The night after the battle with the ogre left the village restless. Smoke still clung to the wooden rafters, the scent of burnt straw and blood hanging heavy in the streets. Zeke Graves sat on the steps of the council hall, revolver resting across his knees, hat tilted low to cover his eyes. Sleep refused to come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flare of his bullets, the stunned faces of the villagers, and the enormous shadow of the ogre as it fled into the forest.
They were watching him now—he could feel it. Behind shuttered windows, between cracked doors, eyes lingered on the stranger in the dust-worn duster. The cowboy with thunder trapped in his hand.
The old wizard, Eldran, had told him one thing before disappearing back into the council chamber: "If you want to go home, cowboy… the Dimensional Key is the only way."
That sentence had burned in Zeke's mind all evening.
He didn't believe in prophecy. Didn't believe in fate, or gods, or magic keys. He believed in bullets, in horses, in grit and iron will. But he had seen his own shot—his clean, perfect round—bend and strike true against a monster no villager's steel could pierce. There was no arguing with that. Something in this place warped the laws of the world.
And if this "Dimensional Key" was his ticket home… then he needed to find it.
---
Morning came raw and gray. Villagers crept back into the square to repair the damage, avoiding Zeke's shadow whenever he passed. Children pointed at him from behind their mothers' skirts, whispering "thunder-fang" or "cursed hand." Zeke ignored them all. He had learned long ago in the frontier: folks feared what they didn't understand.
It wasn't until Eldran returned that anyone dared speak to him. The old man shuffled down the street with his crooked staff, white beard dragging against his patched robes. Despite the limp in his step, his voice carried with the strength of command.
"Cowboy," Eldran called. "Walk with me."
Zeke adjusted his hat and followed.
The wizard led him out of the square, past cottages and a half-collapsed stable, until they reached a ridge overlooking the wide valley. Two suns burned in the sky, one pale and one blood-orange, their heat mingling into a strange shimmering haze across the land. Beyond the wheat fields, jagged mountains cut against the horizon like black teeth.
"There," Eldran said, pointing with his staff. "The Hollow Peaks."
Zeke squinted. "Looks like bad country."
"It is," Eldran replied, almost fondly. "Few who venture there return. It is said the mountains are hollow because the earth itself is gnawed away by things that dwell within. Trolls, wyverns, spirits. And one greater terror still—the Black Dragon."
The name hung between them like smoke.
Zeke exhaled slowly. "And let me guess. This dragon's got somethin' to do with your 'Dimensional Key.'"
Eldran's eyes gleamed. "More than something. According to our oldest texts, the Black Dragon guards the relic in its lair. Some say it is bound by oath. Others say it feeds upon the key's power. But all agree: to find the Dimensional Key, you must face the dragon."
Zeke gave a bitter laugh. "Hell. I traded shootouts with desperados, tracked killers through deserts, fought Comanche raiders at close range. But a dragon?" He looked at the peaks again, their shadow rolling across the land like a curse. "That's a damn tall order."
The wizard only smiled. "And yet you live, when no one else has ever stood against an ogre and survived. Perhaps the key has already chosen its bearer."
Zeke didn't like the way that sounded. Chosen? Destiny? He wasn't a pawn for some magic artifact. He was a man who wanted his home back, his saddle, his world of whiskey and dust and gunpowder.
Still, he asked the one question he couldn't stop himself from asking.
"How far?"
"Three days' ride, if you survive the road," Eldran said.
Zeke thought about his horse, restless in the stables, spooked by this strange land. He thought about the villagers glaring at him like he was cursed. He thought about the long nights under the twin suns, and the way each moment felt like he was drifting further from everything familiar.
"Suppose I believe you," he muttered. "Suppose I go hunt this dragon. Then what? I get your key, I open a door, I ride on home? That simple?"
Eldran chuckled, dry as autumn leaves. "Nothing is simple with dragons."
---
Rumors spread quickly through the village. Wherever Zeke walked, he caught scraps of conversation:
"…the Black Dragon once burned the capital itself…"
"…they say its wings blot out the sky…"
"…its eyes glow red as molten iron…"
"…a hoard of bones, higher than towers…"
Children carved crude dragon shapes into the dirt with sticks. Hunters polished their spears nervously, muttering prayers. The dragon was not just a monster here—it was a myth, a terror that lived in every fireside story.
And Zeke? He was the fool willing to chase it.
Or so they thought.
