Was Once the King: Chapter 14: Smoke and Light

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The next morning, Hector arrived on set early. The air was still. Too still. As if the studio itself was holding its breath.

Inside makeup, the team chatted in low tones, none of them daring to say aloud what the tabloids were now screaming.

Sam was trending again.

Someone had leaked an audio clip of his conversation with a director from years ago. In it, Sam claimed that "the scandal was Hector's fault—he was too sentimental to survive in this industry." The clip crackled with arrogance. Calculated cruelty.

It spread like wildfire.

By the time Hector walked into the greenroom, Benjamin was already there, holding his phone, jaw clenched tight. The crew had heard. The air buzzed with tension.

"Don't." Hector said quietly, catching Benjamin's eye.

Benjamin looked up. "Don't what?"

"Don't burn bridges for me. Not again."

Benjamin's eyes softened. "Some bridges need burning. Especially if they only ever led to wreckage."

The shoot resumed, the day packed with emotionally fraught scenes. Oran confronting the council. Cale silently standing by him, a mirror of loyalty that bled from fiction into something else.

Between takes, Hector watched Benjamin laugh with the camera crew, patient, open, utterly himself. And something in Hector both warmed and ached.

He didn't know when he'd begun looking at Benjamin not as a colleague, or a friend—but as the safest space he'd ever found.

Later that evening, the social media team released a new teaser photo. This one was official.

Oran and Cale, back-to-back in the ruins of the throne room. Dust on their armor. Light behind them. Worn, but not broken.

The caption read:

'Some kings fall. Others rise from the ashes.'

Comments flooded in. Supportive. Hopeful.

'This is how you reclaim a story.'

'Real strength is quiet—and earned.'

That night, the rooftop welcomed them again.

Benjamin brought no cider. Hector brought no wine. They brought only themselves.

The silence wasn't heavy. It was familiar now. Shared.

Hector stood near the ledge, staring at the skyline. Benjamin joined him, close but not touching.

Hector spoke first. "Did you ever think... we'd survive it?"

Benjamin answered without hesitation. "You survived long before I came back. All I did was stay."

A pause.

Then, with a faint smile, Hector said, "No. You reminded me how."

Benjamin glanced sideways. "Do you remember what you said to me once? On the set of our first drama?"

Hector turned. "I said a lot of things. Most of them sarcastic."

Benjamin laughed. "You said, 'People like us? We don't get fairy tale endings. Just the echoes of what we almost had.'"

Hector exhaled. "Sounds like something I'd say."

Benjamin nodded. Then added, soft: "Maybe this isn't a fairy tale. But it doesn't have to be a tragedy either."

They stood like that for a long time.

And when they sat down, Hector brought out a folded page from his coat pocket. This one not a thank-you note.

It was a page from a script draft.

He handed it to Benjamin. On it, a rewritten scene between Oran and Cale.

A moment of vulnerability. Of grief turned into promise.

Benjamin read it slowly.

Then looked up.

"You want to add this?"

"I do." Hector said. "If the director allows it. It's not for the audience. It's for us."

Benjamin nodded.

Then, without asking, he reached out.

And Hector didn't flinch.

Their hands met—briefly, simply, fully.

And above them, the stars began to appear.

Not all at once.

But enough to feel like the sky was returning.

Piece by piece.

Together.

The next afternoon, the three of them were called into wardrobe for final fittings.

Sam was already there when Hector arrived.

The room quieted like someone had dropped ice in the center of it.

Sam didn't look at him. Not directly. But he offered a sharp nod toward Benjamin, who didn't return it.

Hector slipped into his fitting with professional ease. But the silence between them was a noise all its own.

There was a moment—brief and brittle—when they stood beside the same mirror.

Sam glanced at him. "You're quieter now."

Hector met his eyes in the reflection. "I have less to defend."

Sam's smile twitched, cold. "Still carrying that wounded hero act, I see."

Hector didn't respond. Just adjusted his collar and stepped away.

As they left the building that evening, a production staff member approached.

"Just a reminder." She said lightly. "Your joint interview with Channel Nine is tomorrow. Live segment. Seven minutes. Questions pre-approved, but follow-ups are fair game."

Sam gave a camera-ready smile.

Hector didn't react.

But Benjamin stepped forward.

"We'll review the structure before going live. And Hector sits beside me."

The assistant blinked, then nodded. "Of course. I'll inform the coordinator."

When she was gone, Hector glanced at him. There was a question in his eyes he didn't voice.

Benjamin answered it anyway.

"He doesn't get to rewrite this. Not in front of me."

The next morning, before the cameras rolled, they were ushered into the greenroom. Mics clipped to their collars. Water bottles on the side table. Lights soft and warm.

Hector sat beside Benjamin.

Sam on the far side.

A host in a pink blazer welcomed the audience cheerfully.

Then the interview began.

At first, the questions were light. Inspirations. Challenges of returning to the screen. How it felt to be reunited.

Then, one follow-up came.

"There's been some online speculation about past tensions... particularly during Hector Brandon's hiatus. Would anyone like to comment?"

The air thinned.

Sam opened his mouth.

Benjamin beat him to it.

"People speculate when they're afraid of nuance. But this project? It wasn't built on gossip. It was built on respect. We're not here to relive the past. We're here because someone survived it."

He didn't look at Hector.

But he didn't have to.

And Hector's throat tightened with something that wasn't fear.

For once.

It was gratitude.

Pure. Unhidden. Unspeakably real.

The interview moved on.

And when it ended, the internet did what it always does.

But this time, the wave wasn't rage.

It was applause.

That night, a fan posted a still from the interview.

It showed Hector and Benjamin side by side, their chairs just slightly angled toward each other. A quiet solidarity in their posture. No performance. Just presence.

The caption read:

'Sometimes, surviving is the loudest story you can tell.'

And in the comments, for the first time in years, Hector's name trended with something other than scandal.

It trended with hope.

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