Chapter 1: Echoes of Fire and Blood
The air was thick with smoke. It curled and coiled in the cold evening air, filling Sebastian’s lungs with the acrid bite of burning wood and flesh. The sharp metallic scent of blood clung to the ground, mixing with the earthy dampness of trampled leaves. The trees around him loomed like silent specters, their blackened silhouettes barely visible through the haze of destruction.
Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed.
His mother.
Sebastian’s small hands trembled as he pressed himself against the rough bark of a tree, his breath hitching in his throat. The cold bit at his exposed skin, but the fear inside him burned hotter than any winter wind ever could. The flickering glow of fire illuminated the wreckage of his family’s house, the once-sturdy wooden structure now a pile of smoldering ruin.
Boots crunched over broken glass and dirt. Gruff and heartless voice's laughing carried through the night.
“Heh. Poor bastards thought they could outrun us.”
“Should’ve known better than to settle in O’Driscoll territory.”
Sebastian’s fingers dug into the dirt as he watched a tall, broad-shouldered man step forward. The firelight danced across his unshaven face, casting deep shadows under his eyes. He held a revolver loose in his grip, the barrel still smoking. Behind him, two others stood over the bodies of Sebastian’s parents. His father lay motionless, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath his chest. His mother’s lifeless eyes stared at the sky, her face frozen in an expression of terror.
A wave of nausea rolled through Sebastian, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay silent.
“Check the wagon,” the leader ordered. “Take what’s left. Then burn it all.”
Sebastian’s breath hitched. His family’s belongings his mother’s silver locket, his father’s rifle, the small wooden carving of a wolf his father had made for him were all inside. But he didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
A branch snapped behind him.His heart lurched.
Slowly, he turned his head, his pulse pounding so loud in his ears he thought the men would hear it. Through the dim light, he could just make out a figure moving through the trees. Another O’Driscoll? Was he seen?
His stomach clenched in terror.
The figure took another step then stopped. The fire crackled, sending embers spiraling into the night. The men laughed again, their voices fading as they ransacked what was left of his family’s life.
Sebastian held his breath.Then a hand grabbed his wrist.
His body tensed, panic surging through him. He opened his mouth to scream, but before any sound could escape, a low urgent voice whispered in his ear:
“Wake up.”
The world around him shattered. The fire, the trees, the bloodied bodies all of it blurred into darkness. The last thing he heard was the laughter of the man who had taken everything from him.
Sebastian’s eyes shot open, his breath ragged and uneven. His fingers were clenched tight, gripping onto rough fabric Arthur Morgan’s shirt.
“Jesus, kid,” Arthur muttered, his voice low and gruff. His large hand pried Sebastian’s fingers loose from his shirt, his expression unreadable in the dim lantern light. “You tryin’ to choke me in your sleep?”
Sebastian exhaled sharply, realization crashing over him. The dream. The fire. The O’Driscolls. He was still shaking, his skin clammy with sweat despite the cold night air. His throat was dry, but he forced himself to swallow.
Arthur sat back on the edge of his cot, running a hand over his face before giving Sebastian a once-over. “You were thrashin’ somethin’ awful. Damn near woke up half the camp.” His tone wasn’t gentle, but there wasn’t any real bite to it either.
Sebastian forced himself to breathe slower, trying to shake off the lingering horror of the dream. He could still smell the smoke, still hear the laughter—
“Hey.” Arthur’s voice cut through the haze, firm but not unkind. “You with me?”
Sebastian blinked, nodding once. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, but the dream was starting to fade, the sounds of camp settling into his mind instead the crackling of the dying fire, the distant snoring of other gang members, the rustling of trees in the wind.
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Arthur sighed, reaching for his hat and shoving it onto his head. “Ain’t the first time you’ve woken up like this.” He stood, stretching out his back before glancing down at Sebastian again. “C’mon. Get some air. Ain’t no use tryin’ to sleep when your head’s still back in that nightmare.”
Sebastian hesitated but knew better than to argue. He shoved off his blanket, rubbing at his face before following Arthur out of the tent. The cold air hit him instantly, crisp and sharp against his sweat-dampened skin.
Arthur led him toward the dying embers of the campfire, where only a few flickers of orange remained. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached into his satchel, pulled out his flask, and held it out.
Sebastian eyed it, then took it, unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip. The burn of whiskey was sharp, but it grounded him.
Arthur settled onto a nearby log, resting his forearms on his knees. “Ain’t much a man can do about dreams,” he said finally. “They got a way of sneakin’ up on you. Best you can do is face the day and keep movin’.” He glanced over at Sebastian. “That what you’re gonna do?”
Sebastian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. “Always.” His voice was hoarse, but steady.
Arthur grunted in approval. “Good.” He tipped his hat down slightly. “Now sit there ‘til you feel like you ain’t gonna keel over, then get back to bed. Ain’t no use in wearin’ yourself out before mornin’.”
Sebastian exhaled, staring into the embers. The dream still lingered, but it felt a little farther away now, the sharp edges dulled by the present moment. He wasn’t sure if he’d sleep again tonight, but at least, for now, he wasn’t alone.
As time passes the fire's embers die down to cold ash, but Sebastian hadn’t moved. He sat slumped against a log, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted slightly downward. His breath came slow and steady, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to him.
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Morning came quietly, the first hints of sunlight stretching over the hills and filtering through the sparse trees around camp. The sounds of the gang waking up filled the air, horses shifting at their hitching post, pots clanking as Pearson grumbled his way through breakfast preparations, the occasional cough or curse from men shaking off the weight of sleep.
