Rias – Crimson Eyes Beneath the Twin Moons
The room was silent, bathed in the pale light of the twin moons. Curtains rustled softly as a refreshing night breeze stole through the windows that stood ajar. On the great bed, spread over soft velvet covers, Rias lay on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow like a torrent of flame.
She held a golden-white robe tightly to her chest—his robe. Her crimson eyes, shining with thought, gazed out towards the light-filled moons hanging in the black sky. She had a soft, wistful smile on her lips, warm.
"Daddy..." she breathed, her voice shaking like a melody only the wind could hear. "You just left, but already I miss you."
She smiled to herself, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness of Leon's bedchamber. She wrapped the robe tighter around her, burying her face in its folds, inhaling the lingering fragrance of him—fresh cedar, subtle lavender, and something distinctively Leon. Her eyes rested on the moons, their pale light reflected in her eyes like two soft mirrors. But in their radiance, she didn't glimpse merely the sky—she glimpsed his face. That Kind face she loved so dearly—his dark black hair, his golden warm eyes that ever held a little flame just for her.
Her heart throbbed with yearning—soft and poignant.
As her eyes wandered from the moons to the darkness within the room, memories started to awaken—painful and far away, but treasured. Her eyes no longer saw the night sky. They saw a child, no more than ten, trembling in the snow with nothing but frayed rags and hope. How odd the world had been until then she met with him... how lonely she'd been.
She had lived in an orphanage. She hadn't ever known the warmth of a mother's hand or the protection of a father's arms. The orphanage had been her entire world until the age of ten. Bitter winters, thin blankets shared among many, stale bread and bread soup, and laughter even through hunger. But all of that was destroyed one night.
They didn't steal food or gold—they stole her childhood. They set the orphanage on fire. She and a handful of other children ran into the night, screams ringing in her ears. But not everyone escaped. Some were too slow, too small... too unlucky.
The building that had been her home became a tomb of ashes.
She never forgot the smell of smoke. Or the sounds. Or the guilt.
Rias did survive, but the sight of the orphanage burning lingered in her mind. The home that had raised her, ripped to shreds in a single night of chaos. Her little hands had formed fists, and with a heart that was too weighed down for her to bear, she vowed to keep going. Not for others, but for herself.
She roamed from town to town, sleeping in back alleys, begging for scraps, living on leftovers. Occasionally she slept with an empty belly. Life was hard. Cold. But she survived.
And then, one night, she heard travelers talking about a man.
A Duke. Leon Moonwalker. The handsomest man in Galvia—but more blessed, the kindest. Prosperous lands under his rule, folk well-nourished and protected. Nearing fairy-tale-like, as if.
Peciosity—and hunger—pull her into Silver City, at the heart of his dukedom. Walks for days using the vestiges of what's left in her strength.
It was winter when she came—her cheeks wind-blown and rosy, her tiny body shaking in worn rags. But her big, wide eyes glowed as she gazed upon Silver City's great buildings, its shining lights, and its streets that filled with the scent of sweet bread and roasting meats.
Little Rias wandered the cobblestone streets in wonder and helplessly until she ran into an old woman. Fear clutched her. Society never had compassionate eyes for orphans and Strays like her.
She curtsied low, shaking. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—please don't call the guards!"
But the old woman didn't scold and didn't yell. Rather, she withdrew a warm loaf of bread from her basket and extended it. "Go on, little one," the woman said softly. "No child should shiver with an empty belly.
That gesture of goodness surprised Rias more than a thousand insults possibly could. She took it, her eyes open wide and hands small and shaky and quiet ones, stinging with tears.
That loaf of bread. warm, downy, taste-tinged. was the best food she'd ever consumed. She did not eat the whole thing down—she hoarded half away, wrapping it tight like an heirloom.
That night, she curled up in a corner of an alley, her belly warm for once, the bread on her lap, and hope fluttering gently within her breast.
Peace is fleeting for those who have no safeguard.
A few Days later, she attracted the attention of some men who viewed her as nothing more than prey. One Evening, they attempted to corner her. She ran—faster than she'd ever run before—but fell, blood gushing from a gash on her arm. That's when fate intervened.
She turned a corner—and bumped into someone.
She hit the ground with a hard thud, dizzy, panting. But then... she looked up.
A tall guy with Black hair, Golden eyes and Regal, Broad, and so handsome—like a god had descended from the heavens. Clad in costly attire now smeared with her blood. By dress before man perhaps Nobel. She stood paralyzed with fear, afraid of what this noble would do. Her heart thudded. And she panicked.
She bowed her head, trembling. "I-I'm sorry, sir, please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to dirty your clothes."
Then footsteps. Getting closer.
Instead... a warm hand lightly placed upon her head.