He kept his expression flat, poker-faced, but every rumor dug deeper into his nerves. A dragon meant fire, wings, teeth the size of swords. His six shots wouldn't mean a damn thing against that. Unless this world's strange magic bent bullets the way it had last night…
He found himself staring at his revolver more often than usual. The steel glinted under the twin suns. It had been his lifeline for years. Now it was something more. A weapon of prophecy, they whispered. A thunder-fang.
He holstered it again with a slow breath. "Don't you start believin' their nonsense too," he muttered to himself.
---
That night, Zeke stayed outside the tavern while the villagers gathered inside. Through the shutters came the low murmur of voices, stories winding together. He listened. He learned.
One drunk swore his grandfather saw the dragon devour a warband in a single breath. Another claimed the dragon's scales were harder than iron, its wings wide enough to cast night across a valley. Eldran's voice eventually joined, calm and steady, reminding them that legends always grow larger than truth—but even he admitted the dragon was no ordinary beast.
Zeke tipped his hat lower, chewing on every word. He hated relying on fairy tales. But when every tale lined up—the eyes, the fire, the hunger—it painted a picture he couldn't ignore.
When the tavern finally emptied, he was left with silence and the cool glow of the smaller sun. He leaned against the post, staring at the mountains again.
And then the silence broke.
A roar tore across the valley like thunder splitting the earth. Windows rattled, horses screamed in their pens. Villagers poured into the street, heads tilted back.
The sky above was no longer empty.
Something vast and black wheeled across the stars, wings unfurling like torn sails. Its body was shadow, but its eyes—its eyes burned red, brighter than forge fire. They locked, for an instant, with Zeke's from across the heavens.
He felt the weight of that gaze crash down on him like an avalanche. His chest seized. His hand drifted to his holster.
The villagers screamed. The children cried. And Zeke whispered through clenched teeth, "Son of a bitch…"
The Black Dragon was real.
The roar faded, but its echo clung to the bones of the valley. Every villager froze in terror, eyes glued to the sky long after the massive shape had vanished behind the mountains. No one dared to speak. No one even breathed too loud, as if the dragon might hear them from leagues away.
Zeke's fingers stayed hooked near his revolver, his jaw tight. He'd stared down killers with Colt .45s pointed between his eyes. He'd faced down coyotes rabid with hunger, gangs of outlaws grinning with malice. But he had never—never—felt the weight of something so vast pressing against his soul. It wasn't just fear of death. It was the kind of fear that said: you are prey, and I am the hunter.
A boy whimpered somewhere in the crowd. His mother pulled him close, shushing him with trembling hands. Eldran raised his staff and spoke in a voice that trembled only slightly.
"Back inside! Bar the doors! The beast only circles to remind us it lives. It will not descend tonight."
The villagers obeyed, rushing into homes and bolting shutters. The square emptied quickly until only Zeke and Eldran remained under the pale starlight.
Zeke spat into the dirt, trying to shake off the dread. "So that's your dragon, huh?"
Eldran nodded grimly. "Now you believe."
"Believe?" Zeke snapped, his voice hard. "I saw it. Felt it. That wasn't belief—that was a damn fact." He shook his head. "And you're sayin' that thing's sittin' on the only way I get back home."
"Yes," Eldran said simply.
For a long moment, Zeke didn't speak. His hand drifted up to the brim of his hat, pressing it lower. He wanted to curse, to draw steel, to ride out into the night and chase the monster down just to spit in its eye. But another part of him—the calculating gunslinger who'd survived dozens of duels—kept quiet. He knew better than to fight on anger.
Finally, he growled, "Then I'll need more than six bullets."
Eldran smiled faintly, as if he had been waiting for that answer. "Then you are beginning to understand."
---
The next morning the village was alive with both fear and gossip. Women traded stories at the wells, men argued in hushed tones near the granaries. Everyone wanted to talk about the dragon, but few dared to say the word out loud. Instead, they spoke of "the shadow," "the curse," "the black wing."
Zeke walked through it all like a ghost, listening. Every whisper, every fragment of rumor added to the picture forming in his mind.
"…they say it sleeps on a mountain of gold…"
"…no, bones, I swear it, my cousin saw them with his own eyes…"
"…its fire can melt stone, not just steel…"
"…only the chosen one can strike it down…"
The last line followed him through the crowd like a shadow. The chosen one. He hated the way it stuck to him. He wasn't chosen by anyone. He'd lived his life by his own choices, no matter the price.
