"Draw us."
Thousands of voices rang out at once.
A man's voice.
A woman's voice.
A child's voice.
An old person's voice.
Different voices blended into one, filling the underground crypt of Amboise.
Pierre never let go of Maria's hand.
His little sister, reunited with him after five hundred years.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Where the painting had hung moments ago, a single black door now stood.
There was nothing visible beyond it.
No light.
No walls.
Only darkness stretching on forever.
And yet countless eyes stared at Pierre from within that darkness.
"Big brother."
Maria gripped his hand tightly.
"We have to close that door."
"How?"
"We have to become the key again."
Pierre looked at his sister.
"What does that mean?"
Maria didn't answer.
At that moment, time began moving again.
The candle flames flickered.
Jean drew a breath, and Leonardo, who had been frozen in place, rushed toward Pierre.
"Get away from the door!"
Leonardo yanked Pierre back by the shoulder.
At that exact moment, a hand shot out from the black door.
Slap!
Pale fingers clutched the edge of the door.
Then another.
And another.
Dozens of hands emerged from the darkness.
Jean screamed.
"What the hell is that?"
Leonardo shouted back.
"Those who couldn't enter the painting!"
"What do you mean?"
"Beings whose memories were summoned, but who received neither bodies nor paintings!"
They were memories trapped between painting and reality for hundreds of years.
They weren't human, and they weren't ghosts.
They were simply someone's memory.
Someone's sorrow.
Someone's rage.
And desires they couldn't let go of until the moment they died.
All of them had gathered beyond the door.
"Draw us."
The voices came again.
This time, they were much closer.
"Give us faces."
"Give us bodies."
"Give us names."
Maria shouted.
"Don't listen!"
But Pierre felt something strange.
One of the voices sounded familiar.
A voice he'd known for a very long time.
"Pierre."
He went rigid.
A woman's voice came from the darkness.
"My son."
Pierre's heart seemed to stop.
"Mom...?"
Maria grabbed his arm.
"Big brother, no!"
But a woman's figure appeared in the darkness.
It was Pierre's mother, as he remembered her.
The face that had watched over him all night whenever he was sick as a child.
The hands that had baked him a cake every birthday.
"Pierre."
The woman reached out.
"Come to Mommy."
Pierre took a step forward.
"Big brother!"
Maria slapped him across the cheek.
Smack!
Pierre came to his senses.
He looked back toward the door.
His mother was gone.
In her place stood a single faceless black figure.
"They're reading your memories," Maria said.
"They're showing you the face you want to see most."
Pierre backed away.
"Why?"
"So they can come outside."
Leonardo stared at the black door.
"Because they need human memories."
Jean asked, "What happens if they take your memories?"
Leonardo looked at him.
"You stop being yourself."
Jean's face stiffened.
Then someone spoke behind him.
"Dad."
Jean slowly turned around.
A little girl stood in front of the black door.
"Claire?"
Jean's voice trembled.
Pierre grabbed him.
"Jean! Don't look!"
But Jean was already crying.
"Claire..."
"Dad."
The girl spread her arms.
"I missed you."
Jean started walking toward the door.
Pierre seized him.
"That's not your daughter!"
"Let go!"
Jean shoved Pierre away.
"She's my daughter!"
"No, she isn't!"
"You don't know!"
Tears streamed down Jean's face.
"Claire died when she was twelve."
Pierre was hearing this for the first time.
Jean howled, "I thought I'd never see her again!"
Just as he lunged toward the girl, Leonardo grabbed Jean by the nape and knocked him backward.
The girl's expression suddenly changed.
Her mouth stretched open unnaturally wide.
"Dad."
Her voice changed.
"Why did you abandon me?"
Jean covered his ears.
"Stop..."
The girl smiled.
Then her face disappeared.
Her eyes.
Her nose.
Her mouth.
Only smooth skin remained.
A chill ran down Pierre's spine.
Leonardo shouted, "We have to close the door!"
"How?"
"The key!"
Pierre looked down at his hands.
The silver key had split in two.
Half of it was in his hand.
The other half glowed gold from Maria's chest.
Maria said, "We just have to put them together."
Pierre looked at his sister.
