The corridor of the castle was dim and damp, the walls breathing with centuries of stone. Torches crackled in their iron sconces, casting flickering shadows that writhed like restless spirits. The heavy wooden door groaned as Elias pushed it open, the echo of his footsteps spreading through the silence of the hall like ripples across still water.
His eyes found her immediately. The figure of a girl stood not far away, illuminated by the wavering light. That face—so familiar it cut straight into his heart. It was the face he had carried in every dream, the voice he longed to hear in every waking moment. It was Livia.
And yet—his chest tightened sharply, as though unseen chains coiled around his ribs, pulling tight. Yes, the features were the same, the voice the same… but her eyes, her bearing, her very presence—utterly different.
Those eyes held a cool vigilance, a guarded sharpness, as if she were a thief who had lived too long in the shadows, always measuring, always wary. Not the resolute yet gentle Livia who had once stood by him. Not the girl whose courage burned like a lantern against the dark.
Elias faltered mid–stride. The word rose to his throat—Livia—but it caught like a blade lodged in his chest, unable to escape. Emotions surged and clashed within him—anger, confusion, yearning, suspicion—all twisting together until he could scarcely breathe. The longer he looked, the clearer it became: this was not her. Not entirely.
Alia noticed his presence then. At first, surprise flickered across her expression. Then her brows drew together in a subtle frown. She could feel it—the heaviness of his gaze, laden with something raw and unspoken. It unsettled her. It was as though he was not seeing her at all, but rather a ghost hovering behind her face.
"Why…" she broke the silence, her voice hesitant, laced with confusion and the faintest tremor of unease, "…why are you looking at me like that?"
Elias pressed his lips together, the rise and fall of his chest betraying the storm inside. His struggle was visible, a battle against himself, against the truth clawing at him. At last, the words tore free in a voice low, unsteady, aching with desperation:
"You… you really aren't Livia, are you?"
The question dropped into the air like a sword striking stone—final, unavoidable.
Silence pressed down. For a moment, Alia's face froze. Then, slowly, she let out a breath, a sigh that carried both weariness and a strange kind of release.
"So… he has already told you," she murmured softly, her eyes lowering, shadows veiling whatever emotions flickered there. A quiet acceptance colored her tone, tinged with something Elias could not name.
And so, with a steadiness that did not waver, she spoke. Not evasively, not with embellishment, but with plain and piercing truth. She told him of that night—the influence of the Grail, the moment of death, the hand of fate pulling her back, and the cruel twist that forced her soul into Livia's body. She spoke of resurrection not as a miracle, but as a shackle, binding her to a life that was not her own.
Elias stood motionless, his whole body stiff as though struck by lightning. His face drained of color, disbelief flooding him like a tide. His pupils contracted sharply, his lips trembled with half–formed words that dissolved before they reached the air. He stared at her—at the face he knew better than his own, now bearing a truth that unraveled everything he thought he understood. His faith, his memories, his fragile hope—crumbling all at once.
Alia saw the devastation written across him, and something within her softened. She shook her head lightly, and her voice, when she spoke again, carried an unexpected gentleness.
"You don't need to suffer like this. I am not here to take her place, Elias. I never wanted that. Fate… circumstance… whatever cruel design it was, it placed me here. But know this—I will not allow her to truly vanish. I will protect this body. I will keep it alive for her sake as well as mine."
Her words fell like a breeze against the taut strings of his heart, soothing the sharpest edge of his torment. The storm did not subside, not fully, but in her calm promise, something shifted. His eyes, still heavy with anguish, loosened fractionally. The collapse that threatened to consume him eased, if only slightly, replaced by the fragile echo of hope.
And though he said nothing, though his silence remained thick as stone, Elias's heart whispered in turmoil—caught between love, loss, and the unfathomable presence of the girl who stood before him.