The Number One Star in the Interstellar Era

Chapter 739: THE THING THAT HAPPENED

THE pod hissed open, and Cynric stumbled out into the cool, dimly lit room. His body trembled, a fine, uncontrollable shaking that started deep in his bones and worked its way out to his fingertips. He tried to steady himself against the smooth, curved surface of the pod, but his legs felt weak and distant, like they didn’t fully belong to him anymore.

His breath came in short, ragged pulls. The air felt thin and strange in his lungs. He could still feel the ghost of it, the weight of his brother’s pity clinging to him like a bad smell. It made his skin crawl.

He took one shaky step, then another, trying to put distance between himself and the machine. He just needed to get to his room. He just needed to be alone. But the emotion he’d locked down inside was starting to break free. It’s like a raw and aching pressure in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

His vision blurred at the edges. The strength drained from his limbs all at once, a sudden and complete failure. His knees buckled, utterly refusing to hold his weight any longer. And he braced for the hard, cold impact of the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, a pair of strong arms caught him firmly around his chest, stopping his fall. He was pulled back against a solid, warm body that held him upright effortlessly. For a single, disorienting moment, he was too stunned to react. He didn’t have to turn his head to know who it was.

Valentine didn’t say a word. He just held him, keeping Cynric from crumbling completely, offering an anchor when it felt like the ground itself had completely crumbled beneath him.

The other held him firmly, not saying anything for a long moment. He simply let Cynric lean against him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and close, like a quiet rumble near Cynric’s ear.

"I’ve got you," he said. "You don’t have to be strong right now. Not here. Not with me."

He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t tell him it was going to be okay. He just held him, one hand pressed firmly between Cynric’s shoulder blades, the other arm wrapped around his waist, keeping him upright when his own body had given up.

And that was what finally broke him.

It wasn’t a loud or dramatic shatter. It was a slow collapse from within. A tremor started deep in Cynric’s chest, a quiet sob he tried to bite back. But he couldn’t. Another followed, and then another, until he was shaking apart in Valentine’s arms. He turned his face into Valentine’s shoulder, his hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as the tears came, hot and silent at first, then heavier, until his whole body was wracked with the force of them.

He cried for the bitterness he carried, a poison seeded in him long ago by hands that should have protected him. He cried for the envy that shamed him, a hot and twisting feeling that came from seeing his brother walk through the world untouched by the kind of violation that had left Cynric feeling forever broken. He cried for the deep loneliness that was a permanent stain on his soul, the isolating belief that no one could ever understand the dirt that had been forced upon him, the feeling of being spoiled goods in his own skin.

He cried for the brother he loved and resented in equal measure, the brother who had been spared the darkness that had swallowed Cynric’s childhood whole. He cried because he was so desperately tired of being the one who had to be strong, the one who had to be calm, the one who had to always be in control just to prove that what was taken from him hadn’t also taken him. The performance was exhausting, and in the safety of Valentine’s arms, he could finally let the act crumble to dust.

Even if for just a moment.

And through it all, Valentine never loosened his hold. He didn’t shush him or tell him to stop. He just stood there, an unshakable pillar in the storm of Cynric’s grief, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on his back.

Valentine let him fall apart, completely and utterly, offering the only thing he truly could his unwavering presence, a silent promise that he would be there to help pick up the pieces when the tears finally ran out.

***

Astrid logged out and walked straight to the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea to calm his nerves, and as he drank it he found himself thinking back on every moment of his unexpected meeting with the emperor.

He wondered if his reaction had been a bit too much. Maybe he should have tried harder to keep his cool. Maybe he should have been more understanding, more patient with the whole situation. But after turning it over in his mind, he realized that he would react and do the exact same thing all over again if given the chance. It was just who he was. He wasn’t the type to just stand there and quietly take it all in when someone was clearly showing their dislike for him.

After he finished his last cup of tea, his Terminal rang. He picked it up and saw a video call request from Wulfric. He had been planning to call the other himself, but it seemed Wulfric had beaten him to it. Without a moment of hesitation, he clicked accept.

When Wulfric’s face appeared on the screen, Astrid immediately noticed the shuttered expression on the other man’s face.

"What’s wrong, Wulf?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. A thought came to him right away. "Did you have a fight with your brother?"

Wulfric was silent for a moment before he let out a deep sigh. "I think... I think I messed up."

Astrid’s worry deepened as soon as he heard Wulfric’s voice. His voice was quiet and heavy in a way Astrid had never heard before. This was a far cry from how Wulfric usually was. So it was obvious that something went very wrong after Astrid left earlier.