Deborah's POV
After spending more than a week in Tairngire, I had gathered quite a bit of crucial information.
Through my conversations with Barron and by piecing together scattered comments from others, I had gained a deeper understanding of the delicate balance among the three reigning families in Sky Cities. Yet beneath the surface of this so-called equilibrium, I began to sense a thread of unease—a tension that hinted at buried secrets.
The current power structure seemed stable on the surface, but this stability was rooted in a fragile combination of mutual compromise and silent agreements. The destruction of the Lee and Blackwood families, ostensibly due to a "virus," revealed too many inconsistencies upon closer examination.
One detail stood out above all others: my father, Haorong Lee, had once proposed building a safer underground city to relocate the residents of Murias, which was on the brink of destruction from encroaching magma. This plan, designed to save tens of thousands of lives, was met with unanimous opposition from the other major families.
Unanimous, that is—except for the Edwards family.
This revelation had completely upended my assumptions.
According to Barron, the Edwards family—under Lugh's leadership—had played the role of peacemaker in this dispute. They hadn't taken a firm stance, nor had they actively opposed my father's plan. Instead, they had remained carefully neutral, advocating for compromise without voicing strong opinions.
This portrayal of the Edwards family was entirely at odds with what I had come to expect.
For as long as I could remember, they were described as aloof, pragmatic, and self-serving. The idea of them adopting a mediating role in a moral debate seemed out of character, almost implausible.
What was even more intriguing was Barron's admission that, as a child, he had known very little about the situation. His parents and older siblings had kept such "sensitive matters" far from his ears. It was only after the Lee and Blackwood families were eradicated that he began overhearing hushed conversations in the hallways of his home. From these snippets, he pieced together that the real conflict lay not in my father's proposal itself but in the deeper rivalries and distrust between the remaining families.
This realization left me both surprised and unsurprised in equal measure.
The surprise came from the sheer complexity of the Edwards family's role in these events. For years, they had been perceived as the most "ordinary" of the five major families. Unlike the Thorne family, who dominated Sky Cities's cutting-edge technology, or the Vandran family, who wielded vast wealth and resources, the Edwards family seemed to have no defining strength.
And yet, here they were, not only surviving but thriving amidst the ruins of the fallen families. They were now one of the three pillars of Sky Cities's power structure, with Lugh seemingly positioned as its de facto leader.
This could only mean one thing: the Edwards family possessed some extraordinary quality, some hidden card that had allowed them to maintain their position all these years. Whatever it was, it remained shrouded in secrecy, carefully shielded from prying eyes.
At the same time, it all made perfect sense. As the days went by, I became increasingly certain that the Edwards family was descended from the Demons—a line of beings with supernatural abilities. Their secret weapon, Domination, wasn't merely a skill but an inherent, terrifyingly absolute power.
Unlike the technological or economic strengths of the other families, Domination represented a deeply personal and invisible force. It enabled the Edwards family to control anyone outside their bloodline, bending others to their will without leaving any visible trace of coercion.
More chillingly, this power extended within the family itself. For those of Demon lineage, higher-blooded members could impose their will on those with lower standing. It was an unyielding hierarchy, encoded in their very existence.
For example, Lugh, as my biological father, wielded this power over me. His superior bloodline gave him an undeniable ability to dominate my actions and thoughts, should he choose to exercise it. Although he hadn't overtly used it against me, I could feel its presence—like invisible strings just waiting to pull taut. The mere thought of it sent a cold shiver down my spine.
I thought back to my time in Hybrasil, to the years I had spent blissfully unaware of the truth about the Edwards family. Back then, I had believed they were simply cunning strategists, quietly outmaneuvering their rivals. Now, I understood that their true strength lay in their concealment, in their ability to manipulate without detection.
The Thorne and Vandran families, by contrast, wielded their power openly.
The Thorne family was the unrivaled leader in technological innovation, their inventions powering every aspect of Sky Cities's infrastructure. Without them, the city would grind to a halt. They had no supernatural gifts, but their monopoly on technology ensured their position remained unshakable.
The Vandran family, meanwhile, had long been the backbone of Sky Cities's economy. From their early discovery of Falshi ore to their vast reserves of wealth, they were the lifeblood of the city's operations.
