Shadows of the Sunless Sky

The estate's dining hall was a grand display of wealth and dominance, its high arched ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of past Lords who had ruled with an iron fist. Chandeliers crafted from rare crystals bathed the room in a soft golden light, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension that hung in the air.

Jian Liang sat at the far end of the elongated table, his back straight, his expression meticulously neutral. Before him, an array of dishes lay untouched—delicacies sourced from the farthest corners of their realm. To any outsider, the scene might have looked like the perfect image of nobility, a father and son dining together in harmony. But harmony was a word that had no place in Lord Zhen's household.

Lord Zhen sat at the head of the table, his posture regal, his every movement calculated. He did not glance at Jian Liang as he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Eat," he commanded, his tone devoid of warmth, yet heavy with expectation.

Jian Liang obeyed, picking up his utensils with the mechanical precision of someone who had long learned the futility of resistance. The food was exquisite, prepared by the finest chefs in the region, yet it tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Do you know why I summoned you tonight?" Lord Zhen's voice came again, sharp and probing.

"No, Father," Jian Liang replied, his tone measured, respectful, but distant.

Lord Zhen set down his fork and knife with deliberate slowness, the sound echoing in the vast hall. He leaned back in his chair, fixing his son with a gaze that could pierce steel.

"The unrest in the eastern districts grows louder," he began, his words heavy with disdain. "The Fireflies are no longer a mere nuisance. They are becoming a symbol of defiance—a dangerous symbol. And symbols, Jian Liang, are far more threatening than swords."

Jian Liang nodded slightly, his face betraying nothing. "I will ensure it is handled."

Lord Zhen's lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smile. "You speak as though you understand the gravity of the situation. But do you?"

The question hung in the air, suffocating. Jian Liang met his father's gaze, suppressing the flicker of unease that threatened to surface. "The Fireflies challenge our authority," he said, his voice steady. "If left unchecked, they undermine the balance of power."

"The balance of power," Lord Zhen repeated, his tone dripping with derision. He stood, the movement fluid yet commanding, and began pacing the length of the table. "Power is never balanced, Jian Liang. Power is seized, wielded, and guarded with vigilance. It is a flame that must burn brightly, consuming all who dare to reach for it. Do you think the Lords have maintained their dominion by sharing power? By showing mercy?"

"No, Father," Jian Liang replied, though a faint shadow of doubt flickered in his mind.

Lord Zhen stopped behind his son, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. The weight of it was both physical and symbolic, a reminder of the expectations that had been placed upon him since birth.

"You were born into privilege," Lord Zhen said, his voice low but charged with intensity. "But privilege is not power. Power must be earned. It must be taken and wielded without hesitation. Tomorrow, you will accompany me to the eastern districts. You will see what happens to those who defy the Lords. And you will understand what it means to be my son."

Jian Liang remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ornate patterns of the tablecloth. His father's words were a familiar mantra, yet they weighed heavier with each repetition.

---

Later that evening, Jian Liang found himself in the estate's vast library, a sanctuary of silence and solitude. Shelves lined with leather-bound tomes towered above him, their spines bearing the names of ancient texts on governance, warfare, and the philosophy of power.

He sat in one of the high-backed chairs, staring at the flickering flames of the fireplace. His father's words echoed in his mind, relentless and unyielding.

"Power is a flame," he murmured to himself, the words tasting bitter.

Jian Liang's hand clenched into a fist. He had lived his entire life in the shadow of his father, molded and shaped into a weapon for Lord Zhen's ambitions. Yet, the emptiness within him persisted, a void that no amount of power or control could fill.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention. He turned to see Mei Lin, one of the estate's senior attendants, approaching with a tray of tea. She was one of the few people in the estate who dared to speak to him without trembling.

"Young Master," she said softly, setting the tray on a nearby table. "You seem troubled."

Jian Liang offered a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Am I that transparent?"

Mei Lin hesitated, her gaze searching his face. "You carry a great burden, Young Master. Perhaps too great for one person."

He didn't respond immediately, instead watching the steam rise from the teacup. "My father would disagree," he said finally. "He believes burdens make us stronger."

"Strength is not the absence of feeling," Mei Lin replied, her voice gentle yet firm. "Sometimes, it is the ability to confront what lies within."

Her words lingered in the air as she bowed and left the room, leaving Jian Liang alone with his thoughts.

---

The next morning, Jian Liang stood in the courtyard, his ceremonial armor gleaming under the artificial suns that illuminated the noble district. His father's carriage awaited, flanked by an entourage of enforcers.

Lord Zhen emerged from the estate, his presence commanding as always. He spared Jian Liang a brief glance before boarding the carriage.

As they traveled through the city, the stark divide between the noble district and the slums became glaringly apparent. The golden glow of the artificial suns faded, replaced by the oppressive darkness of the lower districts. The air grew thick with the stench of decay, and the streets were lined with gaunt faces and hollow eyes.

"This is what happens when power is absent," Lord Zhen said, his tone cold. "Chaos. Desperation. Weakness."

Jian Liang said nothing, his gaze fixed on the window. The scene outside stirred something within him—a faint, inexplicable unease.

When they arrived at the eastern district's main square, a crowd had gathered. The Fireflies had left their mark—a blazing emblem painted across the walls, a defiant symbol of resistance.

Lord Zhen stepped out of the carriage, his presence alone enough to silence the murmurs of the crowd. Jian Liang followed, his expression unreadable.

"You see this?" Lord Zhen said, gesturing to the emblem. "This is defiance. And defiance must be extinguished."

He turned to the enforcers, his voice ringing out with authority. "Bring them forward."

A group of prisoners was dragged into the square, their faces battered but their spirits unbroken. Jian Liang's gaze lingered on one of them—a young woman whose eyes burned with defiance.

"Do you see her, Jian Liang?" Lord Zhen asked, his tone almost mocking. "That is the face of rebellion. What would you do with her?"

Jian Liang hesitated, the weight of his father's expectations pressing down on him. He knew the answer his father wanted, but something within him resisted.

"I would… ensure she could not challenge us again," he said finally, his voice lacking conviction.

Lord Zhen smirked, as if amused by his son's inner conflict. "Spoken like a true Lord. But words are meaningless without action."

He gestured to the enforcers. "Show them what happens to those who defy us."

As the enforcers moved to carry out his orders, Jian Liang felt the hollowness within him expand, threatening to consume him entirely.

For the first time, he wondered if power was truly worth its weight—or if it was nothing more than a curse.

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