"Enough."
Wang Ju's voice rang through the grand hall like the toll of a giant bell. The walls themselves seemed to tremble from the weight of his fury. His word was law, and when he spoke, all fell silent.
Lady Ren flinched, her crimson-painted lips trembling slightly. Wang Lu's confident smirk vanished, replaced with a tightness around his jaw. Even the guards at the far end of the chamber unconsciously stepped back, as if retreating from a fire too intense to bear.
But of them all, the one who felt it the most was Wang Tang.
A chill crept up his spine. His mouth, once open to speak, had gone dry. His fists remained clenched at his sides, trembling—not just from fear, but from something deeper.
Abandonment. Isolation. Loss.
He stood, alone in the center of a bloodstained room. His creatures—the only companions he had ever trusted—were now being used against him. And the man who should have protected him, the one whose approval he had chased for so many years, stood above him like a judge before a prisoner.
In that moment, Wang Tang remembered.
---
He was four years old again.
He stood in front of a bed too large for his small frame, watching as the light left his mother's eyes.
Wang Shen—kind, radiant, always smiling—had reached out to touch his cheek one final time. Her fingers were cold. Her breathing had already grown faint. And then, with one final whisper of his name, she was gone.
He remembered not crying.
He had wanted to. He had wanted to scream, to cry, to demand the heavens return his mother.
But instead, he had simply sat at her bedside for hours, staring at her peaceful face, confused and numb.
His father, Wang Ju, had held him once that night. Just once.
"She loved you," he had said, voice hoarse. "So must I."
Those words echoed in Wang Tang's mind even now—because they never returned.
---
One year later, a new woman entered the household: Lady Ren.
She was beautiful, cold, commanding. The estate staff treated her with reverence. But behind closed doors, her eyes bore into Wang Tang with a hatred he couldn't understand.
She hated his mother's memory.
She hated the boy that memory had left behind.
Wang Ju changed too.
The strong, honorable father who had once lifted him onto his shoulders, who had helped him feed animals in the back gardens, was now distant.
He no longer came to the private quarters where Wang Tang stayed. He no longer read to him before bed. Lady Ren had taken up residence in his father's chambers—and with her, power.
Lady Ren was not just his stepmother.
She became the gatekeeper to Wang Ju's heart. And she locked Wang Tang out.
---
The days became quieter.
Lonelier.
And then, at age six, Wang Tang met someone who changed everything.
Master Hui.
A simple gardener with rough hands and gentle eyes. He had found Wang Tang crouched near a flowerbed, watching a bird eat seeds.
"Curious about it, are you?" Hui had asked, kneeling beside him. "That one's called a flamefin. Rare little thing. Only eats when no one's looking."
From that day forward, Wang Tang found himself in the gardens more than the palace halls. Hui taught him the names of flowers, how to whisper to saplings, how to predict a serpent's mood by the shimmer of its eyes.
Hui never judged him. Never called him strange.
For the first time since his mother's death, Wang Tang felt seen.
But peace never lasted long in that household.
Lady Ren loathed his bond with Hui. She would assign him extra lessons to keep him away. She would stage "accidents"—broken cages, injured pets, misplaced tools. And Wang Lu?
He would sneer. He would mock. He would whisper insults just loud enough for only Wang Tang to hear.
"You'll never be the heir," Wang Lu would say. "You're just a leftover. A wild child raised by snakes."
Those words hurt less than the silence from his father.
Because through all of it—through the bullying, the punishments, the loneliness—Wang Ju never stepped in.
Never defended him.
Never asked him why he stopped smiling.
---
Now, ten years old, standing in a hall lined with corpses and false accusations, Wang Tang felt that same suffocating helplessness creep in again.
His creatures had been used as pawns. His love for them twisted into a weapon against him.
And his father… his father was once again a silent wall. No warmth. No protection. No belief.
Wang Tang's breathing became shallow.
He had no one here.
No mother.
No father.
No justice.
And yet… he didn't cry.
Just like that night six years ago.
He didn't scream.
Didn't fall.
He stood.
Alone.
Waiting for what came next.
And the IronLord watched in silence.