The hospital room was alive with chatter, debates ricocheting off the pale walls as the group hashed out every detail of the plan. They discussed what concessions might be possible with Edgar, which points were non-negotiable, and above all, the one principle that could never be compromised: the Grail must be utterly destroyed. Each sentence, each suggestion, felt like a probing test, a subtle measurement of each other's boundaries, weighing the risks of every move before it was made. The tension was palpable, hanging in the air like a dense fog that refused to lift.
When the discussion finally ended, everyone filed out of the room, leaving only Alia and Marcellus behind. The atmosphere shifted immediately; the noise and argument vanished, leaving a quiet filled only with the mechanical hum of respirators and the occasional whisper of wind brushing against the windowpane.
Alia's eyes softened as she looked at Marcellus lying on the bed. Her gaze was deep, reflective, carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sterile environment. She let out a soft sigh before speaking, her voice calm but resolute:
"I've managed to recover most of Livia's memories. Coupled with my years of experience navigating the underground, and our understanding of Edgar's intentions, I believe this plan isn't flawed. It should work."
Marcellus frowned slightly, concern flickering across his otherwise composed face. His voice, low and hesitant, carried a tinge of unease:
"Then… then you need to be careful too. Protect yourself, no matter who you are."
There was a pause, weighted with unspoken worries, as if he had so many things he couldn't control, yet refused to show fully.
Alia nodded subtly, her tone deep but unwavering.
"Of course. You need to be careful as well. Even in the hospital, we can never predict what the enemy will do next."
Her words carried multiple layers: a tacit agreement, a warning, and a reminder that danger lurked in every corner of their path. The room seemed to pause for a moment, as if holding its breath with them.
Then, with a light laugh that seemed almost out of place in the tense room, Alia's voice took on a carefree note:
"Ha… stop being so serious. Being stuck in the role of a proper 'lady' for so long has made me a little uptight myself. Anyway, we'll succeed. Let's leave the rest for after it's done."
She lifted her foot, stepping forward with light, confident strides, as though she had just shed a burden that had weighed on her heart. Relief and determination glimmered in her eyes, subtle but undeniable.
Marcellus watched her, his gaze heavy and layered with complexity. He murmured under his breath, almost to himself:
"After we succeed… what truly counts as success?"
There was confusion in his tone, a faint bewilderment. It was as if he were trying to chart the road ahead and wondering if the path they were on could ever lead to something genuine, something lasting. His shoulders sagged slightly, fingers unconsciously clenching and releasing as he wrestled with the question, leaving the room silent in response.
Only the soft, yellow hospital lights remained, casting elongated shadows across the floor. Alia's shadow moved lightly and confidently, echoing her courage and resolve. Marcellus, by contrast, remained still, almost statue-like, immersed in the contradictions and melancholy that swirled in his heart.
Outside, the wind whispered against the window, rustling the curtains gently. It was a subtle reminder: the journey was only beginning, and the true trials lay ahead.