As Ila plucked a berry and popped it into her mouth, she sighed, her gaze drifting to the trees. "This place is perfect, isn't it? No filth, no beggars from the Backdrop Biome mucking it up."
Syn tensed, his smile fading.
The Backdrop Biome—his home, his roots—was a raw nerve, and Ila's casual disdain stung. He had told her not to mention them a lot of times, but she still brought their topics.
As if she wanted to manipulate Syn into detaching his bonds from them.
He sat up, brushing the flower crown aside, his voice measured but firm.
"Those 'beggars' are people, Ila. They're not filth. They're surviving, even in worse conditions than most, same as anyone."
Ila's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing her face as she sat up, her posture stiffening.
"Surviving? They're leeches, Syn. Sucking up the Kingdom's scraps, breeding like roaches. Most of them contribute nothing but complaints."
