"For now, let's just wait and watch," Marcellus said, leaning back on the sofa beside the hospital bed, his brow furrowed and voice heavy with concern. "If our suspicions are correct, even if we do nothing, the fragments of the Grail will eventually gather on their own… It seems to be part of its nature."
The room was bathed in soft light, the sunset outside casting the city's skyline in a faint golden outline. The air was so still, they could almost hear their own heartbeats.
He paused, then added in a quieter tone,
"And if Edgar really has discovered something, he won't sit still. He'll act soon. And Eryx… he'll be back too, and his surveillance will be even tighter than before. And then there's… Jim."
He said the last name with a barely perceptible shift in tone—lower, heavier.
"Jim," Livia echoed softly, lifting her gaze toward Marcellus. "How do you think… they even found out about the Grail and all this?"
Marcellus didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowly turned to look out the window, as though sorting through long-buried memories. After a few seconds, he finally said:
"I have a theory."
Livia tilted her head, fully focused now.
"It might've been Jim who found out first," Marcellus said. "He's been entrenched in the underworld for years—ruthless, resourceful, always well-informed. And more importantly… his past is a complete mystery. No one knows who he really is. I suspect he might've been an old acquaintance of your father… or of my parents. At the very least, he was part of their circle."
Livia was taken aback.
"So he may have personally witnessed, or at least known about, the Grail's earliest history?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Marcellus nodded. "And once he got a lead, he must have realized he couldn't handle it alone. So he reached out to Eryx—used his ambition, or rather… his feelings for your mother."
Livia's head shot up at that.
"His feelings for my mother?" she repeated, shocked. "You mean… Eryx was in love with her?"
"Mmhmm," Marcellus's expression grew more complex. "Back then, everyone knew—Legion Commander Eryx had long admired Commander Celesta. His feelings ran deep—restrained, solemn, even a bit tragic. Most people thought they'd end up together eventually."
He sighed as he spoke, and a faint, wistful tenderness laced his voice.
"But in the end… Celesta married a civilian officer. A man who seemed completely ordinary—stiff, even. Edgar, your father."
Livia stared at him, a storm of emotion rising in her chest. She could almost picture that distant era: the clashing of blades and the roar of war, a battle-hardened general draped in armor, commanding the battlefield—and the quiet officer who stood behind her, steady and silent. And that other man, the scholar and scribe—what was it about him that made her choose him?
"Then Eryx… he wants to use the Grail to bring her back too?" Livia asked softly, a trace of hesitation—and perhaps sympathy—in her voice.
"I think so." Marcellus looked at her, his tone gentle but grave. "This isn't politics, or a scheme. It's… just a love buried so deep, he's never been able to let it go."
Livia froze. It felt as if a breeze passed through her chest, stirring something wordless and invisible.
Suddenly, she found herself envying that woman she had never even met—this shadow of the past who still, even in death, tugged at so many fates and hearts.
She was the first legion commander, a hero revered by thousands. She was "her" in Marcellus's stories. She was Eryx's silent obsession. She was the beloved Edgar still dreamed of reviving.
And she, Livia—was she really her heir?
As if sensing her inner turmoil, Marcellus suddenly said, quietly:
"You're wonderful too."
Livia blinked, startled. She looked up at him. His tone was soft, his gaze steady—completely earnest, with not a trace of flattery.
In an instant, that subtle, gnawing sense of self-doubt—of not being enough, of being merely a shadow—was pierced by something warm and gentle.
Her cheeks flushed. She lowered her head, replying with a barely audible, "Mm."
She said nothing more. But inside, something quietly softened.
Outside, the last of the sunset faded away. The hospital room returned to stillness.
But beneath that stillness, something deeper—something fragile yet resilient—had quietly begun to take root.