The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 223: Chapter 223 - Emergency landing

The great Farian mother ship descended slowly through the planet’s thick cloud layer, its metal hull creaking with effort, automated stabilizers groaning under the strain of uneven gravity. Flames licked harmlessly across the shielded exterior, painting the sky with streaks of orange and red as the vessel cut through the atmosphere of the unnamed world below.

The decision had been made swiftly—there was no other choice. Their ship had taken too much damage, and further long-distance travel without repairs would be suicide.

Bian entered the control room just as the main viewscreen shifted from the black expanse of space to the hazy greens and browns of the planet below. His boots clicked against the floor as he marched forward, his sharp eyes scanning the screen. He came to a sudden stop, his brows drawing into a deep, suspicious frown.

”Why are you going toward that planet?” he asked sharply, his voice carrying over the hushed movements of the crew.

As if on cue, the ship’s internal klaxons blared again—one long, grating warning note that echoed through the metal corridors like a scream. Red warning lights flared along the edges of the control panels, bathing the room in a sickly crimson hue.

Bian’s reaction was immediate. His expression twisted in alarm, and he stumbled a step back before scrambling to Dican’s side. He gripped the prince’s arm tightly and ducked behind him, eyes flicking around in rising panic.

”Is it the Graylings? Did they chase us here?” he snapped, his voice cracking with fury and fear. ”Fuck! You guys are so fucking weak. Can’t you even handle a few beasts without falling apart?!”

The crew bristled silently, but no one responded. Tension lingered thick in the air—half of them too afraid to speak, the rest unwilling to stoke Bian’s wrath.

Dican, calm as ever, reached out and gently took Bian’s hand. His touch was warm, grounding, and firm. He pulled Bian close, shielding him with his presence as his other hand remained on the console.

”We’re making a pit stop on this planet to repair the ship, my love,” he said soothingly, his voice as soft as a lullaby. ”There is no danger. I promise.”

Bian’s grip on him loosened slightly. He blinked and let out a sharp breath of relief. ”Then why didn’t you say so sooner?” he muttered, clearly still flustered. ”Why do you guys have the same damn alarm for both problems? That’s so stupid. Seriously, what kind of idiotic system is that?”

He turned and dropped himself into the middle seat of the control room with a scowl, arms crossed, visibly sulking. His silver-blond hair was still tousled from sleep, and his narrowed eyes scanned the deck with a critical gleam. The crew, wisely, kept their eyes fixed on their work.

Dican stood beside him, unwavering, his hand still gently wrapped around Bian’s. The prince’s expression was unreadable—somewhere between concern, affection, and a faint edge of something deeper... something sad.

Outside, the clouds finally broke, revealing the jagged terrain below: rocky ridges, dense vegetation curling up the sides of distant cliffs, and a wide, flat plateau that glimmered with mineral dust under the setting sun.

”This looks like a good place,” the navigation officer murmured. ”Landing coordinates locked. Descending to surface.”

With a final hiss of pressure and a low groan, the great ship eased down onto the barren plateau. Dust and debris billowed up in waves, blanketing the undercarriage as mechanical legs extended and secured their position.

Bian watched it all with narrowed eyes, his tongue clicking against his teeth.

”You better fix this thing quickly,” he muttered darkly. ”I don’t want to spend a single night on some nameless dirtball.”

Dican only nodded, his hand never leaving Bian’s.

”Yes, my love,” he whispered. ”Just a brief stop. Then we’ll be on our way.”

-----

In another quiet, dim corridor of the massive Farian ship, far removed from the control deck and the central command, the narrow metallic walls of the maintenance ducts vibrated softly with each movement of the vessel. Inside one such cramped, shadowed space, young Quangya shifted uncomfortably on his knees, peering out through a narrow slat in the vent wall.

He blinked, trying to make sense of the distant vibrations and the muffled noise of the engines shifting tone. He turned his wide, anxious eyes toward the kind old man who sat beside him in the narrow space, back hunched from both age and the confines of their hiding spot.

”Grandpa...” Quangya whispered, voice barely audible above the hum of the ship. ”Why are we going down?”

The old man turned slowly to him, his wrinkled face lit only by the faint glow of a discarded emergency light stick someone had left them. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a weariness in his bones that no sleep could cure. Still, his arms moved gently as he pulled the child close, one gnarled hand resting on the back of the boy’s head.

”I think... the ship needs to rest,” he murmured quietly, soothingly. ”Just like people do. It’s probably broken somewhere. They’re stopping to fix it, that’s all.”

”But... are we safe?” Quangya asked, his tiny fingers curling into the man’s robe. ”He’s angry again, isn’t he?”

The old man’s expression tightened, though he didn’t speak immediately.