But deep down, he couldn't deny what he had seen. The way his bullet had carved through the ogre when no steel blade could. The way the villagers looked at his revolver as if it were holy. And the way the dragon's eyes had seemed to recognize him.
---
That night, Eldran gathered Zeke in the council chamber. Only a few elders remained, faces lined with fear and age. A single torch lit the table between them, shadows flickering across their features.
Eldran set a map down—rough parchment scrawled with ink and charcoal. "This is the valley," he said, tapping a crooked line of hills. "Here lies the Hollow Peaks. And here…" He circled a jagged mark. "The dragon's lair. The old fortress of Gorrath, swallowed by the mountain centuries ago."
Zeke leaned in, studying the crude map. "Looks like a death trap."
"It is," Eldran said. "But if you want the Dimensional Key, there is no other path."
Zeke rubbed his jaw. "And I'm supposed to walk in there alone?"
The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Eldran finally said, "There are those in the village who would go with you. Warriors, hunters, perhaps even Seraphine."
The name caught Zeke's ear. He remembered the knight-woman from the goblin raid, her blade flashing in the firelight. She had fought with skill, with courage. He could respect that.
"Seraphine, huh?" he muttered. "Might not be the worst company."
Eldran leaned closer, eyes glinting. "But understand this, cowboy. Companions may die. The dragon will not show mercy. If you falter, you may doom them all. The choice is yours."
Zeke sat back, hat shadowing his eyes. He thought of the burly men he'd buried in the frontier, partners shot down in gunfights, bounty hunters torn apart by outlaws. Companions dying wasn't new. But somehow, here, in this strange land with its two suns and endless myths, the thought weighed heavier.
"I'll think on it," he said finally.
---
Days passed, and the village slowly returned to its routine. But Zeke knew the truth: the shadow of the dragon loomed larger than ever. Each sunrise felt like a borrowed gift. Each sunset felt like a warning.
He spent the time training. At dawn, he practiced quickdraws until the air cracked with thunder. At noon, he rode his horse across the fields, forcing it to grow used to the strange land. At night, he cleaned his revolver, every motion precise, ritualistic, grounding him to the only piece of home he had left.
Children gathered to watch, whispering "thunder-fang" whenever he fired. Adults pretended to scowl, but some lingered too, as if trying to draw courage from the sound of his weapon.
One evening, Seraphine herself approached. She watched him reload with a faint smile.
"You practice as if your life depends on it," she said.
"It does," Zeke replied flatly.
She tilted her head. "The dragon frightens you."
He looked at her, eyes cold. "It'd be a damn fool who wasn't frightened."
That made her laugh softly. "Good. Fear is the beginning of wisdom."
Zeke holstered the revolver and stood, meeting her gaze. "And courage is what keeps you movin' anyway."
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Perhaps you are not just a gunslinger. Perhaps you are something more."
Zeke snorted. "Don't start that prophecy talk again."
But her words stuck in his chest longer than he liked.
---
The night before he planned to leave, the dragon returned.
The ground trembled before its roar split the heavens again. Villagers screamed and ran for cover, torches scattering like fireflies. Zeke stood in the square, jaw set, hand on his holster.
The shadow passed overhead, wings blotting out both suns. Its eyes glowed, twin coals burning against the sky. And this time, it flew low enough that the air itself seemed to scorch with its breath.
For an instant, Zeke swore it was looking straight at him.
His mouth went dry. His heart hammered. His trigger finger twitched.
"Not yet," he muttered. "Not yet."
The dragon banked, turned, and soared back toward the mountains. But the message was clear: it knew he was coming.
And it was waiting.
---
The villagers gathered in the council hall that night, every face pale. Eldran's staff thumped against the floor as he addressed them.
"It has begun. The Black Dragon stirs. It knows the prophecy is near."
All eyes turned to Zeke.
He didn't flinch. He didn't look away. He just pulled his hat lower and said in a low, even drawl:
"Then I guess it's time to pay that bastard a visit."
The room fell silent. Fear rippled through them like wind through tall grass. But somewhere in that silence, a flicker of hope stirred.
They had their thunder-fang. They had their cowboy.
And the Black Dragon had just made the mistake of showing itself.
---
Above the Hollow Peaks, the dragon circled once more, its red eyes burning like beacons in the dark. The night trembled with its roar. And in the village below, Zeke Graves strapped his holster tight, whispering to himself:
"Time to hunt a legend."