The lamplight flickered, and for a moment, the very air seemed to grow heavy, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
"We have one fragment," Livia said at last, her tone deliberately casual. "And we've uncovered the trail leading to another."
As she spoke, she slipped a photograph onto the desk. The image showed the fragment she had in her possession, its jagged edges glimmering faintly. Her voice carried the ease of indifference, yet her eyes betrayed the truth—they were sharply focused on Edgar, watching his every reaction with quiet precision.
"Marcellus once held another fragment," she continued, her tone calm but her fingers curled slightly against her skirts. "That piece… disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Still, we have clues—clues that point us toward its likely whereabouts."
She did not ask if Edgar also possessed a fragment. She left the question unspoken, as if deliberately restraining herself, using that very restraint as a signal of her sincerity.
Sure enough, Edgar's expression darkened. His gaze turned inward, shadowed by thought, before he rose from his chair with a slow, deliberate movement. The silence was deep enough that the soft rasp of his steps across the rug felt deafening.
He crossed to the far corner of the study, his fingers pressing against the spine of a shelf. With a muted click, the mechanism gave way, and the massive bookcase shifted, grinding open to reveal a hidden recess. From within the darkness, Edgar drew out a fragment—larger, smoother, and far more intact than the one in Livia's photo.
The faint light of the lamp caught its polished surface, and for a heartbeat, the study seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. When he placed it on the desk beside her fragment, the alignment was undeniable—their shapes dovetailed, edges matching so perfectly that it seemed the two had always been halves of a single whole.
"Beautiful…" Livia's eyes widened, her voice breaking into a soft, breathless murmur. She could not conceal the surge of joy that flooded her chest. "It fits. They actually fit. This is already a promising beginning."
But Edgar's face did not share in her excitement. He remained impassive, his gaze fixed on the fragments as though they held an enigma only he could see. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate:
"Do you know how many fragments there are in total?"
The question caught her off guard. Livia blinked, hesitated, then shook her head lightly, feigning uncertainty. "No one truly knows, do they? Not with certainty."
"I have my own conclusions."
Edgar's tone sharpened. He paused, letting the weight of silence gather around his words before continuing. "I believe there are eight fragments. One base. And a single gem. That, together, is the Grail in its complete form."
The conviction in his voice made Livia's heart jolt. She lifted her gaze to him, startled by the firmness of his answer. It was not the vague speculation of a man guessing in the dark—it was near certainty, spoken with the gravity of experience.
Marcellus had suggested the very same number. If Edgar's words aligned with his, then this could no longer be mere conjecture. It was truth, or as close to truth as they could hope to grasp.
Of course, Edgar's insight was not unexpected. Before the Grail had shattered, he had been among the few to spend long years in its presence. And when the explosion tore it apart, Edgar himself had stood at its heart, bearing witness. If anyone possessed knowledge hidden even from Marcellus's parents, it was him. His words, therefore, were not just speculation. They were likely the true answer.
"Even so…" Livia said softly, testing the waters, her tone wrapped in careful hesitation. "You have one. We have one. And we know the whereabouts of a third. But even if we succeed in retrieving it, that only makes three. We are still a long way from piecing together the full Grail."
Her words settled into the room like falling ash, and the candlelight wavered as though disturbed by an unseen wind. The shadows seemed to stretch, whispering of a long, perilous road ahead.
Edgar's eyes narrowed, the weight of his thoughts hidden in their depths. His fingers tapped twice against the polished wood of the desk—two soft knocks, like the toll of a hidden clock. The sound echoed faintly, a metronome for the cold calculations behind his silence.
On the surface, he appeared to accept cooperation. But inwardly, suspicion coiled like a serpent. Did they truly have only one fragment? No. It was too neat, too forthcoming. He would not believe it so easily. But then again—cooperation always began with half-truths, with tests and withholds. In that, they were no different from himself. As long as it did not interfere with his ultimate goal, these small deceits were tolerable.
He exhaled slowly, pressing down the shadows in his chest, and spoke with the same steady weight as before:
"I, too, possess information about another fragment. If we count that one… then together, with the ones in our hands, we could bring the number to four. Provided, of course, we can secure them."
The flame flickered again, painting restless patterns across Livia's face. She regarded Edgar quietly, her lips curving into the faintest smile—a smile poised delicately between acknowledgment and challenge.
"Yes," she said softly, her tone deceptively light, yet edged with hidden steel. "Provided we can secure them."
Their eyes met across the desk, unyielding. No words followed, yet the silence was thick with unspoken meaning, an invisible clash of wills. And then, almost as if by unspoken agreement, both of them withdrew, their expressions smoothing back into calm.
On the surface, their alliance remained intact.
But beneath it, the wariness endured—sharp as ever, ready to cut the moment either one faltered.