"What happens then?"
Maria didn't answer.
"Maria."
"There's no time."
"Why won't you answer me?"
Maria forced a smile.
"I'll explain later."
Pierre grabbed her wrist.
"I don't want to lose the sister I just found after five hundred years."
Maria's eyes wavered.
"Big brother..."
"Tell me what's going to happen."
After a brief silence, Maria opened her mouth.
"Once the key is complete, we can close the door."
"And?"
"But one person who guards the key has to enter the painting."
Pierre's face hardened.
"Who?"
Maria didn't answer.
But Pierre already knew.
"You."
"Big brother."
"You have to go back in?"
Tears gathered in Maria's eyes.
"It was my job from the beginning."
"No."
"Big brother."
"Absolutely not!"
Pierre's voice echoed through the crypt.
"I've waited five hundred years!"
"I know."
Maria smiled.
"That's why I got to see you again today."
Pierre shook his head.
"I'll find another way."
Leonardo said, "There is only one way."
Pierre glared at him.
"Shut up."
"Pierre."
"You did this to us five hundred years ago!"
Leonardo's face hardened.
"No, I didn't."
"Are you going to lie again?"
"I am not the one who created you."
"Then who was?"
Leonardo pointed at the black door.
"The one who made that door."
Pierre stared into the darkness.
"The true Mona Lisa?"
Leonardo nodded.
"She created you and Maria inside the painting."
Maria looked shocked.
"How do you know that?"
"I learned it in 1499."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
Regret appeared on Leonardo's face.
"Because I wanted you to believe you were human."
Pierre let out a hollow laugh.
"You thought that was kindness?"
"That was who I was back then."
At that exact moment, a powerful wind burst from the black door.
All the candles went out.
Then hundreds of faceless figures began pouring through the doorway.
"Run!"
The four of them raced toward the stairs.
The black figures followed close behind.
The drawings by Da Vinci carved into the walls vanished one by one.
Anatomical figures.
Machines.
Wings.
It was as if the black figures were devouring the drawings.
Jean shouted, "They're erasing the drawings!"
Leonardo said, "They're looking for faces!"
"What faces?"
"The faces they want to wear!"
At that moment, a faceless figure lunged at Jean.
Pierre blocked it with his body.
The figure's hand touched Pierre's face.
In an instant, the world disappeared.
Pierre stood in a small house in Paris.
Sunlight streamed through the window.
A familiar smell drifted from the kitchen.
"Honey."
A woman smiled at him.
Pierre knew her.
His wife.
But something was wrong.
He couldn't remember her name.
"What's wrong?" the woman asked.
"Your name is..."
Pierre clutched his head.
His memories were disappearing.
The Louvre.
Jean.
Leonardo.
Maria.
Mona Lisa.
Everything grew hazy.
"You can just live here comfortably."
The woman took Pierre's hand.
"You don't need to remember anything."
Her words sounded so sweet.
He wanted to stay here.
He wanted to forget the secrets from five hundred years ago.
The painting.
The key.
Everything, and live an ordinary life.
Then a small voice came from somewhere.
"Big brother."
Pierre looked up.
"Big brother!"
Maria.
Her name came back to him.
At once, a crack split the living-room wall.
The happy house tore apart like paper.
Pierre opened his eyes.
He was back on the underground stairs.
Maria was holding his hand.
"Wake up!"
Pierre gasped for breath.
A faceless figure stood right in front of him.
Then something strange happened.
Eyes and a nose began forming on the figure's face.
And moments later—
Pierre's exact face was complete.
"Oh my God..."
Jean backed away.
Another Pierre stood before them.
The fake Pierre smiled.
"Now I have a face, too."
Pierre touched his own face.
It was still there.
But he felt as if something had been pulled out of his mind.
"What did you take?"
The fake Pierre said, "Just one thing."
"What?"
"The happiest day of your life."
Pierre tried to remember.
But nothing came to him.
When had he been happiest in his life?
He couldn't think of anything.
The fake Pierre laughed and ran up the stairs.
"Get him!"
Pierre chased after him.
But by the time he emerged outside, the fake Pierre had already disappeared.
When they emerged from the chapel, the dawn sky was turning red.
