Outside, the wind howled louder still, whipping up yellow sand that battered against the windowpanes—a silent prelude to the storm about to unfold. Inside the study, the light was dim and heavy.
Eryx pressed two fingers to his temple, his brow deeply furrowed, still contemplating whatever it was that Jim had yet to say. Across from him, Jim wore his usual careless grin—lazily drawn yet unable to fully mask the sharpness beneath.
"Do nothing," Jim drawled, repeating himself with deliberate calm. "Since we already know the treasure is somewhere in this region, we just search it slowly, piece by piece. This is our turf. They're the ones in a hurry—we're not."
He spread his hands lightly, tone tinged with smug sarcasm. "They thought handing you jurisdiction over this region was a clever move. Turns out, it was a blunder. We can dig as deep as we want here, but them—" he paused, eyes glinting like blades, "they can't cross the line. The moment they do, we'll have every excuse to 'take full control' of the area."
"You mean…" Eryx slowly opened his eyes, gaze as deep and dark as the night outside. "Turn their own plan against them?"
Jim nodded, smiling openly. "They think they're in control—but they've already fallen into our rhythm. Split your forces and comb the region. Keep a close eye on Marcellus' men. That treasure you want will reveal itself soon enough."
The room fell into a momentary silence, punctuated only by the rattle of wind against the windows. After a long pause, Eryx waved his hand. "Enough. Go make the arrangements."
Jim gave a small nod—but his tone bore none of a subordinate's humility. "As you command, Commander."
He turned, cloak fluttering slightly as he vanished into the darkness beyond the door. Yet at the very moment he crossed the threshold, the smile on his face finally faded. In its place curled something sharp and venomous—a hint of ruthlessness and cunning laid bare. The true objective, it seemed, had already fallen into his grasp.
Only, it wasn't the "Holy Grail" that Eryx imagined.
Unaware of that departing chill, Eryx remained seated, still gazing out the window at the escalating winds. A vague sense of unease crept through his chest, but he shoved it down, muttering coldly to himself:
"We'll see… who laughs last."
The scene shifts to a hospital room. Outside, the wind still roared, but it was muffled behind heavy curtains, sealed off from the warm, quiet world within. Soft sunlight filtered through the slits in the drapes, painting streaks of gold on the floor like any ordinary morning.
Livia sat propped up against the bed's headboard. She had taken some water, eaten a bit of bland food, and her color had improved since she first woke. She sat quietly now, her gaze never once leaving the figure on the adjacent bed.
Marcellus still lay unconscious, a faint sheen of sweat on his pale forehead. His complexion was nearly translucent. Watching him so silent and still stirred a storm of emotions in Livia's heart.
She slipped a trembling hand beneath the edge of the blanket, clutching the thin sheet tightly to hide the way her fingers shook. He had once stood so firmly before her—unyielding, cold, and stubborn in the face of danger. And now, he lay here fragile and worn, all because of her.
Then, his brows twitched.
A subtle tremor passed through his fingers, and slowly, his eyes opened. At first, they were unfocused—lost in the haze of sleep—but within seconds, they snapped into clarity, as if piercing through layers of darkness, finally locking onto a familiar figure.
"…Livia."
His voice was faint and hoarse, laced with raw emotion and unfiltered worry. He tried to reach out, though he could only raise his hand a few inches. Still, the gesture held all his stubborn resolve.
Livia's eyes reddened in an instant. She almost threw herself forward, gently catching his hand in hers. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "I'm here, I'm right here… Don't talk. Just rest."
Marcellus's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, so subtle it was almost invisible. Just knowing she was there seemed to be enough.
"I thought… I wasn't going to make it this time."
"Idiot," Livia whispered, teary-eyed but smiling through it. "If you hadn't woken up… I—I…"
"What?" he murmured, his voice weak but teasing. "What would you have done?"
She faltered, at a loss for words, then lowered her head and gently pressed her forehead to the back of his hand.
"I would've stayed with you. For the rest of my life. No matter what."
From the side, Elias watched in silence. He didn't interrupt, nor did he speak. But for once, his eyes betrayed a flicker of rare emotion. He understood that, in this moment, there was nothing more for him to say. And perhaps, deep down, he knew—
This time, he had lost. Completely.