Chapter 1
Red-eye Samaritan

While on the brink of death, a woman who bore crimson eyes looked down on him. Her eyes carried no prejudice nor signs of any emotion. It only reflected him and for all that he was worth, a lone wolf that was breathing it's last.

His consciousness slowly faded. But in the last few moments, he saw her lips move.

"Live on."

Those words echoed in his mind and reverberated within his very core.

A sigh escaped her lips as she finally finished dressing his wounds.

He was one of the casualties of this never-ending spiral of pain and sadness that plague these suffocating confines of the Underground. A travesty born from greed and false idealisms of blue-blooded swines.

She recalled the look in his eyes before darkness swallowed his consciousness. Underneath those cold grey eyes were a burning desire for change—a desire to break free from the shackles that society enforced on him without any warrant. He had the potential to survive and make his way up above. He had the potential to be something more.

Like a moth attracted to flames, it lured her in. He was a stranger, a dangerous one at that. She might just be a helpless bystander, but she wanted to be part of something bigger. And anything worth having was worth taking risks.

Hopefully, healing his wounds was at least a steppingstone on his grand journey to freedom.

He slowly opened his eyes. A low cracked ceiling welcomed him back to the world of the living. He was sure that he was knocking on death's door. "Red eyes," he muttered to himself as he recalled bits of pieces before his consciousness faded.

The crackling of fire diverted his attention. His eyes traced where the sound came from. He saw a girl with a peculiar hair color stirring an iron pot over a firepit. He wanted to get a better view and decided to prop himself up.

As the place was covered in rubble, his tiny movements alerted the girl.

"Ah, you're up," she calmly said while turning back to the pot. She continued to stir while giving him a word of advice, "You should avoid moving around too much. You're going to undo the stitches."

His right hand instinctively touched the side where he got stabbed. He quietly observed her before asking, "You're the one who did this?"

"Yes," she replied promptly.

"Why?"

She stared at him with those same red eyes as before—no hint of prejudice nor any emotion. "Why you say?" she muttered while picking up the bowl next to her. "Should I have a reason for helping someone who was dying in front of me?"

He scoffed at the question. "Yes. Most people do."

She laughed at his response. Her eyes pondered back over the boiling pot of cream stew. "Hm. Maybe," she said to herself while scooping some of the stew and pouring it into the bowl. Afterwards, she walked over to him with the bowl on her hand.

"You see, I won't be able to sleep soundly if I let you die while knowing fully that I can help you. Unlike most people, I still have a conscience," she continued talking as she crouched down before him. "So why don't you just accept this random act of kindness, hm?"

He stared into her eyes once more before letting out a sigh. He wasn't used to this. Especially in this goddamned forsaken place. But experiencing an act of kindness from a stranger for once felt refreshing. "Fine…" he paused before continuing, "Thanks."

A smile rose from her lips. "Now that's out of the way… here," she said as offered him the bowl. "Eat."

He looked at her and the contents inside the bowl before taking it.

Happy that he accepted her offer, she smiled. "I'm Canaria, by the way," she introduced herself before passing a spoon to him. "What about you?"

"Levi," he replied as he grabbed the spoon from her.

She grinned happily as she watched him eat. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Levi!"

His eyes couldn't leave her for the moment. White hair, red eyes, and a smile that would continue to linger in his head. She was an enigma. "What a strange girl," he muttered to himself as his lips formed into a smile.