Alia scanned her surroundings, making certain the graveyard remained still and silent. Only the faint rustle of wind through withered branches disturbed the night. She knew with absolute clarity that what she was about to experience would not be a simple act of touching an object, but rather another plunge into that treacherous abyss of memories—fragmented, dangerous, and laced with truths no one wished to confront.
Drawing in a steady breath, she lowered her trembling fingers until they brushed against the shard.
At once, a force surged into her body—familiar, yet far more violent and overwhelming than before. The world around her dimmed into darkness, and her consciousness was yanked downward, spiraling into the memories of another.
⸻
The images coalesced, and Alia found herself standing within the blurred vision of Livia.
It was that fateful night. The chamber was lit only by wavering candlelight, shadows jerking and twisting on the walls. Livia's eyes were fixed upon Marcellus, her pupils wide with grief. His expression was cruel, his gestures uncharacteristically harsh. Each motion struck her like a blade, and she felt her heart splinter into fragments. That was the night her despair began.
Yet as the hours dragged on and dawn's cold breeze brushed across her chest, Livia's despair gave way to a fragile calm. She knew Marcellus too well. Until that strange instant, he had always been her gentle partner—devoted, tender, unfailing. How could he suddenly transform into something so foreign, so brutal?
No. This was not truly him. That look in his eyes, the violence of his movements—it was as if something had seized him, steering his will against himself. Slowly, her grief sharpened into suspicion: there had to be something influencing him.
From the very first flicker of odd behavior, Livia began observing him in secret. She noticed the way he slipped in and out of the hidden chamber with furtive glances, the way his expression clouded whenever he thought no one was watching. She followed him once, even waiting in silence at night from a distance. She saw him, alone by candlelight, caressing some object over and over, his gaze burning with a mixture of hunger and danger.
The morning after their bitter quarrel, Livia seized her chance. When Marcellus left, she slipped quietly into the hidden chamber herself.
The place was damp and suffocating, dust motes swirling in the dim air. She searched every nook, every shadowed corner, until finally her fingers brushed against something tucked into an unremarkable recess.
There—lying in plain silence—was the pair of metallic cup handles. They gleamed with a faint, ghostly radiance, exuding an aura that tugged relentlessly at her soul.
Livia's heart tightened. A chill of recognition coursed through her as the memory of last night resurfaced—the unnatural malice in Marcellus's eyes, the oppressive weight of something alien. It was all connected to these objects.
Driven by fear and instinct, she reached out with trembling fingers and touched one of them.
The vision jolted violently. Her senses spun into chaos, her lungs dragged in ragged breaths. Then, in the next blink, she found herself standing by a riverbank, the current raging beneath her. The cup handle was clenched tightly in her hand, its cold weight pressing against her skin.
The night wind howled, whipping her hair around her face. Her eyes burned with tears, but her resolve was sharper than steel. With one final breath, she hurled the handle into the churning waters below.
It vanished in an instant, swallowed by the river's roar.
⸻
The memory broke apart.
Alia convulsed as though breaching the surface of deep water, gasping desperately for air. The shard beneath her fingertips was still icy, as though it had absorbed the emotions of that moment. She sat frozen for several breaths, until her heartbeat slowly eased back into rhythm. Yet clarity eluded her—her confusion only deepened.
So, Livia had discovered the truth. She had acted with courage, discarding the corrupted object before it could do more harm. That should have been the turning point. If she had revealed this to Marcellus, if they had confronted the threat together, perhaps they might have withstood it.
But that was not what history recorded. The two of them had still spiraled into destruction.
Alia pressed her lips into a thin line, her brow furrowing. Somewhere deep within her intuition whispered that the act of touching the handle had given Livia more than just fear. In that fleeting instant, she must have glimpsed something else—something unspeakable—that ultimately lit the fuse of tragedy.
Yet for now, that truth remained veiled.
Alia lifted her gaze to the fragment lying in her palm, her emotions a storm of unease. The ease with which she had found it gnawed at her, as if the Grail itself desired to be restored. Its fragments seemed almost eager to fall into her hands.
But her purpose was to destroy it, to bring an end to its influence.
The paradox twisted inside her chest. Was she walking the path of a hunter, or had she already become prey, drawn ever deeper into the Grail's designs? The uncertainty weighed upon her like a stone, each breath thick with dread.