They both remembered the yelling—the way Bian’s voice had shaken the walls, the violent slamming of control panels, the terrifying shriek of someone being struck. Then, the hurried footsteps, the desperate whispers of soldiers who had more loyalty to the First Prince and General Xing than to the furious consort currently stomping through the ship. The two of them had been grabbed, hushed, and shoved into this narrow vent by one such brave officer before anyone could notice.

That had been days ago.

Since then, they had remained hidden in silence, curled within the belly of the ship like ghosts. At mealtimes, a different soldier would quietly unseal the panel and slide in small nutrient packs and filtered water bottles. The crew ensured they were fed—but not found.

But it was cold here. Cramped. The air was recycled but stale. It wasn’t a place for a child to live. The old man knew that better than anyone.

”I don’t know what he wants,” the old man finally said, stroking Quangya’s hair. ”But you mustn’t worry, little one. We’re not alone.”

Quangya leaned into him, sighing faintly. ”I miss brother Jian,” he whispered.

The old man’s hand paused for a heartbeat.

”Yes... me too.”

They lapsed into silence, the boy slowly drifting into a doze against the old man’s side.

But the old man couldn’t sleep.

His eyes remained fixed on the vent wall before him, hearing the distant thud of metal against rock as the ship finally landed on some unknown world. His breath caught faintly in his chest.

He didn’t know how long their protection would last.

He didn’t know what would happen if Bian found them first.

But until then—he would keep the boy close.

Even if it meant hiding in the dark a little while longer.

....

The enormous Farian ship let out a low, resonant groan as its descent stabilizers kicked in, pushing thick gusts of wind down against the tree-covered terrain below. Leaves scattered in spiraling clouds, birds and small sky-bound critters fleeing in flustered chirps as the once-quiet forest stirred violently from the foreign intrusion.

Beneath the shadow of the descending behemoth, the trees—tall and twisting, their trunks a pale jade with bark that shimmered faintly in the sun—bent back from the force of the downward thrusters. Unlike any on Earth, the trees had long, ribbon-like leaves that curled at the tips and seemed to shimmer faintly in the light, as though coated in translucent crystal dew. Vines coiled loosely between the trunks, and tiny creatures scurried up and down their lengths with curious eyes and tails shaped like spiraling corkscrews.

With a muffled thud, the ship touched down.

A moment later, hissing pressure valves opened the main docking shaft, and the primary door groaned outward into a boarding ramp. The warm scent of alien foliage and damp earth wafted up into the interior of the ship, mingling with the colder, sterile air inside.

A team of soldiers emerged first, dressed in sleek Farian exploration armor, moving with efficiency and caution. They spread out immediately, sensors in hand, setting up safety perimeters and marking potential hazards. Blue-tipped poles pulsed gently as they were driven into the ground, creating a soft barrier field around the cleared perimeter. A few critters—round, rabbit-sized things with glowing antennae—watched from the bushes, squeaking faintly before bounding away on springy legs.

Dican stood at the edge of the descending platform, his expression calm but focused. His hands were folded behind his back, one eye on the horizon, the other on the movements of his soldiers. Despite the turbulence of the past few days, his posture was steady, sharp again—like a prince should be.

Bian stood beside him, eyes wide as he took in the view. The soft green canopy stretched outward in all directions like an emerald sea, the air fragrant with a sweet, unfamiliar humidity. Strange flowers grew in tight clusters along the roots of the trees, pulsing faintly with light. Small flutters of movement passed through the air—delicate insect-like creatures with transparent wings and tendrils that shimmered in spirals as they darted about.

”...It’s like a painting,” Bian murmured, stepping slightly closer to the edge of the ramp.

A beam of light passed through the trees, casting fractal patterns over his pale skin.

”It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, momentarily forgetting his anger, his suspicions, the gnawing terror that had gripped him for days. Just for a second, he stared out into the alien forest and let himself breathe.

Dican turned slightly, watching him. The prince’s lips parted faintly, as if he wanted to say something—but no words came. Instead, he simply reached out and gently rested a hand on Bian’s lower back, a silent gesture of presence.

The moment lingered.

Then the radio crackled.

”Perimeter secure, Your Highness,” came a soldier’s voice. ”No immediate threats detected within a 2-kilometer radius. Lifeforms are docile. We’re ready to begin repairs.”

Dican nodded once. ”Very good. Begin salvage protocol and deploy the engineers.”

As the crew began to spill outward onto the planet’s surface, Bian took one last glance at the thick, pulsating trees, then narrowed his eyes slightly.

They might’ve landed safely—but his enemies were still somewhere aboard the ship.

And he still hadn’t found his grandfather or that insufferable boy.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He wasn’t finished yet.