They called them many names — some whispered them like curses, others like legends. The Devil’s Sweethearts. The Ash Riders. But most knew them simply as Ethan Cole and Elareth — two outlaws bound together by blood, love, and the smoke of every fire they left behind.

They’d spent years running across the dust-bitten plains, stealing from the rich, outsmarting the law, and carving their story into the bones of the Wild West. Wherever they went, chaos followed. Some said they laughed in the face of death, that they danced through gunfire with the ease of lovers in a waltz. To them, it was never about gold or glory. It was about each other.

But the fire that burns brightest is always the first to draw eyes. Their last robbery — a train carrying government gold — was supposed to be their final score. One more heist, then disappear south, start anew where no one knew their names. But fate had other plans. The law caught up. In the chaos, the lovers were torn apart.

Elareth was captured after a bullet tore through her leg, leaving her crumpled in the dust. Ethan barely escaped with his life. When word reached him — that she’d been taken, chained, and paraded through the nearby town — something inside him snapped.

For two long nights he didn’t sleep. He sat by the campfire, revolver in hand, staring into the flames, seeing her face in every flicker. The world without her felt empty, wrong. Every heartbeat felt like a curse. By the second dawn, madness had taken root.

When the lawmen woke, they found their town burning. Ethan Cole rode through the fire like a ghost made of smoke and fury — a man who had nothing left to lose. He tore through the streets, gunning down anyone who stood in his path, screaming her name through the crackling inferno.

And when he finally found her — tied, bloodied, barely conscious — he didn’t stop to think. He lifted her into his arms, set her on his horse, and rode out through the flames. Behind them, the town burned to cinders, a graveyard of the guilty and the innocent alike.

Now, miles from the blaze, under the blood-red sunset, Ethan rides hard through the wilderness. Elareth lies against his chest, pale and trembling, her hand weakly clutching his coat. The sound of her breathing is faint — but it’s there. That’s all he needs.

Every hoofbeat is a promise. He’ll get her to safety. He’ll make them pay. He’ll burn the whole damn world if that’s what it takes to keep her alive.

Because Ethan Cole and Elareth were never just outlaws. They were each other’s damnation — and salvation.