Capítulo 2: The Reality of Caspian Arcwright
"Am I....still aliv—"
A searing, relentless pain coursed through his body, wrenching him from the void of unconsciousness.
"Ugh...
Ed groaned, his breath shallow as the agony consumed him, every nerve aflame.
It was as though his body was rebelling against his very existence.
"Ahhhh"
He tried to move, but even the smallest twitch sent waves of torment crashing through him.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the pain began to fade, leaving him trembling and drenched in sweat.
His chest heaved as he struggled to regain his breath, his senses sluggishly returning.
"What... what the hell was that?" he muttered, his voice weak and unfamiliar.
He forced himself upright, every muscle screaming in protest.
His limbs felt disturbingly light, as if they were hollow, fragile.
When he tried to stand, his legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way.
He leaned against the edge of a nearby table for support, his fingers clutching the polished wood as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality.
Slowly, his eyes began to take in his surroundings.
The room was spacious, lined with ornate furniture that spoke of wealth and nobility.
Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows, letting in streaks of muted moonlight.
Everything about the place was alien yet suffocatingly luxurious.
Pushing himself away from the table, Ed's gaze fell on a large mirror across the room.
Summoning what little strength he had, he staggered toward it, each step a battle against his trembling legs.
When he finally reached the mirror, his breath caught in his throat.
The reflection staring back at him wasn't his own.
"Who the .....fuck are....you," Ed shouted.
"....Ghost," Ed shouted again.
But ghost are said to be ugly.
The boy in the mirror was strikingly handsome, almost ethereal, with pale, porcelain-like skin that seemed untouched by the sun.
His hair was a cascade of silvery-white, glimmering faintly in the dim light.
And his eyes—vivid, crimson-red—burned with an intensity that felt almost unnatural.
Yet, despite his beauty, his frame was pitifully frail, as though a strong gust of wind might shatter him.
"What... is this?" Ed whispered, raising a trembling hand to his face.
The boy in the mirror mimicked his movements perfectly.
Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull.
"Ah!" Ed cried out, clutching his head as the pain intensified.
It was like shards of glass were being driven into his mind.
"Ahhhh,"
Images, sensations, and emotions flooded him in an unrelenting tide.
THUD
He collapsed to his knees, gripping his head as the storm of memories surged through him.
Scenes of a different life—of privilege, torment, and isolation—unfurled before him.
He saw a grand estate, a father's cold disdain, a mother's indifference, and brothers' cruel laughter.
He felt the boy's humiliation, his loneliness, his despair.
When the onslaught finally subsided, Ed lay gasping on the cold floor, his body trembling.
"This… this can't be real," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
But deep down, he knew it was.
The memories, the emotions—they were too vivid to dismiss as hallucinations.
They belonged to this boy.
As he pieced the fragments together, realization dawned on him, chilling him to his core.
"I've… transmigrated," he whispered.
The fragile boy he now inhabited wasn't just anyone.
He was Caspian Arkwright, the youngest son of the illustrious yet ruthless Arkwright family—a name that commanded respect and fear throughout the kingdom.
And Ed knew exactly where he is now.
He had read the story before.
It was the novel he had been engrossed in just days ago.
A tale of revenge and vengeance of hero with his legendary sword.
And now, he was living it.
But Caspian's life wasn't one of privilege.
It was a nightmare—a relentless cycle of pain, rejection, and suffering.
As then one thought echoed in his mind:
Why this life?
Why this body?
Why me?
.
Ed-or rather, Caspian-sat on the cold floor of his room, his frail body trembling from the aftermath of yet another beating.
Bruises adorned his arms and chest, and a sharp pain flared in his ribs every time he moved.
The memories that now resided in his mind were overwhelming, but the reality he was living was even more suffocating.
Caspian Arkwright, the youngest son of the mighty House Arkwright, was nothing more than a punching bag for his family.
His three older brothers, towering and powerful, took sadistic pleasure in tormenting him whenever boredom struck.
From the sharp sting of their fists to the mocking words they hurled at him, they made sure he knew his place-a disgrace to the Arkwright name.
His three sisters while lessphysically violent, were no less cruel.
Their disdain was quieter, yet just as cutting.
They ignored his existence unless it was to mock him for his pale features or his frailty.
And then there was his mother.
Lady Eleana Arkwright was a vision of grace and power, with her sapphire-blue hair and striking blue eyes-traits that ran deeply in the Arkwright bloodline.
She carried herself with an aura of perfection, a proud matriarch who valued strength and legacy above all else.
But when her gaze fell upon Caspian, it turned icy, her expression twisting with disdain.
He was an embarrassment to her, a constant reminder of some flaw she could never forgive.
Unlike the rest of the family, Caspian's hair was a stark, silvery white, and his eyes red crimson-traits that didn't belong to either of his parents or their ancestors.
Whispers surrounded his birth, questioning his legitimacy.
Though nothing was ever said outright, the doubt lingered, poisoning his relationships with the family.
His father, Lord Cedric Arkwright, was no different.
A towering figure of authority, Cedric barely acknowledged Caspian's existence.
To him, Caspian was too weak, too unworthy to even be considered a part of the family.
His punishments were subtle yet devastating-he allowed Caspian's brothers to beat him without consequence, turned a blind eye to his suffering, and refused to bring him to publicgatherings, afraid that Caspian's presence would tarnish the family's reputation.
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