And the three of them saw something impossible.
People's faces were disappearing.
A man's face across the street suddenly blurred.
His eyes vanished.
His nose vanished.
His mouth vanished.
The man touched his face and tried to scream, but he had no mouth.
The woman beside him suffered the same fate.
Jean pulled out his phone.
A reporter on the news said urgently, "Authorities are reporting cases of citizens' faces disappearing in Paris and several other European cities—"
Suddenly, the reporter's face blurred, too.
The screen cut out.
"So this is what Urvra was talking about," Pierre said.
"The boundary between painting and reality disappearing."
Leonardo shook his head.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"Urvra didn't want this either."
"Why not?"
Leonardo said, "He needs a face, too."
Pierre didn't understand.
Then the piece of the silver key began to glow.
A sentence appeared.
To reclaim the faces, erase the first face.
Jean read it aloud.
"The first face?"
Maria said, "The true Mona Lisa."
Pierre looked at his sister.
"It means we have to eliminate her?"
"Probably."
"Where is she?"
At that moment, footsteps sounded inside the chapel.
Click.
Click.
All four of them turned at once.
A woman in a white dress was walking out.
It was her.
There was a keyhole in her chest, but no key.
She looked at Pierre.
"You found me."
"Are you the true Mona Lisa?"
The woman smiled.
"You're still asking that question."
"People's faces are disappearing because of you!"
"I didn't do it."
"Then who did?"
The woman pointed behind Pierre.
The fake Pierre who had stolen Pierre's face stood there.
But he wasn't alone.
Dozens of others stood behind him.
All with the same face.
Pierre's face.
Jean swallowed.
"They're all you..."
Dozens of Pierres smiled at once.
"Give us your face."
The woman in the white dress said, "We have to stop them before they spread through the world."
"How?"
"Burn the first painting."
"Where is it?"
The woman looked at Maria.
"Inside that child."
Pierre's face hardened.
"What does that mean?"
"Maria is the first painting."
Maria stepped back.
"No."
The woman took a step closer.
"You know it, too."
"You're lying!"
"Why do you think you haven't aged in five hundred years?"
Tears rolled down Maria's cheeks.
Pierre stepped in front of her.
"Don't come any closer."
The woman stopped.
"If we get rid of Maria, will everything end?"
"Yes."
"Will people's faces come back, too?"
"They will."
"What about the people who came out of the paintings?"
"They'll return to their proper places."
Pierre was silent for a moment.
"And Maria?"
The woman answered without emotion.
"She'll disappear."
"No."
"Then countless people will lose their faces."
"I'll find another way."
"There is no other way."
Pierre clenched the piece of the silver key.
"Why should I believe you?"
Leonardo spoke then.
"Don't."
The woman's eyes turned cold.
Leonardo stepped forward.
"Maria is not the first painting."
Pierre asked, "Then what is she?"
Leonardo looked at the woman in the white dress.
"She is."
For the first time, the woman's expression faltered.
"Shut up."
Leonardo said, "I remember now."
"Don't say it."
"In 1499, I saw her for the first time in Isabella's studio."
Leonardo's voice trembled.
"She was wearing that same white dress."
Pierre asked, "Was she human?"
"No," Leonardo replied.
"She walked out of a canvas."
The woman in the white dress screamed, "Stop!"
Leonardo didn't stop.
"And Isabella wasn't the one who painted that canvas."
"Then who was?"
Leonardo slowly looked at Pierre.
"You."
Pierre froze.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"I'm not a painter."
"Not the you standing here now."
Leonardo said, "But five hundred years ago, you were painting."
At that moment, another memory erupted in Pierre's mind.
A younger version of himself.
A paintbrush in his hand.
Maria stood beside him.
A blank canvas sat before them.
Maria said, "Big brother, draw me a face."
Young Pierre asked, "What kind of face?"
"The most beautiful face in the world."
Young Pierre smiled and moved the brush.
He painted the eyes.
The nose.
The lips.
Finally, a faint smile.
At that moment, the woman in the painting opened her eyes.
The memory cut off.
Pierre staggered backward.
"I... created her?"
The woman in the white dress looked at him.
