𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Tragic Backstory

"Why is that plant so important, anyway?" I ask, my curiosity bulldozing through the ticking clock in the back of my mind. "Are you, like, attracted to it or something? You know..." I trail off, raising an eyebrow suggestively, "a... uh... plantsexual?"

Layza's eyes snap to mine, narrowing into thin slits of irritation, the silver in them catching the soft glow of the pink-tinged light. His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think I've struck some kind of nerve. There's irritation there, sure, but also a flicker of something else—something sharp and fleeting that I can't quite pin down.

"No," he says flatly, his voice dripping with disdain as he emphasizes each syllable like they physically hurt to say. "I am not a—" he pauses for effect, his gaze scorching into mine, "—'plantsexual.'"

The last word comes out as though it's an ancient curse he's being forced to utter, and if I didn't hate him for being so insufferable when I first arrived in his pink-skied world, I might almost feel bad for him. But I don't.

Instead, I let the silence stretch, tilting my head and pulling a face that all but screams I don't believe you. My gaze deliberately drifts from him to the plant he's still cradling like it's the last lifeline of a dying world, and then back to him.

The effect is immediate.

He groans softly, dragging a hand down his face, a gesture steeped in unspoken defeat. For the first time—well, technically the second, if we're counting my very dramatic cat-to-human-spirit transformation—I see his carefully curated composure crack.

Living with this spirit for a few days has taught me one thing: the straightforward approach doesn't work with him. To make him talk, to make him do anything, you have to match his eccentric energy. It's an exhausting game. Honestly, I pity the human woman he's supposedly in love with in the original storyline. Poor thing has no idea what she's in for.

I tilt my head, giving him a deliberately odd look—the kind he might use if our roles were reversed. Sure enough, it works. Like clockwork, he starts explaining, his voice carrying the air of someone who simply must defend their honor.

"It's my mother," he says, fixing me with a look that suggests those three words alone should unravel the mysteries of the universe.

I blink at him, deadpan. "Spirits don't have parents." My voice is as flat as my patience. Living with this guy is like trying to find entertainment in watching paint dry. Even the time I lived with the handicapped dude named Walker—yes, irony intended—was more exciting than this.

His expression shifts, his gaze now dripping with condescension. He's looking at me like I'm the most clueless creature in existence. I briefly entertain the idea of gouging his eyes out—wouldn't it be fun to watch him stumble around with empty sockets?

He finally speaks again, his tone heavy with drama. "Very few people," he begins, pausing for theatrical effect, "and spirits know I'm... different."

Oh, great. The pick-me speech. I lean back, silently waving him on. Far be it from me to crush a delusional spirit's dreams.

"I wasn't created by the universe like the rest of you," he says, lifting his chin slightly as though the weight of his uniqueness is too much to bear. "I'm a miracle."

The urge to say go off, queen bubbles up inside me, but I shove it down. Barely.

"My father," he continues, his gaze drifting to the pink-tinged horizon like some tragic prophet, "was a spirit who fell in love with a human."

I arch an eyebrow. "Isn't that, like, super common?" I ask, recalling what the system told me about Layza and his thing for a human girl. Like father, like son, apparently.

But he doesn't even register my words. He's somewhere else now, lost in the memory of whatever melodrama birthed his existence.

"They did what no one else could," he murmurs, his voice softer now, like he's speaking more to himself than to me. "Maybe their love was so great, so pure, that the universe considered it a good deed in itself."

For a fleeting moment, a small, genuine smile graces his face, his eyes turning glassy with unspoken emotion. It's a rare vulnerability, and I feel the smallest tug of curiosity, though I'd never admit it.

"Fate," he sighs, his voice heavy with the weight of an unseen burden, "works in weird ways."

No wonder he's the male lead, I think to myself, smirking inwardly. He's definitely got all the trauma for it.

Resigning myself to the melodrama, I slide onto the platform by the window, the cool stone pressing against my palms. The setting sun paints the horizon in streaks of pink and gold, but it's the perfect backdrop for what I'm sure will be an emotionally charged tale. This is going to take a while.

"My mother," he begins again, his voice soft but steady, "started succumbing to the diseases that plague mortals, shortly after giving birth to me." His jaw tightens, and a shadow flickers across his face. It's the look of someone trying to lock away memories that bite too hard. His usual smugness has faded, replaced by something darker, more raw.

"My father's love for her," he continues, his tone sharpening like a blade, "was immense. But love... it blinds you. It shackles you. He couldn't bear to watch her vanish." He pauses, his gaze shifting to me, though it's clear his mind is caught in a past he cannot escape. "So, he did what I assume any man plagued by worldly feelings would do."

For a moment, his words hang in the air, charged with unspoken meaning. His eyes meet mine, and I swear, he's not looking at me anymore. He's staring through me, as if he's trapped in the memories of another life. Another time. It's the kind of look that screams male lead, complete with just the right amount of trauma for character development. Poor guy.

"He sought out every healer spirit and mortal doctor he could find," he continues, his voice dropping into a solemn cadence. "He begged them, commanded them to save her. And everyone, of course, was only too happy to oblige their chieftain."

Chieftain? Well, now that's interesting. A flicker of curiosity stirs in me despite myself. This explains the air of authority he carries, even when he's being utterly insufferable. I tuck my knees closer to my chest, feigning nonchalance, though I can't help but wonder what kind of kingdom his father ruled over.

As his story unravels, I catch glimpses of him in a way I hadn't before. The vulnerability in his voice, the weight in his eyes—it's oddly human, for a spirit. But I don't let myself linger on the thought. There's still plenty of tale left, and knowing him, it's going to be a long one.
...

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A/N: I'm dedicating every chapter of this book to my amazing voters. Your support has meant the world to me, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of you. This book is finally gaining some traction, and we wouldn't be here without your incredible encouragement. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!