"Eh?"
Erina's voice cracked again. Her breath caught like she'd swallowed fire.
The room spun in her eyes.
"B… burn Astrea?"
Her words trembled out, weak and pale, like they didn't want to exist.
Leonhardt didn't answer. Not right away. He tilted his head, watching her with that same calm scrutiny he gave corpses and contracts.
She looked like neither. Not yet.
"Woman," he said, slow and level. "Why do you look so pale and upset?"
Erina opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, struggling to catch a thought that wouldn't hold still.
"I… You can't just say that," Erina whispered. "That's a city. A place where people… live."
His eyes narrowed.
"And?"
He let the pause stretch, then added, quieter:
"What about the goblins?"
Erina blinked.
"What...?"
"Do they not live?" he asked. "Do they not have homes? Culture? Children? What makes their lives lesser than the ones you nursed in your temples?"
"I... I didn't say that," she murmured.
