“Has the sun ever shone here? “ My sister waved her hand to the sky, and I don’t know how to answer it.

She’s right. The clouds never moved their steps out of the daylight since we came to this land. The dim light merely pointed our way out of this forest, and we’ve been rode along this muddy trail for several days. The crows‘ cry as the wind blows, bringing mist in the air to the cloak on my back.

But my answer , undoubtedly , will be yes. The shining sun in the sky on this land was once in my memory.

At that time , we both were kids, and our Dad was still alive. We lived in the mansion up on the hill, together with my mom and my uncle. My dad was always busy, rigid. Everyday He closed himself in a room piled up with numerous books and papers, or talking to some guests who came from somewhere else. He asked my uncle to be my sister and I’s teacher. He’s a forgiving and patient guy, who taught us how to read and write. But rather than reading books like what they do, I’d like to run around and play in the place where I lived: I lay on the beam, watching the servants going in and out of my dad’s room; I stand beside the lake, feeling the wind blow across the water. I sit on the rock, listening to the goats leisurely eating grass on the hillside.

I would say that’s the best period of my life. I thought I could have this forever, until the flame rises.

When the endless flame rises from the forest in the west, numerous torches march along the sunset. They destroyed the tower and stormed the castle.

I hid myself and my sister on the beam , like what I always do, watching those armors plunder our wealth, the jester in the purple robe sews our coat of arms onto his scarlet banner.

Ruins have come to our family. That night, we left the place where we had lived since we were kids. My uncle hid me and my sister in a carriage under the canvas.

My sister leaned on my shoulder, and I leaned on a barrel beside me. We snuggled together and fell asleep in this bumpy carriage.

And when the sunlight wakes me up again, there’s nothing else besides my sister and this carriage, but a sword and clusters of blood, lying on the ground, bleeding on the canvas.

The sun falls, as it used to do every evening.

I tightened my grip on the hilt of the sword at my waist, walking along the road where I picked it up. And I said.

“There ain’t no sky today.”