Arthur was one of the first to rise, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping out of his tent. His eyes landed on Sebastian, still curled up by the dead fire.
“Damn fool slept out here all night,” Arthur muttered to himself. He sighed, adjusting his hat before walking over, his boots crunching over frost-dusted grass. He gave the kid a nudge with the toe of his boot. “Rise and shine, Steiner.”
Sebastian stirred, groggy and disoriented. He blinked blearily, his breath clouding in the cold morning air.
Arthur snorted. “You look like hell.”
Sebastian rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up properly. “Feel like it too,” he mumbled, his accent thick from sleep. His voice was rough, edged with exhaustion.
Arthur crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. “You get any real sleep, or you just sit out here freezin’ all night?”
Sebastian exhaled slowly, shifting to sit up straighter. “Little of both.” His limbs were stiff, his fingers still cold from the night air.
Arthur shook his head, standing back up. “Well, get your ass up. Pearson’s probably got somethin’ hot to eat, and you ain’t gonna do much good today if you pass out in the damn dirt.”
Sebastian pushed himself to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his legs. The morning air was biting, sending a fresh chill through his already-cold bones.
Across camp, Dutch stood near the main tent, deep in conversation with Hosea. Javier strummed his guitar by the wagon, while Charles sat by the fire sharpening a knife. It was another day in the Van der Linde gang another day of surviving.
Sebastian rubbed his hands together for warmth, then shot Arthur a tired smirk. “You always wake people up with your boot?”
Arthur shrugged. “Only when they’re dumb enough to fall asleep outside.”
Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh and followed him toward the stew pot, the last remnants of the nightmare fading into the morning light.
The scent of whatever Pearson had thrown into the stew pot drifted through camp, the faint warmth of the fire doing little against the morning chill. Arthur and Sebastian made their way over, boots crunching against frost-kissed dirt.
Pearson stood behind the stew pot, ladle in hand, already in a foul mood. “Well, if it ain’t the walking dead,” he grumbled, eyeing Sebastian. “Kid, you look worse than that venison I had to throw out last week.”
Sebastian stifled a yawn, rubbing his arms for warmth. “Good morning to you too, Pearson.”
Arthur grabbed a tin plate and held it out. “Just dish the damn food, Pearson.”
Pearson scoffed but obliged, slopping a ladleful of stew onto Arthur’s plate before turning to Sebastian. As the younger man reached for his share, Pearson let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell you both now this might be the last proper meal we got for a while.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That right?”
Pearson gestured toward the nearly empty supply crates by his wagon. “We’re runnin’ low on just about everything. Meat, coffee, even bread’s damn near gone. If we don’t get more supplies soon, I’ll be servin’ boiled dirt and wishful thinkin’.”
Sebastian glanced at the meager portions in the pot. He wasn’t exactly picky, but even he could tell Pearson was stretching what little they had. “We out of anything to hunt nearby?”
Pearson grunted. “Plenty of game, sure. But it ain’t just meat we’re low on we need flour, sugar, canned goods, hell, even salt. And unless y’all want to start chewin’ on tree bark, someone’s gonna have to make a supply run soon.”
Arthur sighed, taking a bite of stew before muttering, “Figures.”
Sebastian stirred his portion with his spoon, already thinking. A supply run meant traveling into town, and traveling into town meant dealing with the risks that came with it. The law, rival gangs, bad luck all of it could turn a simple trip into a damn disaster.
Pearson crossed his arms. “Dutch needs to figure it out soon, ‘cause I ain’t about to listen to a camp full of starvin’ outlaws complainin’ at me.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’re real underappreciated, Pearson.”
Pearson grumbled something under his breath before shooing them away. “Just eat before it gets cold. Or worse.”
Sebastian sat down near the fire, eating quietly as the camp stirred to life around him. The stew was thin, barely more than broth with a few scraps of meat and vegetables, but it was warm.
Arthur sat beside him, finishing off his plate quickly before glancing toward Dutch’s tent. “Guess we’ll be hearin’ about a supply run soon.”
Sebastian nodded, already bracing himself for whatever the day would bring.
As Sebastian scraped the last of his stew from the tin plate, Dutch’s familiar voice rang out from near his tent. “Arthur! Charles! Sebastian!”
Arthur sighed, setting his plate aside. “Here we go.”
Sebastian stood, stretching out the stiffness from his cold night by the fire, and followed Arthur toward Dutch. Charles was already there, arms crossed, listening intently.
Dutch glanced at each of them before speaking. “Pearson tells me we’re runnin’ low on food. That ain’t acceptable. A hungry gang is a weak gang, and we are not weak.” He turned to Sebastian. “Think you can track us down some game?”
Sebastian nodded without hesitation. “Ja, I can.”
Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. “That’s what I like to hear. Take Charles with you he’s got a good eye. Arthur, you head into town, see what else we can get our hands on.”
Arthur grunted. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see what’s what.”
Dutch nodded in approval before turning away, already focused on the next task at hand.
Sebastian looked over at Charles, who gave him a small nod. “We should head out soon,” Charles said. “Tracks will be easier to follow before the sun gets too high.”
Sebastian adjusted his satchel and checked his rifle. “Ja, let’s go.”
As the two men saddled their horses, Sebastian felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a casual hunt this was feeding the people who had become his family. And he wasn’t about to let them go hungry.
[Let me know what you guy's think any good or does it need some improvements been busy the last five years with my previous one chapter being hiatus, trying to improve my writing don't forget to click fav and leave a review always enjoy feedback]
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