"Shouldn't you be more concerned about all of this?" Dante heard from the woman beside him, arms crossed, observing the bizarre scene—several mutilated bodies, the entire corridor drenched in red, resembling a horror artist's painting. "Why should I?" Dante countered, making Voralith stare at him, expecting a decent answer.
Dante sighed heavily. "Look, let's be honest, Vora. Do any of these dead soldiers really matter? I mean, with or without them, the situation wouldn't change. One thing I've learned over the years is that in moments like this, what matters is the people I care about. Those men? I admire their attempt to protect Lyrianna, but they failed, and that's what happened." He turned and looked at her seriously. "What matters to me here are Sara and Lyrianna. The others? They don't even register in my mind enough to feel remotely concerned." He finished, Voralith feeling the intense gaze of the man penetrating her spirit.
