Livia had seen it all.
And at last, she understood the root of everything.
She slowly lowered her head, replaying every recent interaction with Marcellus—every conversation, every glance, even his seemingly casual silences.
Marcellus wasn't evil. She had once believed that. She had wanted to believe it.
His gentleness, his patience, and that subtle, lingering sense of remorse had led her to think: this man must have been driven to the brink of collapse by something beyond his control.
The Grail.
Now she finally knew. That was the key to it all.
That night's madness—his self-inflicted wounds, the fractured whispers, the raw, unraveling emotion—
All of it had something to do with the Holy Grail fragment.
She was almost certain that, at some point, it had fallen into Marcellus's hands.
And yet… he had never told anyone.
Why?
Why would he hide it?
Why lie to everyone—including her?
If it truly was the Grail that had driven him to that edge, why not say so?
If he had just told her—she would have forgiven him.
She would have tried to understand.
She would have helped him find meaning behind the madness.
But he hadn't.
He said nothing.
Just like that morning, when he pretended nothing had happened—
Trying to let the chaos quietly fade away.
But she was Livia.
She couldn't pretend.
She couldn't numb herself into silence.
And if—God forbid—he never actually possessed a Grail shard at all…
Then what?
Then it meant he hadn't been influenced at all.
That everything he did, all the madness she saw, came from within.
From who he truly was.
A madman? A killer?
A fractured soul, tormented by a splintered mind?
It wasn't a hallucination.
She had seen him weep, tear into his own flesh, whisper broken words:
"I killed her… she killed me… I'm the mistake… I'm not… not him…"
His eyes that night—
They were more terrifying than anything she had ever imagined.
She didn't dare think further.
Didn't want to.
But one thing was now clear:
Whatever the truth was, her relationship with Marcellus ended that night.
The crack between them had split too wide. It could never be mended.
She could never look at him the same way again.
He had known she was there—had seen everything.
And yet, the next day, he said nothing.
Not a word.
As if it had all been a dream.
That silence—
More than any act, more than any bloodshed—was what truly broke her.
If he had just said one thing.
Even a lie. Even a simple, tired apology.
She might not have hated him.
But he chose to deny.
To hide.
To let her carry the weight of that night alone.
Livia closed her eyes, her body still suspended between memory and void.
But she knew—
She was about to wake up.
There were still things she had to do.
People she had to face.
She had to return to the hospital.
She had to look Marcellus in the eyes and ask:
What else are you hiding?
Why did you lie to me?
Why won't you face what happened?
Voices began to sharpen in her ears.
Her body felt like it was being gently shaken.
Her awareness surged back like a rising tide.
She snapped her eyes open.
The first thing she saw was light—flickering, chaotic.
People moving. Shouting.
But her gaze immediately found Elias, standing at a distance.
He wasn't rushing toward her.
He wasn't panicked.
He didn't even hold her gaze for long.
And that small detail…
Reassured her.
If Elias wasn't charging toward her,
It meant nothing irreversible had happened yet.
Because she knew—if it had, Elias would've done anything to protect her.
Livia pushed herself up, drew a deep breath.
Her eyes were clear now.
She knew exactly what she had to do.