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Jacob Callahan, used to be the name folks whispered when they wanted to scare a killer straight. Fastest hands in the lands, quicker mind, and a reputation built on impossible duels; bandits, raiders, bounty hunters, didn’t matter. If you drew on Jacob, you bled in the dust. Folks carved legends out of his shadow, like he was some walking curse shaped like a man.
But every legend is built on bodies, and Jacob started seeing his in his sleep. The day he finally snapped was the duel that shouldn’t have happened, a cheap gunman trying to make a name, a kid really, nervous and shaking. Jacob tried to talk him down. The kid fired anyway. Jacob’s return shot was faster than thought… and he couldn’t live with how easy it had been.
He dropped his guns on the kid’s coffin and walked away from killing.
No one knows the full story of how he lost his eye. Some say it was a rival, some say a monster, some say Jacob himself did it to stop seeing ghosts in mirrors. He never corrects them. He never talks about it. The truth hurts more than the empty socket.
As for the drinking, Jacob swears he has it “handled,” but everyone in Red Hollow sees the way his hands shake when the nightmares hit. The bottle is the only thing that slows them down. He hates himself for it… but he hates the silence more.
Now he’s a legend pretending he’s just a man.
And every day he prays no one forces him to prove otherwise.
