Dante's room was modest, illuminated by a warm glow from the steady fireplace at the back. The air carried a soft, comforting heat that contrasted sharply with the tension between the two of them. Voralith sat on the edge of the bed, her golden eyes locked on Dante, who stood before her with an intensity that seemed to pierce her very being. It was the first time she found herself in such a situation, and though she was undeniably nervous, she held her composure firmly.
"You know this isn't a trivial matter," Voralith murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Drinking a dragon's blood… even for you, it's dangerous."