Both of them knew.
Both understood the hesitation and wariness in the other's eyes. This was not trust—not in its true sense. It was a fragile arrangement, a truce forged from necessity, born from the sharp edges of their respective desires.
And yet, for a father and daughter to stand here, speaking as if they were strangers striking a bargain, there was something bitterly ironic in it all. Blood tied them together, but positions tore them apart; reason wrestled with unspoken sentiment, leaving only a melancholy shadow between them.
"Then…" Livia broke the silence, her tone outwardly calm yet edged with deliberate sharpness. "Do you know if anyone else holds a fragment?"
The question was gentle in form, but beneath it lay a quiet blade. Her eyes tilted upward just slightly, watching Edgar with predatory precision, seeking the faintest tremor of change in his face.
Edgar's brows rose almost imperceptibly. He hesitated, and for a moment the lamplight seemed to stretch across his expression like a veil. At length, he replied, voice slow and deliberate:
"I know that Eryx has one. I've only recently confirmed it."
"Eryx?"
Even though she had suspected, hearing him state it with such certainty struck Livia like a sudden chord. A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes, quickly buried beneath composure. So, Edgar had sources of knowledge far beyond what she and Marcellus possessed. This meant the web of power surrounding the Grail fragments was vaster, and far more perilous, than she had dared to imagine.
"We've heard whispers too," she said, feigning nonchalance, though each word was laid with careful weight. "Someone—someone who is almost a legend in the underworld. It is said he might hold a fragment as well."
Her phrasing was vague, but deliberate. A suggestion, heavy enough to carry meaning.
Edgar's eyes darkened, a trace of grim awareness flashing within them. He gave a single nod.
"Yes. I've heard the same."
The brief exchange of information fell away, leaving silence in its wake. The shadows of the study lengthened. Even the faint flicker of candlelight seemed taut, as if trembling under the strain of secrets left unsaid.
It was Edgar who finally broke the stillness.
"He is no ordinary man. I would rather you not draw his attention—not yet."
His voice was low, weighted with authority. Then, softer, carrying a rare thread of paternal gravity:
"No matter what happens, you are my daughter. I don't wish to see you harmed. If… if my wish can truly be fulfilled, then perhaps we might return to the past."
The last words came almost as an afterthought, but they lingered, resonant, as if charged with unspoken longing. His gaze turned inward, as though he were seeing not the present, but the ghost of a memory he could never lay to rest.
Livia inhaled slowly, her heart stirring with something she could not fully name. But then, like a tide retreating, she remembered—she was not Livia. She was Alia, wearing her face.
The affection, the unresolved misunderstandings, the father-daughter bond he clung to—it was not hers. It belonged to the mask she wore. What he longed for could never be real.
Calmly, evenly, she answered:
"Return to the past? If that is truly possible… well, time will tell. There is no need to dwell on it now."
Her words were light, but her tone carried an iron resolve. This was not the time for sentiment. The stage of emotion could wait until the plan succeeded. For now, only clarity mattered.
Edgar gave a slow nod. His expression wavered between weariness and hope.
"Very well. Then it's settled. We continue as before. Each of us will pursue the fragments, and when the time comes, we'll bring them together. With the Grail complete… I believe our wishes will not be so different."
"Perhaps," Livia murmured. Her voice was cool, her eyes glinting with something sharper. "But remember—when the time comes, do not regret your choices."
The warning was soft, but unmistakable. With that, she turned, her steps light yet steady, leaving behind the faint swish of fabric against the floorboards.
Edgar watched her retreating figure, standing silent in the wavering glow of the candles. His gaze lingered long after she had gone, and in the depths of his eyes flickered a storm of pain and helplessness.
For all his power, he could not silence the truth pressing against his chest: blood ties and destiny were often cruel. Some distances remained uncrossable, no matter how near one stood.