Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

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."

Her tone was cold, her warmth fading, though she kept her voice low, as if testing him.

Syn's jaw clenched, his hazel eyes hardening, but he tried to keep the peace.

"They're not leeches. They're families, kids, people with dreams, just like you. The Kingdom hoards resources, keeps them down. They're not choosing to starve—they're trapped."

Ila scoffed, tossing a berry into the grass, her movements sharp.

"Dreams? They're tools, Syn, nothing more. The Backdrop's a cesspool because they're too weak to pull themselves out. They sulk, whine, waste their days instead of working. The strong rise; the weak stay in the dirt. That's the natural order."

Syn's fists tightened, his anger simmering, but he leaned forward, his voice steady, trying to reason.

"That's easy to say from a throne, Ila. You've never gone hungry, never had to fight for a crust of bread. You don't know what it's like to be born with nothing, to claw your way up just to breathe. Those people aren't weak—they're fighting a system rigged against them."

Ila's lips curled into a faint smirk, her teal eyes glinting with disdain.

"A system? Spare me the sob story. The Kingdom gives them enough—food packets, hab-units, air to breathe. If they can't make something of it, that's their failure. They're lazy, Syn, dragging the rest of us down with their misery."

Syn shook his head, his frustration mounting, his voice sharper. "Enough? You call that generosity? They're given just enough to keep them docile, not enough to live. You've got armies, tech, power—everything handed to you on a silver platter. Try living in the Backdrop for a day, Ila, and tell me they're lazy."

Her smirk faded, replaced by a dangerous edge, her voice rising.

"Don't lecture me, Syn. I run half this Kingdom—armies, territories, tech advancements—while you play soldier for Elara. I know what it takes to keep this machine running. The Backdrop's a liability, a drain. If it were up to me, I'd clean it out, keep only what's useful."

Syn's eyes flashed, his anger breaking free. "Clean it out? You mean people, Ila—families, kids, my people. I came from the Backdrop. You saying I'm a liability, too?"

Ila stood, her beauty now a weapon, her teal eyes blazing as she loomed over him.

"Maybe you are. You think you're special because I let you into my bed to cuddle? You're a Backdrop rat I polished up, Syn, but now, you sound like you'll always be one of them—grubby, desperate, clawing at scraps." Her voice was venom, her words a blade aimed at his core.

Syn rose, his glare unflinching, his voice trembling with rage, especially since it had been a year. "A rat? That's what I am to you? I thought you loved me, Ila, but you're just a spoiled princess playing with lives. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

Ila's laugh was sharp, jagged, her psychotic edge surfacing as her warmth vanished.

"Love? The Kingdom doesn't run on love, Syn—it runs on power. The Backdrop's useless junk, and so are you if you keep whining about it."

She stepped closer, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. "You think you can talk to me like that? Me?"

Syn yanked his arm free, her nails scratched drawing a thin line of blood, his voice low, furious.

"I'm not your toy, Ila. You want to treat people like garbage, fine. But don't expect me to nod and smile." He stepped back, his chest heaving, but his eyes never left hers.

Her eyes blazed, and she shoved him, her strength unsurprising, her voice a snarl.

"You ungrateful scum! I gave you everything—my time, my luxury, my heart—and you spit in my face for some filthy Backdrop vermin?" She lunged, aiming a slap, but Syn dodged, stepping aside, his reflexes sharp.

She stumbled slightly, her rage making her reckless, and her face twisted with fury.

"Stop it, Ila," Syn growled, his glare burning. "You're proving you're no better than the King, crushing anyone who doesn't fit your perfect vision."

She screamed, a raw, unhinged sound that echoed through the glade, and swung again, her fist grazing his shoulder as he sidestepped.

"You dare compare me to him? I'm the future, Syn! I'll burn the Backdrop to ash and make you watch—every last one of those rats, your family, your friends, gone. You'll crawl back to me, begging, when they're dust."

Syn's heart pounded, his vision narrowing, but his resolve was iron.

"You're sick, Ila. I thought I could love you, thought I could reach the woman beneath the crown. But you're a monster, and I'm done pretending otherwise." He stepped back, his voice steady despite the pain tearing through his chest.

"We're through. I don't want to see you again."

Ila's face contorted, her beauty warped by a rage that bordered on madness, her sadistic streak in full bloom.

"Through? You don't get to decide that, you Backdrop filth!" She lunged, to grab him but Syn sidestepped, but her nails raked his arm as Syn twisted away.

"I'll carve your heart out and feed it to the dogs! Don't you dare show your face to me again, or I'll make you wish you'd died in that slum you call home!"

Her voice cracked, a mix of fury and something raw, almost wounded.

Syn froze, his eyes locked on the blade, but he didn't flinch.

"You're pathetic, Ila," he said, his voice cold, cutting. "Threatening me won't change who you are. I'm done." He turned, his steps heavy but resolute, ignoring the sting of his scratched arm, the glade's serenity a cruel mockery of the storm in their hearts.

Ila's screams chased him, shrill and unhinged.

"You'll regret this, Syn! I'll make you pay! You and your precious Backdrop will burn!"