Billy sat on the wooden balcony of his hidden home, the city lights of Phoenix sprawling out beneath him like a sea of fireflies in the warm desert night. The faint hum of the city murmured in the background, softened by the gentle rustling of the breeze through the sparse potted plants Emma had insisted on adding to the space. He took a slow sip of bourbon, savoring the smoky burn as it slid down his throat. Beside him, Emma leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. Inside, their twin daughters slept soundly, their giggles and boundless energy temporarily stilled by the blanket of night.

This house, kept secret even from his closest allies, had become a sanctuary. It was his fortress, the one place he knew his family would be safe, and in light of everything that had happened, he was unbelievably glad he’d kept it that way. It had been weeks since he’d come rushing back to the city in a panic, but even longer since he’d truly been home. His work for the Hog had kept him away, an endless grind that pulled him further from his family with every passing month. Now, sitting in the quiet warmth of the evening, he had a taste of freedom and he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers again.

The memories of Blackwater gnawed at him. The chaos, the betrayal, the blood. He knew it wasn’t over. He knew that if Eugene “The Hog” Porter wanted him dead then he wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead. Billy set his jaw. If it came down to that, he would make sure he was the one left standing.

Since returning, Billy had spent his days venturing into the countryside to hunt magic beasts. Ostensibly, he sold the parts on the lucrative black market, where bones or pelts from magic beasts could fetch a small fortune. Unofficially, it was training. He was getting stronger, leveling up, sharpening his skills. Between the trials of his desert journey and the relentless hunts, he’d managed to climb to level 23. The numbers and abilities swirled into view as he summoned his status screen with a thought:

“Billy Ferguson Level: 23 Class: Gunslinger

Attributes:

Strength: 9

Speed: 9

Intelligence: 9

Endurance: 8

Charisma: 7

Spells:

[Regeneration] (Passive)

[Lightning Shot IV]

[Fire Shot III]

[Ice Shot IV]

[Force Shot IV]

[Thunder Shot III]

[Metal Shot III]

Skills:

[Finger Guns III]: Combine spells into a single attack.

[Guns Akimbo II]: Each hand draws from separate magic pools, preventing depletion sickness as long as one pool has power. Total magic pool increased by 1.5x.

[Target Genius II]: Sense and visually mark enemies, even behind cover.

[Power Shot]: Fire a single shot at double power with no increased magic cost. (1-hour cooldown.)

[Flash Step]: Instantly move up to n feet (where n = current speed stat). Cannot pass through solid objects. (10-minute cooldown.)

Traits:

[Thick Skinned IV]: +25% resistance to piercing, fire, and blunt damage.

[Soft Foot III]: Noise from walking or running reduced by 20%.

[Night Sight]: Vision at night improved by 5%.”

Billy studied the glowing words for a moment before his gaze drifted past the floating text to Emma, who was watching him with a soft, knowing expression. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in gentle waves, the warm light from the house casting golden hues against her tanned skin. Her blue eyes, startlingly bright against her sun-kissed complexion, held his own with quiet intensity.

“You’re with me again, mi amor?” she asked, her voice a soothing melody in the night. “You were staring into nothing again.”

Billy let the corner of his mouth twitch into a small smile. He admired her calmness, her patience. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Sorry about that.”

Emma’s lips curved into a gentle smile that reached her eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

He hesitated, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “You never asked me what happened in Blackwater,” he said after a long pause.

Emma tilted her head, her gaze steady. “I knew you’d tell me when you were ready. If you rush the people you trust, they can’t tell you how to help.”

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Billy chuckled softly. “You’re a damn good woman.”

“I know,” she replied with a playful smile.

Billy exhaled slowly, staring down at his drink. The memories of Blackwater churned in his mind, tangled and raw. “Well,” he began, his voice measured, “as I’m sure you guessed, the whole thing in Blackwater turned into a downright goat rodeo.”

Emma raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, letting him continue.

“The Hog sent me and a couple of other fellas into the canyon to mine some crystal. Nothing too unusual about that. Had a few close calls with the beasties, but we managed to find what we were looking for.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Then a shifty little rat-faced bastard called Oscar shot me in the back. Through and through. Reckoned The Hog told him to take care of me.”

Emma gasped “Wha—what? How? But that doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any new scars. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but how is that possible? How are you alive?”

Billy shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I don’t rightly know. I don’t think I actually died. But I damn close and I did pass out. When I woke up...” He swallowed, the memory vivid and sharp. “A damn ogre was trying to eat me.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “An ogre?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah. Big, ugly bastard. I think... I think somehow I got its healing ability. That’s what saved me.”

Emma stared at him, her mind clearly racing. “Its... healing ability? Billy, this is a lot to wrap my head around… are you saying you heal like an ogre now?” Emma’s voice held a mix of disbelief and wonder, her eyes searching for some sense of clarity.

