A few days later, just before dawn, the sky was still painted with a faint grey-blue. Mist coiled between the mountain slopes and around the castle's walls, and the air still clung to the damp scent of last night's rain—rich with earth, wet stone, and fresh grass. On the tree-lined path outside the castle, Eryx walked alone. His boots stepped silently over the damp flagstones, each footfall softened by water.
He wore a hood pulled low over his face, his posture discreet and deliberate. Every time he passed a corner or turned into a passageway, he paused for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows to make sure he wasn't being followed.
At last, approaching a secluded courtyard on the western side of the castle, his pace slowed. He silently entered a small stone outbuilding tucked beside an old, disused archive—the place was little known even among those closest to him. In fact, this entire mini-castle was one of Eryx's best-kept secrets.
Closing the door behind him, he slid the heavy bolt into place. Then he pulled the thick curtains shut over the windows, plunging the room into gloom. A sliver of dawn's light seeped through a crack in the roof, falling squarely onto the travel bag he had just set down on the table.
Slowly, he began to open the bag. His fingers moved deliberately—not rushed, but tight with restrained tension. Inside, layer upon layer of rough linen shrouded something small and heavy. Finally, he unwrapped the last cloth to reveal a jagged shard, black as ink but faintly glowing with a deep crimson shimmer.
It was irregular in shape, its edges sharp and violent—as though it had once belonged to something far greater, something now lost. And yet, even as a fragment, it still radiated a presence that couldn't be ignored.
Eryx murmured, almost to himself, his voice nearly swallowed by the silence of the sealed room:
"Never thought… on this trip to the capital, I'd stumble across this at some obscure auction. So the rumors about the Grail's explosion weren't just fiction. Jim was telling the truth."
His gaze lingered on the fragment. For a fleeting second, his eyes betrayed a tangle of emotion: excitement, caution… and something more—something closer to fear.
"This means…" he exhaled slowly, "the Holy Grail really has shattered. And if I want to piece it back together…" He trailed off, fingers brushing gently over the shard's cracks. "It won't be easy. But… at least now, I no longer have nothing."
He stood up, slowly, and rewrapped the fragment in a layer of dark leather. Then he placed it inside a small wooden box etched with protection sigils and slid it into a hidden compartment behind the bookshelf.
Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the low wooden beams of the ceiling, lost in thought.
"So then… where are the other fragments?"
His mind drifted back to the chaotic memories surrounding the Grail's explosion—moments hazy and volatile. His brow furrowed slightly.
"Edgar… he was one of the original witnesses. He must have at least one piece. And Elias… and Marcellus, as the son of the other witness… they likely have something as well. But Jim…"
He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, brows drawing closer.
"Jim… why does he know so much? He said he was just an observer. But the information he has goes far beyond what any outsider should possess. Could he be one of them? Does he—" Eryx's eyes narrowed— "does he have a piece too?"
His thoughts churned, spiraling deeper into suspicion. His gaze grew darker, more intense. This riddle—he couldn't solve it yet. But even more pressing was the question he hadn't answered: what should he do next?
Lately, everyone had fallen quiet. Marcellus remained in the hospital. Elias stayed out of the spotlight. Edgar hadn't moved at all.
Only Jim was a variable—one Eryx couldn't read.
He closed his eyes, and in the darkness behind his lids, he could almost hear the distant sound of a chess piece sliding across a board—made by an unseen player far beyond reach.
"…It's time," he whispered. "Time to start watching him closely."