Several days later, the flickering glow of candlelight filled Edgar's study. The tall shelves, stacked heavily with volumes, cast looming shadows that made the entire room feel solemn, almost suffocating. Edgar sat behind his massive desk, a teacup—long since gone cold—resting in his hand. His eyes, however, were not on the cup. They were fixed on the figure standing before him: his daughter.
Livia stood tall and straight across the desk, her posture composed, her gaze steady. The youthful innocence that once clung to her seemed to have melted away. What replaced it was something harder to define—a quiet, unyielding strength. Edgar stared at her, and for a fleeting instant, it was as if time had turned back. He saw in her the shadow of his late wife—firm, unbending, and cool as winter's light. That familiar image stirred a wave of tenderness deep within him.
But tenderness was a dangerous indulgence. Reality swiftly pressed down, extinguishing it. Edgar's eyes hardened, the fleeting warmth replaced with guarded caution and suppressed coldness. His fingers tapped lightly against the polished desk before his voice, low and edged, cut through the silence:
"What are you here for today? Shouldn't you be at Marcellus's side, tending to him?"
"Father, don't be so distant."
Livia's tone was calm, yet carried an unmistakable firmness, a resolve that brooked no dismissal. "Marcellus has told me everything. I've regained my memories. I know now that everything you've done… all of it was for Mother."
Her words dropped into the air like a stone into water, shattering the fragile stillness. The room seemed to tighten instantly, as if the very walls were holding their breath.
"Silence!" Edgar's palm slammed against the desk, the sharp crack echoing through the study. The teacup rattled violently, spilling droplets of tea across the surface. His voice thundered, but beneath the anger was something else—something rawer, shakier. "What nonsense are you spewing? Marcellus? What does he know? What right does he have to say such things? And you—what do you know?"
His fury burned hot, but in that fire was a flicker of panic, a glint of disbelief. His gaze shifted restlessly, betraying an unease that his words could not conceal.
Livia's heart clenched, though inwardly she felt a grim confirmation: the diary's suspicions had been true. Her father's obsession with the Grail stemmed from one desire—the resurrection of her mother. Marcellus had never been entrusted with all the details; Edgar's current outburst was not pure rage, but the shock of being seen through.
Holding her breath, Livia steadied herself, clinging to the speech she had rehearsed countless times within her mind. Slowly, deliberately, she spoke:
"Father… let us stop deceiving ourselves. I will say it again: I have recovered my memories."
Her eyes did not waver. They met Edgar's directly, unflinchingly.
"I know that everything began with me—because I was the one who discovered the Grail. And when Mother's accident happened… you, who loved her so deeply, turned to the Grail to bring her back. That is why you resented me. That is why you pushed me away. It was inevitable."
At her words, Edgar's eyes jolted, his fists curling tight at his sides.
But Livia pressed on, her voice growing heavier with emotion:
"I was naïve before. Foolish. I never understood anything. I lived sheltered, kept in a greenhouse of your making. But Father, my journey until now… it has opened my eyes. I finally understand the weight you've been carrying, the choices you made, the pain behind them."
Her voice softened, yet its steel became clearer with every word.
"I am no longer the carefree child who knew nothing of the world. I have my own thoughts now. And more than that—I have my own responsibilities."
The study felt thick with silence, heavy enough to crush the air. Edgar stared at her, searching—desperate to find a crack, some trace of deceit. But what he found were her eyes. Eyes so achingly familiar, so impossibly resolute. Eyes that mirrored his wife's—clear, unwavering, and undeniable.
A tremor ran through his chest, deep and shattering. Yet no words came to his lips. He sat in silence, trapped between past and present, between memory and reality.