𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Cursed

“What happened to the witch? Saki? Did your father kill her too?” I ask, leaning forward, fully invested in his story now. A small, guilty part of me feels bad for enjoying his tale the way I’d enjoy a gripping novel, especially while he’s sitting there crying. But then again, I’ve long made peace with my apathy—though the annoying voice of dissatisfaction inside me never really shuts up.

For a long moment, Layza says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and almost suffocating, the kind of silence that feels deliberate. I glance at him, unsure whether he’s lost in his thoughts or just trying to compose himself.

My fingers, almost absentmindedly, trace the edges of the plant—his mother. I wonder if he wants his family back, if that’s what fuels his sadness. It’s a concept I can’t quite wrap my head around. My own family has always been kept at arm’s length, by choice. Love binds people in ways even iron chains cannot.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled, like he’s reconstructed his mask piece by piece. “My father probably would have killed her… if he could.” His lips twist into a bitter smile, his expression shadowed by something dark—anger, regret, maybe even resignation. “No. My father disappeared the moment my mother was gone.”

His tone is neutral, but I can’t miss the lack of grief when he speaks about his father’s disappearance. And really, who would mourn a man as unhinged as that?

"She kept my mother alive... just differently. So I returned the favor." Layza's voice is cold, devoid of emotion. "I let her son live... just differently, as a cripple."

The way he says it, like crippling someone's child is a mere footnote in his story, sends a chill down my spine. He doesn't even flinch. I'd like to say I'm horrified, but deep down, I know what he means.

"Family for family,” I murmur, nodding slightly. If I were capable of the kind of love he describes for his family, maybe I'd do the same. But I don't feel that way about mine, so I can only imagine. Still, I understand his logic.

Layza's gaze softens for a moment, his smile
faint but genuine, as if the weight on his chest eases with my words. His voice echoes mine, like it's a mantra he's carried all his life. "Family for family."

His expression changes again—back to something colder, something darker. "She killed my father. So I killed her. With my bare hands."

He speaks so simply, as though murder is just another task on a to-do list. I don't know whether to be horrified or impressed.

"She had a protective charm," he continues, his tone taking on a bitter edge. "It bound my powers and cursed me to never be able to do the things my father did. I can't do what my father did, not even if I wanted to. I can't take lives the way he did. And... I can never become a chieftain."

His voice, laced with quiet resignation, fills the space, reverberating in my chest. For all his strength, all his bravado, Layza looks... trapped. Bound by chains no one else can see.

"But at least I crippled the child for life.”

A flicker of satisfaction dances in his eyes, as if that tiny revenge was enough to soothe some of his pain.

A cripple.

My mind drifts to Walker-the cripple I stayed with my first night in this world. His mother was just an ordinary woman, nothing about her screamed witch or mortal renowned for spirit-like powers.

The pieces start to click together in my mind, though the picture they form is still fuzzy. Something about this story—about him—feels connected to everything in ways I can’t yet name.
...