“Well... yes. Now don’t panic with what I’m about to do. It’s going to seem crazy, but I promise it’s not. Do you trust me?” Billy asked, his gaze steady, almost pleading.

“Always,” Emma replied without hesitation, holding his gaze with the unwavering confidence that had carried them through so much already.

In one fluid motion, Billy drew his bowie knife from his belt. The blade gleamed in the soft moonlight as he pressed it against his forearm and dragged it through the skin. The cut was deep enough to make any sane person call for stitches, blood welling instantly and trickling down his arm. Emma gasped, instinctively reaching to tear a strip from her skirt to staunch the bleeding.

Billy held up a calming hand. “Just watch,” he said softly, his tone steady but firm.

Emma hesitated, her hands trembling as she stared at the gash. Before her eyes, the impossible began to happen. The ragged edges of the wound shimmered faintly, then began knitting themselves back together. The blood flow stopped as if on command, the torn skin sealing itself until no trace of the injury remained. Only the drying blood on his arm stood as proof that the cut had ever existed.

Emma’s mouth hung open as she reached out, running her fingers over the newly healed skin. It was smooth and warm, as though nothing had ever cut it. She looked up at Billy, her eyes wide with amazement. “This is... incredible,” she whispered.

Billy gave her a small, lopsided smile. “That’s not even the half of it,” he said. Standing up, he turned and pointed his hand skyward with his index and middle finger extended. A moment later, a [fire shot] erupted from his fingers, streaking into the heavens. After a few seconds, it exploded into a massive fireball, casting a brief, brilliant light over the desert landscape before the night swallowed it again.

Emma stared up at the dissipating fireball, her face illuminated by the glow of its memory. “What... was that?” she asked, her voice almost lost in the stillness of the night.

“I picked up a few more magic tricks than just healing,” Billy explained, lowering his hand and returning to his seat. “Again, I don’t understand all of this, but I think I must’ve absorbed some kind of magic system from that ogre. It’s like... a book that only I can see. It lists all my spells, my traits, everything. When I’m staring off into space like I was earlier, that’s what I’m looking at.”

Emma shook her head slightly, as though trying to dispel the surreal feeling creeping over her. “In all my years, Billy, I’ve never heard anything like this.”

“I get that. But you know me, Em. My imagination has all the spark of a wet matchstick. I ain’t making this up.”

“You underestimate yourself, mi amor,” Emma replied with a soft smile. “And I’m not doubting you, how could I, after that?” She gestured to the sky where the fireball had been moments ago. Her smile faded slightly as she added, “I just don’t know what to make of it all.”

She was silent for a few moments, her brow furrowed in thought. Then her expression shifted to one of concern. “Was it safe for you to do that? Won’t people get suspicious?”

“Maybe,” Billy admitted, shrugging. “But even if someone saw it, they’d never jump to the conclusion that I shoot fireballs from my fingers. And, well... you know me. I can’t pass up a chance to try and impress you.”

Emma’s smile returned, warmer and deeper this time. She moved closer, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Well, consider me impressed,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.

The next morning, Emma woke to find Billy’s side of the bed empty. Wrapping herself in a soft dressing gown, she stepped onto the balcony, her bare feet padding silently across the wooden floor. Billy stood at the railing, silhouetted against the dawn. His posture was tense, his jaw tight as he stared at a distant plume of black smoke rising past the horizon. The fiery determination in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“You have to go again, don’t you?” Emma asked quietly, slipping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her cheek against his back.

Billy turned to face her, his expression softening as he pressed his forehead to hers. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. But I think I might have caused that”

Emma pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said firmly. “I married a hero. I can’t be upset when you do heroic things.”

Billy’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’m no more a hero than a cactus is a shade tree. The tin stars in the army certainly didn’t think so.”

Emma chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You can’t say that when you’re about to ride off and do something heroic. And since when has the army been right about anything? Do I need to remind you that you saved an entire town practically by yourself?”

A broader smile broke through Billy’s serious demeanor. “I got no business with a woman as fine as you.”

“Yes, you do,” Emma replied, her voice tender. She reached up and kissed him gently before adding, “Can you stay long enough for breakfast with the girls?”

Billy nodded. “I can do that.”

A couple of hours later, Billy stood by his saddled horse. His daughters clung to him tightly, their small arms wrapped around his neck as he knelt to their level. “I love you both so much,” he murmured, kissing each of their foreheads before gently handing them off to Emma.

Emma stepped closer, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You come back to me, ya hear? Hero or not, you come back to me.”

Billy reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly, leaning in for one last kiss. Then, with a final glance at his family, he swung into the saddle and turned his horse south and rode back toward Blackwater.