Chapter 1

  The first thing Walter Everwood noticed was the wind.

  It wasn’t warm, like the one that used to drift through the kitchen window on Sunday mornings, carrying the scent of rosemary and old wood. This wind was sharp, thin, and unfamiliar—like the cold fingers of a world that didn’t know his name.

  He opened his eyes to a sky too blue to be real.

  Cobblestone stretched out beneath him, uneven and cracked. The buildings were strange—stone mixed with timber, roofs slanted high against a sky that felt too close. He could hear faint voices in the distance, laughter, the clatter of hooves—but none of it felt like it was meant for him.

  A soft ding sounded in his ear, and a translucent window appeared in the air before him.

  ?

  Class Assigned: MERCHANT (PRESTIGE VARIANT)

  You cannot invest in Combat Stats.

  You grow through Fame, Reputation, and Wealth.

  Starting Bonus:

  – 1x Silver Coin

  – 1x Empty Ledger (Bound)

  – Skill: Appraise (Basic)

  – Trait: Unshakable Dignity

  Welcome, Walter Everwood. May your name be known.

  ?

  He stared at the floating words for a long time, eyes dull.

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared.

  Finally, he blinked, slow and deliberate.

  “…Is this one of those video games?” he muttered.

  The words drifted out of his mouth like a leaf on still water. He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.

  He glanced around, but the glowing screen just hovered there, stubborn and unreadable in its intention. No wires. No projector. Just floating light like something out of a cartoon.

  He squinted. “Hologram?” He leaned closer. “No, no… too clean. No shimmer. And there’s no buzzing.”

  Then came the memory—laughter, digital music, the faint sound of explosions from across the street. The neighbor’s grandkids. Always yelling about levels, quests, and “getting good.” Whatever that meant.

  They used to call him “Old Man Everwood.” Said he was “cracked at gardening,” which he assumed was a compliment.

  He rubbed his temples. “So this is it, then. They put me in a bloody video game.”

  He stood up—slowly, knees clicking—and winced at the effort. Whatever kind of “game” this was, his body didn’t seem interested in pretending it was young again. His back ached, his hands were stiff, and his left shoulder still popped when he reached too far.

  “Not much of a power fantasy, is it?” he grumbled.

  The window vanished with a soft chime, like it was done with him. He didn’t miss it.

  He looked down and patted himself over. Plain brown coat, a bit dusty. Scuffed leather shoes. His old wristwatch was gone, but in its place was a thin leather strap with a single polished stone in the center. He tapped it. Nothing happened.

  He sighed.

  Then, automatically, his hand drifted to his inner coat pocket. And there it was.

  A coin. Heavy. Silver. Real.

  Then the book. Bound in dark leather, untouched, unmarked save for a single name embossed in gold on the inside cover.

  Walter Everwood. Proprietor.

  He stared at it. A slow, sinking feeling pressed down on his chest.

  He knew that handwriting.

  Not his own.

  It was hers.

  He closed the book. Slowly. Carefully. As though it might break.

  For a long time, he just stood there in the middle of the square, surrounded by the whisper of wind and stone and voices that weren’t calling his name. And he hated how still everything was. It reminded him of that day—of quiet beeping, white sheets, and a monitor that stopped.

  The Incident, he called it now. As if pretending it was some kind of event, some manageable disaster, made it easier to swallow. Like it had happened to someone else. Like it hadn’t hollowed him out.

  He clenched his jaw.

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  “I asked for peace,” he whispered. “A little corner of the world. Just a quiet life. A shop. That’s all.”

  No one answered. Only the wind.

  Quest Available: “Claim Your Place”

  Objective: Establish a Market Presence

  Reward: 10 Fame, Access to Town Market Board

  He flinched as the screen returned, hovering politely at eye level. The same color. The same fake cheer.

  A quest, was it? Just like those boys used to shout about when they ran across his lawn yelling something about XP and loot drops.

  “Well,” he muttered, “I never figured I’d end up in one of their bloody cartoons. But if I have to be here…”

  He paused.

  Then looked down at the book again.

  “…She wouldn’t have let me just sit here.”

  His fingers tightened around the ledger. He tucked it beneath one arm and straightened his spine with a crack and a grunt.

