Elias was so furious he nearly lunged forward to seize Marcellus by the collar. But at that very moment, Marcellus's mocking smile faded. His expression darkened, sinking into a gravity that felt like the prelude to unveiling a truth far more sinister than anything spoken before.
"You may not want to hear it, and perhaps you will never be able to accept it," Marcellus said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of cold iron, each word heavy enough to pierce bone. "But you must know the truth."
Elias froze mid-step, anger still surging in his chest like wildfire, yet the sheer intensity in Marcellus's tone made him instinctively hold his breath.
Marcellus turned his gaze toward the window. The firelight flickered in his eyes, casting restless shadows across his face. He looked less like a man speaking of the past than one recalling a future he wished he could deny, a future etched into his very being.
"During that period when the Holy Grail consumed me," Marcellus murmured, his voice low and brittle, "I began to… lose myself. My mind was shredded, my will collapsing piece by piece. If it had lasted much longer… there is no doubt I would have raised my gun at Livia—pulled the trigger myself."
"What…?!" Elias blanched, his face draining of all color. His throat constricted, so parched he could hardly force the word out.
"Yes." Marcellus lowered his gaze. His fingers clenched against the table until the knuckles turned bone-white. "The future version of me was already on the brink. If not for an accident that night… Livia would have died beneath my gun."
The air seemed to freeze. Only the fireplace dared to speak, crackling faintly, filling the silence with a mocking rhythm. Elias opened his mouth, but no sound came, as though the weight of what he'd heard had robbed him of breath.
Marcellus slowly raised his head again, his eyes sharp as a blade as they locked onto Elias. "That night… someone broke into the castle. A thief."
"A thief?" Elias's brows furrowed violently. His voice cracked. "You mean… in the future?"
"Yes." Marcellus's tone was like steel, his features taut. Yet beneath his sternness, a shadow flickered in his gaze—dark, conflicted, inescapable. "And that thief… was no one else but Alia."
The words struck Elias like a hammer blow to the chest. His eyes widened in raw shock, his body lurching forward, as though searching Marcellus's face for the slightest trace of falsehood. But Marcellus's expression was cold, unwavering, resolute—no man's lie could wear such conviction.
The atmosphere in the room tightened like a drawn bow. The fire wavered, and even the shadows on the walls seemed to tremble in dread.
"Alia?" Elias repeated, his voice shaking, disbelief and dread woven together. The name felt suddenly foreign, laced with danger, as though it no longer belonged to the woman he thought he knew.
But Marcellus gave no reply to his questioning gaze. Instead, he released a long, heavy sigh, then continued, his tone burdened with inevitability:
"According to her… she did die that night."
The flames leapt in the hearth, throwing jagged light across Marcellus's face, rendering his features even harsher. He slowly lifted a hand, his finger tracing shapes in the air, as though sketching a scene he wished he could erase from memory. "But fate did not allow her to vanish. Some force dragged her back—forced her into life again. Not in her own body, but in Livia's. And not the Livia of that night, but the Livia from one year earlier."
"W-what…?" Elias's throat tightened, his voice fractured, trembling as though under unbearable strain. His back, once rigid with fury, locked into stillness. His entire being reeled as if struck by a thunderclap, staring at Marcellus with eyes wide in horror.
Marcellus merely shook his head, a shadow of pain flickering across his features. His voice dropped lower, roughened, as though worn down by countless regrets: "As for the real Livia… I no longer know if she still exists at all."
He stopped, breathing harshly into the silence. The firelight caught in his eyes, bright one moment, dark the next, as though even his soul was drowning in a tide of remorse and unanswered questions.
Elias sat frozen. His hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly the veins stood out, his knuckles bleached white. Inside his mind, memory after memory tore themselves apart: Livia's laughter, her coldness, her abrupt changes—all of it fragmented into meaningless shards. And the harder he tried to piece them together, the more impossible it became.
"This… this cannot be…" he whispered hoarsely, the words slipping out like a prayer, weak and desperate. It was as if every ounce of strength had been drained from him, leaving only disbelief clinging to the edges of his mind.
The sickroom sank into silence once more. Only the fire remained, its restless light casting jagged shadows across the walls, shadows that seemed to close in on Elias, forcing him to confront the truth—a truth cruel enough to shatter him.