The sun blazed high in the endless expanse of the desert sky, a golden orb casting long, wavering shadows across the dusty town of Graystone. It was the kind of place where tumbleweeds rolled lazily through the streets, and everyone seemed to carry both a gun and a grudge. But today, the whispers weren’t about a gunfight or a robbery—it was about him.

Ace.

The infamous gunslinger rode into town like a storm on a sunset horizon, his black duster billowing behind him as he dismounted his jet-black horse, embers still glowing faintly on its mane. The townsfolk watched nervously, some from the shadows of the saloon porch, others peeking out from behind dusty curtains. Everyone knew his reputation—a devil with a six-shooter, faster than the wind and twice as dangerous. But what made him truly legendary wasn’t his aim or his charm.

It was the flames.

His revolvers weren’t like anyone else’s in the West. They spat fire, real fire, burning hotter than a furnace and melting through anything they touched. Some said he’d made a deal with the devil; others claimed he was cursed by some old, forgotten spirit of the desert. Ace didn’t much care for the stories. He wasn’t here to entertain folks—he was here to find answers.

He hitched his horse outside the saloon and pushed through the swinging doors, the wood creaking under his touch. The room fell silent as he entered, his spurred boots clicking against the floorboards. His wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his freckled face, but the smirk that tugged at his lips was unmistakable.

“Whiskey,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a warning edge. “And make it quick.”

(Choose your own meeting <3)