The Witch or Master

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.