Caspian—no, Ed—lay on the soft bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind still reeling from what he had just experienced.
Bloodmoon's memories weren't just glimpses of the past; they were pain, suffering, and an eternity of torment.
And yet, despite it all, Bloodmoon remained—changed, yes, but still here.
A presence in his mind.
A voice that carried the weight of something ancient, something broken.
A sigh escaped Ed's lips.
{You're quiet,} Bloodmoon finally spoke, breaking the silence.
Ed exhaled sharply. "Just… thinking."
{That is new.}
He ignored the jab, rubbing his temples.
The memories still pulsed behind his eyes—each death, each resurrection.
The monsters. The darkness.
The endless, excruciating cycle.
Then, after a long pause—
{I am confused, brat.}
Ed blinked. Bloodmoon sounded… uncertain.
{Why am I immortal?} The sword's voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something else.
Something hollow.
{How do I turn into a sword? What am I?}