Then she slowly smiled.
"You remember now."
"Who are you?"
Pierre's voice trembled.
The woman answered, "Your first painting."
The silver key fell from Pierre's hand.
At that moment, the other half of the key slipped out of Maria's chest.
The two pieces joined in midair.
Whoosh!
A complete silver key took shape.
A final sentence appeared across its surface.
Only the creator can erase.
Pierre stared at the key.
Then he looked at the woman in the white dress.
The smile vanished from her face.
For the first time, fear appeared in her eyes.
"Pierre."
"What?"
"Put the key down."
"Wasn't this key what you wanted?"
"I don't need it anymore."
Pierre picked up the key.
The tip began to transform, becoming a brush.
Black ink flowed from the end of the silver metal.
Leonardo sucked in a breath.
"It wasn't a key."
"Then what was it?"
Leonardo said, "A brush."
Pierre stared at the object in his hand.
The silver key that had opened doors for five hundred years.
It had never been a key to begin with.
It was a brush that brought paintings into reality.
The woman in the white dress stepped back.
"Pierre."
For the first time, fear colored her voice.
"You can't draw me with that brush."
"Why not?"
"I'll become whatever you want me to be."
Pierre asked, "Then can I erase you, too?"
The woman didn't answer.
Her silence was answer enough.
Then dozens of fake Pierres charged at them all at once.
Maria screamed, "Big brother!"
Pierre raised the silver brush.
But he had no idea what to draw.
At that moment, his own childhood voice echoed in his mind.
Draw me the most beautiful face in the world.
Pierre looked at the woman in the white dress.
For five hundred years, the world had called her face the Mona Lisa.
But now he knew.
The Mona Lisa's smile had belonged neither to Lisa nor to Isabella.
The person who had first created that smile was him.
Pierre raised the brush to the air.
And drew a single line.
A black line appeared in midair.
The woman in the white dress screamed, "No!"
Pierre drew a second line.
In an instant, every fake Pierre in the world stopped moving.
A third line.
The faces of the people who had lost them began to return, little by little.
And finally, he drew a small curve.
The lips.
The smile.
The woman in the white dress clutched her face.
Her face began to change.
Lisa.
Isabella.
Maria.
Pierre.
Hundreds of faces flashed past in rapid succession.
"Stop!" the woman screamed.
But Pierre didn't lower the brush.
He completed the final line.
Everything stopped.
The woman's face locked into a single form.
Pierre looked at it.
It was a face he'd never seen before.
An ordinary middle-aged woman.
Wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes, and there was no smile on her lips.
She touched her face with trembling hands.
"This face..."
Pierre asked, "Whose is it?"
Tears streamed from the woman's eyes.
"Mine."
A being who had lived for five hundred years by borrowing countless people's faces.
For the first time, she had reclaimed her own.
And at that moment—
Far away in Paris, the painting of the Mona Lisa reappeared in the Louvre Museum.
But it was different now.
The woman in the painting was no longer smiling.
Her lips were tightly closed.
The Mona Lisa's smile, known throughout the world, had vanished.
Pierre looked at the brush in his hand.
A new sentence appeared on it.
Complete the last smile.
Another sentence appeared beneath it.
Then all memories will return to their rightful places.
Pierre was about to breathe a sigh of relief.
But a final sentence appeared.
However, the memory of the one who completes the painting will disappear as well.
Pierre's hand stopped.
Maria read the sentence.
"Big brother..."
Pierre looked at her.
"What happens if I draw the last smile?"
Tears spilled from Maria's eyes.
Leonardo answered for her.
"The world will return to normal."
"What about me?"
Leonardo couldn't answer for a long while.
Then he said quietly, "The people you loved, and the people who loved you..."
Pierre closed his eyes.
"I'll forget them all."
Leonardo nodded.
Maria grabbed Pierre's hand.
"Don't."
But the sun's first light was already rising in the eastern sky.
And in Paris, people's faces were beginning to blur again, one by one.
There was no time.
Pierre raised the brush.
There was only one thing he had to draw.
The most famous smile in the world.
And the moment he completed that smile—
All five hundred years of Pierre's memories would disappear.
—End of Episode 8—