And then there was the Edwards family—a family that seemed to exist solely to maintain balance, their influence subtle yet profound. Whether it was during the reign of the five families or the current three-way stalemate, they remained a silent but pivotal force.
In the week I spent at Tairngire, Barron's candidness had illuminated many of these dynamics. But with each revelation, my wariness of Lugh only deepened. He wasn't just my father; he was a Demon, a master of Domination. And his power wasn't meant to protect me—it was meant to control me.
Returning to the Edwards estate felt akin to slipping back into a suffocating monotony. Compared to the intrigue and discovery of Tairngire, life here seemed stagnant, almost oppressive.
The staff operated like clockwork—precise, polite, and maddeningly silent. Any attempt to pry information from them invariably met vague answers and empty smiles. I couldn't tell if their discretion was the result of unwavering loyalty, Lugh's Domination, or simply fear.
This place felt impenetrable.
I was still ruminating on these thoughts when a knock sounded at my door.
"Come in," I called, my voice listless.
The butler stepped in, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Miss Edwards, Mr Barron Thorne has arrived."
"Barron?" I sat up, surprised and, to my own astonishment, genuinely pleased. His arrival was an unexpected reprieve from my dreary routine—a spark of light in an otherwise dull existence. Perhaps he even had more news to share.
"Take him to the greenhouse," I instructed. "And prepare some tea."
The butler nodded and left the room.
I quickly checked my appearance in the mirror, ensuring everything was in place before hurrying toward the garden. The anticipation quickened my steps, and I found myself smiling at the thought of seeing Barron again.
As I dashed through the grand hallway, the sound of my hurried footsteps echoed against the polished marble floors. Behind me, my ever-dutiful maid struggled to keep pace, her hurried breathing audible as she trailed after me. The rustle of her skirts added to the symphony of our movement, her soft murmurs of protest drowned out by the energy of my strides.
I rounded a corner sharply, almost colliding with one of the ornate statues that lined the corridor. And that was when I saw them—Lugh and Chad, emerging from the opposite direction like shadows carved in the form of men.
They moved with an air of quiet authority, their dark suits impeccably tailored, their strides measured and deliberate. Lugh's head was slightly tilted as he spoke, his words inaudible from this distance but carried the weight of command in every syllable. Chad followed closely, his face an unreadable mask, the faintest crease in his brow the only hint of his thoughts.
They looked as though they were marching to decide the fate of nations, their presence steeped in the kind of gravity that felt out of place in this moment. And then there was me—a flurry of motion and bright energy, my lighthearted sprint starkly contrasting their somber purpose. If they were the embodiment of order and control, I was the chaos, a fleeting streak of rebellion running free through the hallways of this meticulously disciplined estate.
Lugh was the first to notice me, his gaze lifting from Chad to fix on me with a calm but probing intensity. His sharp eyes tracked my movement, his expression unreadable but clearly assessing.
"Dara," he called out, his deep voice cutting through the air with effortless authority. "Where are you going?"
His tone wasn't harsh, but there was an undercurrent of expectation in the way he said my name. I slowed for a moment, just long enough to meet his gaze with a fleeting smile. "Barron's here," I replied, my voice light with excitement, the words spilling out as though the explanation was self-evident. "He's waiting for me in the garden!"
I didn't stop for a response, nor did I offer one of my usual sarcastic remarks. Instead, I let my momentum carry me forward, my feet barely touching the ground as I rounded another corner. From the corner of my eye, I caught Chad's expression—briefly, fleetingly. His eyes followed me with a flash of something unreadable, but his face quickly hardened back into its usual stoicism.
Lugh didn't call after me again, though I could feel his gaze lingering on my retreating figure. Whether he disapproved of my unrestrained energy or simply chose not to engage further, I couldn't tell. Behind me, the maid's frantic footsteps quickened as she tried to keep up, her soft exclamations of "Miss Edwards!" drowned out by the rush of air and excitement.
I didn't care. For once, I felt untethered, free from the oppressive formality of the Edwards estate. The thought of Barron's visit filled me with a rare lightness, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to indulge in that feeling—unburdened, unbound, and entirely unapologetic.