The hospital corridor was so quiet that even footsteps seemed to vanish into the silence.
Livia walked briskly down the hall, her long hair still tousled from the night wind outside, but her eyes burned with a clarity and cold resolve she had never shown before.
The door to the hospital room wasn't locked.
She pushed it open with one forceful motion.
A familiar scent wafted out to meet her.
Under the dim light, Marcellus sat on the bed.
He looked as though he'd just awakened from a troubled dream, staring silently out the window.
His gaze was hollow and weary. The stubble on his jaw and the shadows under his eyes betrayed days of exhaustion. Though his body had been slowly recovering, the ever-worsening state of affairs weighed on him even more heavily—his spirit clearly frayed.
"Marcellus."
Livia's voice was low, but it carried the weight of long-suppressed fury and accusation.
He flinched, slowly turning to her.
When he saw the fire in her eyes, a flash of confusion and hesitation flickered across his face.
"…Livia?"
"I remember now." She stepped closer, one deliberate stride at a time.
"I remember the night we broke apart. I remember why I stayed silent. Back then, I thought maybe I was overreacting, maybe I just didn't want to face it… but now, I want the truth. You owe me that much."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Marcellus parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words came.
At last, he let out a low sigh.
His head bowed. One hand covered part of his face.
His body trembled, like something inside him was crumbling.
"…So, you remember it all."
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
"Yes, Livia. I'll tell you the truth now… It was all because of the Grail."
He raised his head with difficulty. His bloodshot eyes spoke of burden and resignation, like someone finally surrendering to a fate long postponed.
"I've had a fragment this whole time," he said, his voice shaky and conflicted.
"My parents left it to me. I was just a boy. They told me it was some sort of legacy—part of my destiny. I never understood what that meant until… it started affecting me."
"It began warping my thoughts, my judgment. I grew suspicious, angry, controlling. My mind felt torn apart every day. Little by little, I was splitting in two. Until that night—you saw me."
His fingers tightened on the bedsheet, knuckles turning white.
"I knew it was changing me. I could feel it. But the strange thing was—it made you unable to speak up. I still don't know if I refused to talk about it, or if I literally couldn't. I tried to throw it away, but it always came back. I was too afraid to tell you. Too afraid of losing you… But in the end, I lost you anyway."
Livia stood there, unmoving.
Her heart churned with emotion.
She had never seen Marcellus like this—so exposed, so broken, like a child with nowhere left to run.
He continued, now barely audible:
"These past days, trapped in this room… away from everything, away from it… I started to feel like myself again. I can speak of it now. Finally. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Livia. I just… didn't want you to leave still thinking the worst of me."
As he finished, it was as if all the strength had drained from his body.
He slumped back against the bed, not pleading—just releasing everything, with a quiet, desolate peace.
Livia stood in silence.
Her eyes shimmered with a tangle of emotions—anger, sorrow, defiance, empathy, and something deeper: a kind of shared understanding she hadn't expected.
At last, she spoke.
Her voice was composed, restrained:
"You should've told me sooner, Marcellus. Not because I mattered so much… but because you didn't have to become this."
She didn't forgive him.
But she didn't walk away, either.
Marcellus lowered his gaze, and let out a bitter, quiet laugh.
"I know."