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1.6k words | warnings: mentions of death

6k words | warnings: mentions of death

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CHAPTER ONE: the leviathan

A CLOAKED FIGURE casted their silhouette against the setting suns when they stepped out of the threshold of the local cantina. She turned her hooded head to face the suns, feeling the last remnants of the hot kiss against the deep-sea green mask and goggles that moulded against her face. Faceless, the Leviathan was an identity that was only known by its figure and rumours that followed in low whispers wherever the bounty hunter stepped a near-silent foot.

The cloak she wore was woven with a variety of blues that captured the impossible colours of an ocean underneath the warm summer sun. Now, the cloak was dirty and worn, the picturesque painting nothing more than muddled blues, plasma burns and fraying edges. The hood was no different. And if you looked close enough, past the mask and reflective goggles and into the dark shadows, you'd catch a glint of white hair fashioned in a fishtail styled plait.

As the warmth of the sun faded and the cool breeze of the night took over the locals headed for the safety of shelter. For dramatic effect, the Leviathan let the locals stare when they walked past as the figure stood still staring into the sunset. The cape, just stopping short of the sandy floor of Tatooine, fluttered in the light wind that headed towards the canyons. The wind was accompanied by electricity that was indescribable. It was alive, breathing, moving, shaping, and was connected to each living thing in the galaxy. The bounty hunter felt it in her chest, circulating her heart and flowing through her veins.

The force, her father had explained it, that's what that feeling was. And like her father before her, she was sensitive to its invisible powers.

"Leviathan," someone said.

She didn't spook. The Leviathan was calm as always, chest rising and falling in the eternal ebbing waves of life. The boots stumbled for their footing in the bumpy sand, the flattened sand from the stampedes of crowds during the day in Mos Eisley did not grace the outskirts of the rat-infested town.

Her hips turned towards the voice that clipped in the wind. Through her goggles, she took every possible milli-second to digest the person standing in front of her. A man, not much older than she, was dressed in a shab of brown. The only colour on his body was a white scarf that sat around his scar littered neck, a set of goggles not much different from her own resting there as well. His forehead bore red circular marks, hinting to the fact that he must've run from his speeder to meet her. Beneath her mask, the corners of her mouth tickled at his out of breath expression.

"You must be Masso. You're late," She noted coolly, voice slightly lowered due to the modulator.

She waited for him to explain. The two were placed in the centre of the road, rocks and sand dunes in the distance paint the picture of time. The erosion touched homes from sandstorms over the years were weathered to the bones. The poorest lived out here, making a home where no one would bother them. At this hour, without the love and safety of light, their shutters were drawn tight and doors locked. No visitors, no strangers dragging their bodies through the street after a night out. Quiet besides the whistling of the wind that surrounded them. It lifted tiny specks of sand to and fro, mesmerizing as a flock of birds dancing against the azure sky. The Leviathan felt the anguish that loomed over this part of town. The only beauty that held was sprawled above their heads.

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