  Somewhere nearby, a door creaked open. A cart rolled past the far end of the street. People were starting to move.

  “I don’t know the rules yet,” he said softly. “But I’ve read a few budgets that made less sense than this.”

  He took a deep breath. The wind caught his coat and flared it out behind him just slightly. Not quite dramatic. But enough.

  He stepped forward.

  Just one step.

  But in that moment, it was everything.

  ________________________________________

  Walter walked a slow lap around the square, the wind tugging at his coat.

  The place looked like it had been a lively market once—stalls long since packed up or rotted, the old wooden booths now leaning like drunks against broken walls. A dry fountain sat in the center, its statue unrecognizable beneath moss and time.

  It was quiet. Peaceful, in a way.

  But not his peace.

  He caught a whiff of something sweet on the breeze—bread, maybe—and paused, nose twitching. Then another ding rang in his ear, this one softer, less aggressive.

  Tip: Say “Help” aloud or in your thoughts to access the Help Menu.

  His eyebrows rose.

  “…Seriously?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Help.”

  No answer.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Help.”

  The window blinked into existence with a cheerful little sparkle, and for a brief moment, Walter looked up at the sky and muttered, “Kids and their damned voice commands.”

  Help Menu — SYSTEM OVERVIEW

  Welcome, Outsider. You have been registered in the System: a world-integrated interface designed to aid gifted individuals, summoned heroes, and chosen professions in navigating Varenhold.

  Your Class: Merchant (Prestige Variant)

  Core Attributes:

  – Stats define your capabilities.

  – Skills define your trained abilities.

  – Fame(UNIQUE STAT) defines your Influence.

  You cannot invest in Combat Stats due to your particular variant.

  Growth is instead earned through social impact, renown, wealth, and legacy.

  Recommended for: Traders, Guildmasters, Diplomats, Strategists.

  Walter rubbed his temple.

  “System. Varenhold. Outsider. Chosen professions.”

  He sighed. “I suppose I’m the wrong age for prophecy.”

  He flicked through the floating tabs slowly, skimming without trying too hard. His eyes kept catching words like prestige scaling and reputation economy and influence-based skill unlocks, and all he could think of was the time he tried to file taxes for a nonprofit charity he didn’t even remember agreeing to help.

  Still... a few terms jumped out.

  Stats:

  STR – Physical strength. Locked.

  DEX – Agility. Locked.

  VIT – Vitality. Locked.

  INT – Magical knowledge. Locked.

  CHA – Charisma. Primary Stat.

  WIS – Wisdom. Primary Stat.

  LCK – Affects success in random encounters.

  FAME – Represents public perception and prestige.

  “Locked, locked, locked…” he muttered. “So I’m old and stuck. Marvelous.”

  He turned the page.

  Unique Trait — Crown of Acclaim

  Your growth is tied to the esteem in which you are held. As your name spreads, so too will your power.

  Passive Bonuses unlock at certain Fame thresholds. Fame can be earned through:

  – Economic success

  – High-profile deals or negotiations

  – Acts of civic leadership

  – Recognition by local or national authorities

  – Public favor and/or controversy

  Walter leaned back slightly. “So, the louder the world talks about me, the stronger I get?”

  He frowned.

  It sounded like nonsense. Fame was shallow. Empty. He’d spent his whole life avoiding it. Why would it matter now?

  Then again… this place clearly didn’t run on his rules.

  Still, he had questions. Too many. And not enough tea.

  Tip: First-time Outsiders are advised to seek a Local Wayfinder for orientation.

  Wayfinders can typically be found near central markets, guild halls, or churches.

  He turned toward the sun and guessed east by the slant of shadows.

  “Markets, guilds, or churches, is it?” he muttered. “Not exactly a tourism board.”

  Still, he felt steadier now. Focused. The wind didn’t bother him as much, and the ache in his bones had faded into the background hum of old age.

  Walter Everwood didn’t understand this world yet. He didn’t trust it. But it had given him a coin, a book, and a nameplate—and that was a start.

  He looked back once more at the ruined square behind him. Forgotten. Cracked.

  A good spot for something new.

  Then he set off down the street, slow but steady, following the scent of bread and the sound of life. There were questions to ask. People to find.

  And maybe—just maybe—a place to call his own.