The next morning, the sky was overcast, clouds pressing low as if casting a grey veil over the truths about to be uncovered.
Livia and Elias drove toward the hospital in near silence. Livia leaned against the car window, gazing blankly at the landscape speeding past, her mind pulled in every direction by a thousand conflicting thoughts. She had steeled herself for what was to come, but still couldn't shake the unease—about Marcellus, about Edgar, and about a long-buried alliance.
The hospital smelled faintly of disinfectant, a crisp reminder of reality.
They pushed open the door to the room gently. Sunlight slanted in through the window. Marcellus sat by the bed, one hand still wrapped in bandages, the other flipping through a newspaper. He looked up at the sound of the door.
"You're here," he said, lips curling into a faint smile. When his gaze landed on the worry in Livia's eyes, that smile softened further. "Don't worry. I'm not dying just yet."
"You look pretty lively for a guy who just got nearly killed," Elias quipped, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. "Guess that brush with death really woke you up."
The banter lightened the mood, drawing them briefly closer again, like something familiar and almost forgotten.
Once the laughter subsided, Livia sat down, her expression growing serious. "I need to tell you something first… the one who's been helping me from the shadows—she's gone."
Marcellus froze for a second, but quickly caught on to whom she meant. He nodded, saying nothing, asking nothing.
Livia continued, "Back in that cave, I saw a man… the one who trained her, someone incredibly dangerous. He's cunning, unpredictable—he saw through our plan with almost nothing to go on. She and I both believe he's a serious threat."
Elias chimed in, "His name is Jim, though you may know him by other aliases. In the underworld, he's practically a myth. His influence is widespread—he's trained countless assassins, thieves… and many still follow his orders. No real name, just identities. Emma left a note: once he's got his eyes on you, you're not shaking him off."
Marcellus's face darkened. After a long pause, he muttered, "I know who he is… I didn't expect things to have escalated this far."
A rare solemnity crossed his face. "I dealt with him once during a negotiation. He never moves for money or fame. If he acts, it means he's already built the board himself."
"Then you understand—this calls for caution," Elias said calmly. "Right now, we don't have the upper hand."
Silence settled in. Livia looked to Marcellus and spoke plainly, "So now I need to know—what exactly was your cooperation with my father?"
Marcellus had clearly anticipated the question. He paused, eyes drifting toward the window, as if pulling a memory from some faraway, dusty shelf.
"It goes back quite a bit," he began slowly. "It was the year after your mother's death. I met Edgar once at his hunting lodge. That was the first time he came to me."
Livia didn't interrupt, only watched him intently, waiting.
The room fell into momentary quiet. Marcellus didn't immediately continue. His gaze lingered beyond the windowpane, unfocused, as if seeing that long-gone afternoon through the glass.
He remembered it clearly.
It had just rained. Fallen leaves blanketed the mountain path. Water dripped from the branches overhead. When he stepped into the secluded cabin nestled in the woods, Edgar was already seated by the fireplace, his coat still damp with cold. There had been no pleasantries—no greetings, no warmth—just a restrained, distant civility. They had never been friends. They were more like rivals dancing at the edge of mutual benefit. And that day, they found themselves under the same roof, drawn together by something neither could abandon.
"You're after the Grail too," Edgar had said bluntly, voice calm yet carrying a quiet force.
Marcellus hadn't denied it. He'd removed his gloves, held his hands to the fire for warmth, and after a long pause, replied, "I want her to forget her hatred for me. Maybe it's too much to ask. But I keep thinking—if that hadn't happened, she wouldn't have become who she is today."
He never mentioned Livia by name, but both of them knew.
Edgar listened in silence. His eyes reflected the flames, growing darker, unreadable. Only after a moment did he speak, voice low and resolute. "I want Celesta back."
And in that instant, Marcellus saw it in Edgar's eyes—what lay there wasn't ambition or calculation. It was an unhealed wound. Rarely had Marcellus seen a man radiate such quiet, raw sorrow.
"If the Grail truly exists," Edgar had said, "and it can bring her back—I'll pay any price."
Marcellus hadn't responded. He thought of Livia's young, trusting face, her shattered eyes after her mother's death. Their goals were aligned, though their reasons differed.
Edgar had pointed something out then: "We're not the only ones searching for it. Others—more fanatical, more extreme—are after it too."
So they made a pact.
A silent agreement was formed. They would search separately but share information, pool resources, and—if they found it—each would take what they needed. But they both knew the alliance was fragile. Neither trusted the other. They hid their motives, played the game cautiously.
When they parted, Edgar had said: "If one of us finds it first, don't make the other wait too long."
Years later, Marcellus still thought about those words. He was never sure whether Edgar meant them as a promise—or a warning.
Now, faced with Livia's question, he didn't reveal all that. He simply nodded slightly and said, with deliberate restraint, "Your father and I had… an understanding. We were both looking for the Grail. We agreed to work together—share what we found. Each of us had our own reasons."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
That chapter of the past was too tangled, too heavy. He knew that one day Livia would uncover it all—but today was not that day.