Shadows of the Sunless Sky

The halls of the Lord's estate were silent—silent in a way that could only be felt by one who had lived in its oppressive calm for years. Jian Liang walked through them like a ghost, his every step soundless, his expression blank. His mind, as usual, was a void—there was nothing but the endless tasks set before him. Nothing but the ever-present shadow of his father, Lord Zhen, looming over him.

His father's presence filled every corner of the world Jian Liang knew. There was no room for doubt, no space for disobedience. Lord Zhen was an immovable force, and Jian Liang had been taught since birth that this was the only way the world should be. He was his father's son—there was nothing else to be.

As Jian Liang approached the grand study, his father stood at the window, looking out at the city below. His father's back was straight, his posture impeccable. He was the image of power and control, a man who never flinched, never showed weakness.

"Jian Liang," Lord Zhen's voice came, low and authoritative, but with an underlying sharpness that cut through the air. Jian Liang didn't flinch. He never did. "I trust you've handled the matters of the east gate?"

"Yes, Father." Jian Liang's response was automatic, his voice devoid of anything resembling emotion. It wasn't that he didn't understand what he was being asked—it was simply that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his father's will.

Lord Zhen turned, his eyes piercing through his son. There was a moment of tension—an invisible weight that hovered between them, but Jian Liang's expression remained impassive.

"You're still silent," Lord Zhen observed, his gaze sharp, analyzing. "I trust it's not hesitation."

"No, Father."

The coldness in Jian Liang's voice was deliberate. There was no hesitation—there couldn't be. He had been taught not to question. To think was to doubt, and doubt was weakness. Weakness was unacceptable.

Lord Zhen nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into a barely perceptible smile. "Good. You understand your place. The world does not bend to the weak, Jian Liang. It bends only to power. And you, as my son, are the heir to that power."

---

Later, Jian Liang stood at the edge of the high city's walls, gazing down at the world below. The slums stretched far beyond the borders of the city, dark and broken—an endless sprawl of misery. He had seen it a thousand times before, and yet, every time, it felt… the same.

Nothing changed.

The people there lived and died in a cycle. They served the Lords, worked the fields, and died in the streets. Their lives were no more than fleeting moments, insignificant in the grand scheme of the world his father had created.

And yet…

Jian Liang stared down at the people below, his hands gripping the stone wall in front of him. He felt nothing. No anger, no pity, no compassion. There was only the quiet gnawing emptiness. A hollow space in his chest that had always been there—empty, but not painful. It was simply… there.

He had never been taught to question this feeling. He had never been given a reason to care. His father's teachings, his constant presence, had driven all such distractions away. His world was one of certainty, of rules. Emotions—especially weakness—were to be buried deep beneath the weight of power.

And yet… Jian Liang couldn't stop himself from wondering—just for a brief moment—what it would be like to feel something more than this emptiness.

"Lord Jian Liang."

The voice that called him snapped him back to reality. He turned, his expression already fixed, his eyes dull, lifeless. A servant had approached him. His name didn't matter; to Jian Liang, the servant was just another face in the crowd, another piece in the machine that was the Lord's estate.

"Yes?" Jian Liang asked, his voice unwavering, almost detached.

"There are reports of unrest in the eastern districts," the servant said, bowing his head respectfully. "It seems the Fireflies are gaining traction. Some of the lower districts are showing signs of rebellion."

"Rebellion?" Jian Liang repeated, his voice flat. "And what do you suggest we do about it?"

The servant hesitated for only a second. "We could send more men to silence them."

Jian Liang's eyes narrowed, though his face remained unchanged. Silence them. The words didn't stir anything in him, but a vague sense of duty pushed him forward.

"Do it. We cannot afford weakness. There is no room for rebellion in this city. Not while my father is in charge."

The servant bowed once more and scurried away, leaving Jian Liang alone with his thoughts—or lack thereof.

There was nothing more to it. The rebellion, the Fireflies, the people's suffering—it all meant nothing to him. His father had trained him to view such matters with cold indifference. Power was all that mattered. It was the only thing that mattered.

---

That night, in the high towers of the estate, Lord Zhen summoned his son once more. Jian Liang entered the room without hesitation, without thought, as he had done a thousand times before. His father's presence was overwhelming, filling every inch of the room. The very air seemed thick with authority.

"You've been quiet, Jian Liang," Lord Zhen observed as his son stood before him. "Are you feeling unsure of your position?"

"No, Father," Jian Liang replied, his voice unwavering, like a soldier reporting for duty. "I know my place."

Lord Zhen studied him for a moment, his eyes sharp, calculating. Then, with a single gesture, he motioned for his son to approach. "Tell me, Jian Liang. Do you feel the weight of your position?"

Jian Liang didn't respond. He didn't need to. The weight of his father's expectations had been placed on his shoulders since birth, and it was a burden he carried without question. He had been trained not to feel, not to think. The Lord was his god. His father was his creator. The world outside was nothing but a collection of obstacles to be crushed beneath his feet.

"No, Father," Jian Liang said after a long silence, his voice devoid of any inflection. "I feel nothing."

Lord Zhen's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. But there was no pride in it. Only calculation.

"Good," Lord Zhen said softly, his voice cold. "You will learn that it is better to feel nothing. The weak are destroyed by their feelings. But you are strong. And you are my son."

Jian Liang stood still, unblinking. The emptiness inside him stirred faintly, but it was nothing more than a passing shadow, something to be ignored.

His father was right.

---

As the night dragged on, Jian Liang lay in his bed, his mind a blank canvas. There was nothing to feel. No emotions to confront. Just the emptiness—something he had always known, something that had always been a part of him.

Tomorrow, he would rise. And tomorrow, he would follow his father's commands.

There was nothing else.