Flynn studied Jed closely through the flickerin’ firelight, his gut tightenin’ with an uneasy mixture of suspicion and hope. The old rancher’s face had settled into somethin’ calm, distant even, as if someone else were lookin’ out from behind those weary eyes. The night seemed to lean in closer, crickets quietin’ down, as though listenin’ in on a conversation never meant for ordinary ears.

  Flynn cleared his throat, choosein' his words with care. "All right, suppose we start simple. That voice I been hearin’, it mentioned somethin’ called 'allocatin’ stats.' Mind explainin’ that to me in plain talk?"

  Jed nodded slightly, blue eyes glintin’ like cold steel for an instant. "It’s simple enough, Flynn. Think clear and firm-like, ‘Show Stats.’ Just picture it strong in your head."

  Flynn furrowed his brow, mutterin’ softly under his breath, "Show stats."

  Instantly, floatin' gently in front of him like smoke risin’ off a campfire, appeared a ghostly image. Numbers, words, strange symbols lined up neat-like on some invisible paper.

  Flynn stared in amazement, tryin’ to make sense of it. "What in tarnation...?" As he lost focus and they disappeared.

  Flynn concentrated again, a stream of smoky, ghostly words floated gently across his vision, clear as tracks in fresh snow but strangely comforting. They hovered before him, shimmerin' slightly, each detail felt more than read:

  Flynn – Level 2, Novice Gunslinger.

  You walk the path of the Light, guided by the D?o of the Gun.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  Jed raised a calm hand. "Easy now. Just focus your eyes on any word or number you don't rightly understand, and it'll give you an explanation—like a help file."

  Flynn shook his head slightly. "A help file?"

  Jed smiled faintly. "Imagine a book, son. Only this book answers whatever question you ask. You think about a stat, say 'Quickness,' or ‘Grit,’ and the help file explains it right there for you. Then you can decide where you want to place the points you've earned. Makes you stronger, quicker, steadier with your guns, however you choose."

  Flynn squinted thoughtfully, testin' it by focusin' briefly on ‘Quickness.’ Sure enough, information floated up, clear and plain. He blinked in mild amazement, but pushed the thought aside to tackle deeper questions.

  "This 'D?o system' you keep talkin’ about—what exactly is it? Some kind of philosophy?"

  Jed tilted his head slightly. "More than a philosophy. It’s the Way—a path meant to test, grow, and strengthen a man. Every choice you make, every struggle you overcome, earns you notches. Those notches measure your growth. Your power. Followin’ the D?o is how you progress, how you learn who you truly are."

  Flynn rubbed a hand along his jaw, his mind churnin' with bigger questions. "You talk like this place is some kinda…game. So answer me plain—what exactly is real here? Me? This world? The folks I met?"

  Jed met his gaze steady-like. "You, Flynn, are real. You were chosen, plucked outta your own world—a world that ain’t this one, but is just as real. Every person you see here, every life you encounter, they're real too. Just regular folks livin' their lives. But the difference is, they ain’t on the D?o path. They’re simply part of a world that's dyin'."

  Flynn frowned deep, eyes darkenin’. "Dyin’? What do you mean?"

  "This world's energy is fadin', Flynn. Maybe a hundred years left, if that. After that, it all dies. The land, the people, everything."

  Flynn leaned forward, voice hardenin’. "That don't sound right nor fair."

  Jed nodded slowly. "Maybe it ain't fair, but that's the truth of it. An' that's exactly why you're here. You've been chosen to compete in a grand race, Flynn. If you win, you'll gain back some of your memories—know who you really are, where you come from. But there's more."

  Flynn watched him carefully. "More?"

  Jed's voice was firm, yet gentle. "The winners get granted two boons from the Creators themselves—one boon for you, personal-like, and one you can bestow on another. You could choose to restore this world's energy, savin' countless lives and lettin' the land thrive again."

  Flynn stared at the fire for a long, thoughtful moment. "But I don't have to do that."

  Jed shook his head slightly. "Nope. It's entirely up to you. You're free to choose however you see fit."

  Flynn pondered this, then glanced up sharply. "And why was I chosen for this? Why me?"

  Jed’s eyes softened briefly. "You were chosen because of who you are—your instincts, your grit, your sense of right and wrong. They needed a man who could walk this path, make hard choices. You got what it takes. Simple as that."

