Chapter One: The Man by the River
The midday sun beat down on the Buriganga River, turning the muddy water into a sheet of blinding silver. The air was thick with heat and dust, shimmering like a mirage.
A man sat alone on the riverbank, his fishing rod resting lazily in his hand. His clothes were simple—worn shirt, old boots—but there was nothing ordinary about him. He sat like a coiled spring, muscles tense beneath calm skin, his sharp eyes locked on the rippling water.
He was carved from silence. Watchful. Still. Dangerous.
They called him Leviathan.
Nobody knew where he came from. No friends. No past. Just a shadow that sometimes showed up when things got ugly.
And today, things were about to.
A sudden shout shattered the quiet.
"Stop, kid! You can't run forever!"
A boy—skinny, out of breath, maybe fifteen—burst from the alley near the river, stumbling toward the water. Fear blazed in his eyes.
Behind him, three men chased him down. Bigger. Older. Mean.
They caught him fast. One tackled him. Another yanked him up by the shirt.
"Think you're clever, huh?" one of them growled, slapping the boy hard. "Thought you could run?"
Their leader stepped forward. Tall. Calm. Gold tooth flashing in the sun.
"Why'd you run, boy?" he asked.
The boy—Jolil—shivered but said nothing.
Down by the water, Leviathan's rod bent. Something tugged at the line.
He smiled faintly. "Finally."
He started reeling in the fish.
One of the gangsters turned, annoyed. "Hey! You deaf, old man? We're busy here!"
Leviathan didn't even glance at them. "Then go be busy somewhere else. I'm fishing."
The thug let go of Jolil and stormed over, knife drawn.
"You've got a smart mouth. Maybe I cut it off."
Leviathan let out a long breath and gently set down the rod.
"I don't want trouble."
The man lunged.
Leviathan moved faster than thought. He caught the man's wrist mid-swing and twisted. The bone cracked. The knife dropped. A single punch followed—brutal, direct—knocking the gangster out cold.
The other two froze.
Jolil stared, wide-eyed.
"What... what was that?" he whispered.
Leviathan's voice was quiet, deadly calm. "A lesson."
The second thug charged. Wild punch. Sloppy.
Leviathan ducked, grabbed the man's arm, and flipped him onto the dirt. The man didn't get up.
The last one hesitated. Then rage took over. He rushed forward, screaming.
Leviathan was already there.
Three punches. One kick.
Done.
The gangster dropped like a sack of bricks.
Jolil stood frozen. "You... you're amazing!"
Leviathan picked up his rod again, checking the line.
"The fish is still on."
Jolil stared at the bodies. "Who are you?"
Leviathan didn't answer.
Jolil lowered his voice. "My name's Jolil. Thank you... for saving me."
Leviathan finally nodded. "Come on," he said, walking toward the riverbank. "Let's cook."
And just like that, the man faded back into silence, as if nothing had happened.
But Jolil knew better.
Nothing was the same anymore.
Let me know when you're ready for Chapter Two.