Alia stood quietly, gazing at Marcellus.
She didn't rush to speak. She simply looked at him, her eyes weighted with the heaviness of long-suppressed truths—and a tangle of emotions too complex to name.
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the quiet rhythm of their breathing and the distant hum of passing cars on the rain-soaked street. It was as if everything else had been drawn into a soundless vortex.
Marcellus looked pale, as though the very strength had been drained from his body. The faint glimmer of hope still lingering in his eyes flickered like a candle caught in a gust of wind—then vanished completely.
He spoke, his voice hoarse and hollow, as if it had been clawed up from the depths of his throat:
"How could I… how could I shoot Livia? I loved her so much… How could I possibly…? What… what really happened?"
His head shook in denial, as though trying to hold onto the last threads of sanity, but those threads were already unraveling.
Alia lowered her eyes, took a soft breath, and began speaking—slowly, like drawing a ghost back from the past:
"That night… Jim sent me. He ordered me to infiltrate the castle and steal the fragments of the Holy Grail. He told me they were the key to freedom. That they were my last chance to reclaim control over my fate."
Her voice trembled, but she pressed on with quiet determination:
"I slipped into your family's castle without a sound. It was already late, and the tower was dark. But then I heard voices—Livia's, and yours. You were arguing… it sounded intense. I couldn't hear everything, but I remember the words: memory… deception… and the Grail."
She paused and looked at Marcellus. There was no accusation in her eyes, only a kind of weary peace.
"And then… you pulled out a gun."
Marcellus snapped his head up, bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief. His throat moved, trying to speak—but no words came out. He could only stare at her, stunned.
"I don't know why you did it," Alia said softly. "Livia didn't expect it either. And then… you pulled the trigger. The shot hit her. She fell. And I—" her voice caught, "I was terrified. I couldn't even run before you noticed me."
"You saw me. And without hesitation… you fired again."
She paused, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if she could still feel the bullet tearing through her chest—the burning heat, the sudden cold, the dizzying silence.
"When I opened my eyes again… I was here. In this body."
Marcellus was frozen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His entire body seemed paralyzed by the weight of her words. Slowly, his trembling hand rose to his forehead, as if trying to hold his breaking mind together. Pain, confusion, and disbelief etched deep into his face.
"I don't know the exact reason," Alia added quietly. "But… it's likely that afterward, you touched the Grail again—or that the fragments formed a deeper connection with you."
Marcellus flinched, whispering as if to himself:
"Maybe you're right… If not for your resurrection… if you hadn't come back in Livia's body… I might've kept working with Edgar. I would've kept relying on the Grail—kept touching it, until it consumed me completely… I only wanted to erase her memory… but I ended up taking her life."
He shook his head, trying to banish the version of himself he now saw—a version he didn't recognize, didn't want to believe in.
His voice cracked. "Am I… really that kind of person?"
Alia looked at him. For a moment, she wanted to answer. To offer him absolution. But in the end, she only bit her lip and said softly:
"No matter what… I'm really not Livia."
She stopped there.
She didn't say the words that ached the most in her chest—the ones that burned like molten lava in her throat.
"Even though I love you too."
That, she buried deep inside—too scalding to speak, too real to deny.