  Flynn rubbed his chin slowly, lettin' it all sink in. "And if I don't win?"

  "Then," Jed said calmly, "you won't get those memories back, and you won't receive any boons. This world will keep driftin’ toward its end, and you'll go back to your own place none the wiser. But right now, you got a chance—a chance to help yourself, and maybe help these folks too."

  Flynn glanced up at the stars glitterin' coldly above, then back at Jed, eyes steady with resolve. "Guess I'd better make sure I win, then."

  Jed nodded, smilin' faintly. "Reckon you better, son. Reckon you better."

  Flynn sat quiet-like by the fire, watchin’ as Jed slowly got to his feet, movin’ stiff and weary, lookin' as if the whole conversation had taken a toll on him. The old rancher nodded softly in Flynn’s direction, eyes kind but tired.

  "Reckon I’ve given you plenty to chew on, son," Jed said, his voice back to its familiar rough drawl. "Best you mull it over careful-like. Good night to you."

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Flynn nodded, respectin' the man's need for rest. "Good night, Jed. Sleep easy."

  Jed moved off slow toward the small tent he and his daughter shared, duckin’ under the flap and disappearin' inside.

  Flynn sat alone beneath the stars, the desert quiet around him save for the occasional chirp of a cricket and the cracklin’ of the fire. He stared deep into the embers, lost in thought, when soft footsteps whispered behind him.

  He glanced up to see Luanne, her auburn hair catchin' gentle moonlight, a soft smile playin' on her lips. She settled near him, smoothin’ her skirts gracefully.

  "You and Pa have a nice talk?" she asked gently, eyes bright and curious.

  Flynn gave a faint smile, polite but guarded. "We did at that. Your pa’s an interestin’ man. Gave me plenty to think about."

  She tilted her head, smilin' softly, green eyes flickerin’ with quiet amusement. "Pa can be mysterious when he wants to. Reckon you're a mystery yourself, Mr. Flynn."

  Flynn chuckled, shiftin’ a bit uneasily. "Reckon I ain't much good at mysteries, miss. Still tryin’ to sort mine out."

  Luanne leaned in closer, voice soft and inviting, her eyes holdin’ a gentle warmth. "Maybe I can help you figure some things out, mister. If you're willin’."

  Flynn felt his cheeks warm slightly, his heart givin’ a quick thud. He was drawn to her sure enough, but his mind was too tangled up with the questions Jed had laid at his feet. He gave her an easy smile, careful not to lead her on. "That's mighty kind of you, miss. But truth is, I gotta untangle this particular knot myself. Leastways, for now."

  She studied him quietly a moment, then gave a playful sigh, seein’ his mind was set. She stood graceful-like, brushin' gently at her skirt. "Well, I suppose I’d best head to bed, then," she said softly, her voice trailin’ with a hint of mischief.

  Flynn rose polite-like to his feet, tippin’ his hat slightly. "Sleep well, Luanne."

  She hesitated a moment, smilin’ slyly. "Oh—I almost forgot your reward. For savin’ my pa and all." Without waitin’ for him to answer, she leaned in quick, pressin' her warm lips softly against his cheek, lingerin’ just a breath longer than necessary.

  Flynn felt heat rise quick and hot in his face, embarrassment minglin’ with confusion. He cleared his throat, uncertain how to respond. "Much obliged," he finally managed, voice thick.

  She stepped back slow-like, givin’ him a wink and a gentle laugh, clearly enjoyin' his discomfort. "Good night, Flynn," she said quietly, turnin' slow and deliberate-like, walkin’ back toward the tent with a sway to her step that drew his eyes despite himself.

  Flynn sat back down slowly, shakin’ his head slightly, eyes starin' back into the fire as he rubbed absently at his cheek. "Flynn," he muttered to himself softly, half amused, half puzzled. "You got enough trouble as it is, son. Reckon a woman’s smile might just be more trouble’n you’re ready for."

  He leaned back, pullin’ his hat low over his eyes, the night quiet again except for the cracklin’ fire and his tangled thoughts.

  Flynn sat quiet by the fire, listening carefully to the whisper of the breeze rustlin' the cottonwoods, waitin' until the steady breathin’ comin’ from the Westons’ tent told him both Jed and Luanne had drifted off. Not that he reckoned she'd try ambushin' him—but a wise man stayed cautious, especially when a pretty woman was involved. He smiled faintly at the thought, then quickly shook himself free of it.

