The final page of the diary closed with a soft whisper, and the room was swallowed by a silence so heavy it felt solid.
Outside, the sunlight was gentle, spilling through the window and casting shifting patterns across the hospital floor. And there it lay—
the yellowed diary, quietly resting like a sleeping witness,
its ten-year-old secrets finally laid bare.
No one spoke.
As if even a breath might disturb the shadow pressing on everyone's hearts.
The diary shut beneath Livia's fingertips, the aged pages still holding a trace of warmth—
as though their long-gone author had only just stepped away.
Livia sat still.
Her fingers traced the brittle cover, worn thin by time.
But her gaze had already sunk deep into something darker—
a near-dizzying haze of thought.
She didn't cry.
But her heart—
her heart ached unbearably.
As if something were being slowly drawn from the depths of her chest—
and she couldn't breathe.
She wasn't Celesta's daughter.
She hadn't been born in that era.
She hadn't lived through any of this history.
She was Alia—
a soul who had only borrowed Livia's body to enter this world.
And yet—
She felt as if she had witnessed it all.
As if she were there—
outside that abandoned factory on that long night,
hearing Celesta's frail voice say goodbye,
watching as that gentle yet resolute woman shattered the Holy Grail into fragments of light with one final act.
She could almost see the days after—
Edgar's silence and madness,
his descent into obsession,
his endless search through ruin,
building a new ambition out of grief and ashes.
Her hands trembled around the diary.
How could someone be that gentle?
How could someone love so deeply,
and yet still choose—
in that agony—
to sacrifice themselves just to keep their beloved from falling further?
Celesta had not filled many pages.
She had only appeared in a handful of entries.
But those words—
They burned.
Like a candle flame in encroaching dark,
small but radiant, defiant to the end.
She wasn't the kind to weep loudly.
She bore her burdens in silence.
She made her choices without applause.
And she carried out the most painful, most irreversible act—
without regret.
Livia suddenly realized…
she had never truly understood the meaning of "selflessness."
She had always thought herself strong, wise, mature.
But after finishing this diary, she knew:
The strength Celesta had was something she had never possessed.
It was a kind of brilliance—
the blending of love, conviction, sacrifice, and resolve into one single flame.
Of course she knew Celesta.
She knew she was Edgar's wife.
Knew she had been one of only two female generals in the city—
and the finest of them all.
She had heard she once saved countless lives—Emma among them.
But she had never truly known this woman.
Not until today.
Now she understood why even someone like Emma—proud and cold—
would willingly follow Celesta to the ends of the earth.
Now she understood why every person who spoke Celesta's name
carried reverence and softness in their eyes.
She was worth it.
Livia closed her eyes.
And for a moment, she felt her heart ignite—
a complicated storm of admiration, grief, and guilt.
She couldn't help but wonder:
If she had been there,
could she have stopped Celesta from dying?
If she had returned to this world sooner,
could she have lightened the burden?
But she knew the truth—
She couldn't change the past.
All she could do—
was inherit it.
Inherit the belief Celesta died to protect.
Stop Edgar.
Stop this path before it twisted beyond return.
No matter how dark.
No matter how difficult.
Even if none of this was her burden to bear.
She could no longer walk away.
She opened her eyes again—
as if sealing the diary into the deepest corner of her heart.
That wasn't paper.
That was a will,
written in blood and fire.
She had to understand it.
She would understand it.
She—
She had given her word.