Walls covered in vomit-coloured moss. The rotten smell of rat carcasses. Flies feasting on the remnants of those. Wiping mud off hers and her younger brother's faces, after an alligator attack in the sewers- One of Zehira's first memories, after she and her sibling were taken in by thieves. Sold to get their parents out of poverty, and if anything Zehira hoped they wouldn't, getting consumed by guilt instead. She was only 7 years of age, and her brother 4 years. The underground was nothing but a place not meant for them. Yet, they were there anyway, forced to view a dozen of thieves as their new family.

It took quite a few months for Zehira to warm up to the group. Her brother had it easier, considering he was at a younger and more impressionable age than her. The comfort of warm food, a cozy bed and late night stories were long gone- Replaced with canned food, ripped blankets and horrifying adventures. Despite being thieves, the girl could tell the group tried their best to take care of them- Even if they had the intention to make the two siblings part of their pack. It was within a year when Zehira was taught how to hold a beginner weapon, a small knife. With it, she could defend herself, she was told. And kill people, she thought. There were mercenaries, rivals, enemies- The group had to fend for themselves, and Zehira and her brother were only children.

How cruel the world could be.

— A LIFE DEBT —

The two were only young teens when they were sent out on their first quests to bring back riches. By then, Zehira wielded a duo of daggers, and her brother wielded a machete. With their smaller silhouettes, they were less easy to be detected, and managed to bring back goods stolen from a shopkeeper at a nearby market. It was the first of many. Sometimes the siblings would be sent out on a quest together, sometimes they accompanied the whole group to watch and learn, as was said. As the group of thieves prospered, so did their status in the underground. Others were wary of them, feared them even. It was something that conflicted Zehira, as it didn't feel good to be feared- Yet, it brought safety, and it solidified her place within the strange found family even more. Life continued at this pace, seemingly unchanging for the time to come.

That was, until Zehira and her brother became adults. The once seemingly close-knit family of thieves turned on them. Despite the food they'd brought back. Despite the riches they'd brought back. Despite the status and fame they'd brought back. They were raised by the thieves, and what they gave them in return wasn't enough. A life debt, was said. They easily could've been left to rot and die after being sold, but they weren't. The thieves demanded everything the siblings had kept for themselves. It was only fair, was said.

The two tried to run away and it proved futile. Zehira's younger brother was captured and taken hostage. He would only be let free if the thieves were given the properties withheld from them. Within a heartbeat, the older sister gathered all she could find, dumped it in a large sack and stood in front of the tunnel that'd lead to her group's lair. Before she exchanged everything the siblings had, Zehira demanded why. What was the reason for abandoning them? Weren't they a family? A peculiar one, but one that worked nonetheless? The siblings were compared to a mountain of dead rats, immediately taking Zehira back to her first few memories. That's right.

The thieves never wanted them.

They only pretended.

If only she kept that in mind. If only, then she and her brother wouldn't have warmed up to them. But she thought they changed their minds- Seems she was wrong. With that, Zehira begrudgingly handed the thieves their riches, and demanded her brother be let free. Before she could process what was happening, her brother's machete was raised in the air, and a swift slash followed with a loud thud after.

Beheaded.

That was all that ran through Zehira's mind, as she loudly screamed, drew her weapons and attacked the first thief closest to her. Then the next. Then another. The thieves' lair soon turned into a bloodbath, and Zehira got her hands on every single bastard she laid her eyes on. No one was allowed to escape, and Zehira stabbed.

Every.

Single.

One.

Until the moss-covered walls were splattered in blood.

Until their guts were spilling on the floor.

Until all the rodents would run and hide in their little holes.

Until the sun would set, and Zehira matched the colours of its sky.

— THE BLOOD MOON —

With no single soul left to look after the group's riches, Zehira took all of it for herself. It was only fair, she thought. An eye for an eye. Anyone that would set foot in the lair afterwards, could take it for themselves. Zehira was gone by then, off into the depths of the night, carrying several sacks on her back. Finding a safe place to stay was easy, after she'd thoroughly cleaned herself in a nearby lake. The riches she'd taken, would give her enough time to get her shit together. First, a place for the night to rest. Second, bandages to patch herself up, especially her bleeding eye. Third, food to sustain herself. Lastly, an armour set to become anonymous.

It was only a week later after the massacre, when Zehira set foot in the chambers of the people whom were once her parents. Camouflaged in the darkness of the night, but adorned with the all too familiar red. The warrior gripped her daggers tightly, as the couple screamed and obviously didn't recognise her.

"This is for Zevran", was all she said, before killing them mercilessly.

Finally, peace, she thought- But it wasn't enough. Brought up in an environment that could be compared to Hell, Zehira now wanted to do right. Hungry for honour, from that night on the warrior decided to become a liberator for it.

Bringing up her origins to no one, Zehira slowly became known as a mysterious mercenary in towns here and there, called the Blood Moon. She only took quests that would follow wrongdoers. Quests usually never stated for these folk to remain dead or alive, and so it was an easy choice for Zehira.

One lesser evil in the world here, another there.

The warrior swore that she would never allow anyone to commit atrocities again, for she'd haunt them into their grave. Besides quests, she would enter underground areas, acting as one of theirs to worm her way into their cliques. The warrior never left anyone walking, except for the ones who walked a similar path as hers.

The ones who had to, the ones who had legitimate reasons. They lived.

The rest was not so lucky.

When they'd expect it least, mysterious deaths would come to light. Sickness, perhaps. Revenge from a rival, perhaps. It was never known. Not to anyone, but Zehira. And it would remain that way, for it was better for the greater good.