  He leaned back comfortably, starin’ into the dying embers, then closed his eyes briefly and willed the strange floatin’ words into bein’. Just as Jed had explained, the smoky, ghost-like letters drifted across his vision clear and bright in the darkness:

  Flynn – Level 2, Novice Gunslinger

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  Flynn exhaled softly, rubbin’ at his chin thoughtfully as he eyed the floatin’ numbers. Jed’s words came back to him, about focusin’ his mind on the words to gain clarity. He tried it first on Aim, the word shimmerin’ bright when he gave it attention, the voice whisperin’ gentle-like in his ear:

  

  Flynn nodded quietly, reckonin’ accuracy might make all the difference when trouble came callin’. He considered Quickness, lettin’ his gaze linger there, and again that gentle whisper came, smooth and informative:

  

  He tested Grit, the word glowin' steady as a coal:

  

  He moved to Instinct, an old favorite, and the voice spoke soft-like in his ear again:

  

  Last was Presence, and the voice murmured gentle-like:

  

  Flynn sat back, contemplatin' the choice ahead. Three points to spend and not enough to cover every angle. He knew right away that Aim deserved a point. After all, these pistols seemed to be his main companions, and in the end, accuracy meant survivin’. And Grit felt right too—a man who could outlast his enemies could survive long enough to learn the truth. So he placed one point into Aim, and another into Grit, noddin’ as the numbers adjusted before his eyes.

  That left him with a tough choice: Quickness or Instinct. Bein’ quicker on the draw had already saved his hide once, but somethin’ deeper within him whispered that raw speed alone wouldn’t always win the day. Instinct—that gut feelin’ warnin’ him of trouble before it hit—was somethin’ that spoke to him on a more fundamental level. Quickness might win a gunfight, but Instinct would keep him outta one altogether.

  He mulled it over careful-like, eyes narrowing as he remembered those glowin’-eyed coyotes, the gambler with friends waitin’ to ambush him. Speed mattered, sure enough—but instinct kept a man breathin’ before he even drew iron. With that thought firmly settled, Flynn gave his final nod toward Instinct, watchin’ satisfied-like as the stat rose, lockin’ in his choice.

  The voice murmured quietly one last time, almost approvin’:

  Flynn opened his eyes fully, the floatin’ numbers driftin’ away like prairie smoke on the night breeze. He felt a quiet confidence, a sense of somethin' shiftin' subtly within.

  Flynn eased himself back against his saddle, stretchin’ weary muscles and feelin’ the comfortable ache of a long day seep into his bones. He'd just about figured on closin’ his eyes when that voice spoke again in his ear—though now, he noticed, it carried a softer, gentler twang, matchin’ his own manner of speakin’ near perfect, still feminine but warmer, more natural-like. Strange thing, but he supposed it made sense, like the voice was learnin’ him the way he was learnin’ the D?o.

  A question drifted idle-like through his tired mind: Wonder what I oughta be doin’ next?

  Quick as thought, words floated into view before him, gentle as a whisper of smoke risin’ from the dyin’ embers:

  

  Flynn blinked slowly, lettin’ the words fade gently from his sight, his mind churnin' quiet-like over the implications. Not havin’ the choice to refuse sat uneasy with him, rubbed against somethin' deep and stubborn inside. A man liked to make his own choices, to choose his own trails—bein’ boxed into somethin’ grated on his pride.

  Yet, beneath all that unease, somethin' else stirred strong within him, fierce and resolute. Those boons the old man had spoken of—healin’ this weary, dyin’ land, or findin’ his own lost memories—they were mighty temptin’. Answers, truths, maybe some clue to who he really was and how he'd landed in this strange, harsh place… these things called to him louder than his caution.

  Flynn sighed quietly into the night, tippin’ his worn hat low over tired eyes. He reckoned that, choice or not, his path was set before him clear enough. Like it or not, there was no turnin' back—no other way out he could see but forward.

  "Well," he murmured softly, more to himself than to any listener, "I guess I better get some shuteye. Reckon tomorrow’s trail ain't gettin’ any shorter." Satisfied, he leaned back against his saddle again, tipped his hat down a mite, and murmured softly into the quiet night: "Reckon that'll do."