someone else.
"You're insane…" I whispered.
"At first, I didn't feel anything.
But when I did… it was already too late."
Her eyes were still gentle, like she was looking at a child.
"Do you know what it feels like?
Like being taken apart, day by day—
but you can't even tell which piece is gone."
My chest tightened. I couldn't say a word.
"I never told Edgar," she said,
"Because I knew… if he ever found out, it would destroy him.
He'd turn back, he'd break down,
he'd hate himself.
But by then, it would already be too late."
"So I'm begging you."
"Begging… what?" I asked, my voice shaking.
Her hand moved slowly to the cloth bag at her side—
so slowly it looked like every gesture drained the last of her strength.
As her fingers undid the clasp—
my eyes widened.
In that instant,
I saw it.