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Rogues Gambit Book 1
Arrival In Highcairn

Arrival In Highcairn

The sun was too bright.

John squinted, one hand shading his eyes as he stepped onto damp grass that hadn’t been there a second ago. The sidewalk, his front yard—gone. In their place stretched an endless forest, the air heavy with the scent of pine and earth. Birds chirped somewhere overhead, too loud in the unsettling quiet.

Okay… I’m still half-asleep. Maybe I took a wrong turn.

He glances behind him—there’s no door. Just trees.

Alright. That’s… not normal.

“Okay… this isn’t funny,” John mutters, scanning the area.

His brain, still trying to reboot, stubbornly insists this could all be explained somehow. A prank. Some kind of elaborate joke. He’s still dreaming, right?

He spun around. Behind him, nothing. No house, no road. Just more trees.

John ran a hand through his hair, taking a shaky breath. “Okay... either I fell into Skyrim or I’m having the weirdest stroke on record.”

“You’re not dying,” a voice called from his left.

John turned sharply, spotting a man lounging on a boulder that definitely hadn’t been there five seconds ago. He was dressed like someone who robbed nobles for fun, dark leather, an ornate dagger spinning lazily between his fingers. His grin was all teeth.

“Great,” John said, forcing his pulse down. “So, which fantasy novel did I fall into?”

The stranger chuckled. “Think of it as an opportunity. Call it divine intervention.”

“Right. And you would be...?”

“Caelix,” the man said with a slight bow. “God of Trickery, Rogues, and General Mischief at your service.”

He stares for a long moment. “Is this some kind of prank? Did Mike set this up?”

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"No prank Mr. Bradford. You, my friend, are now part of a grander story. Consider this… an invitation." Caelix said then added in a mumble "I might need a favor from you one day.” 

John stared at him. “God. Sure. And I’m the chosen one, right? Do I get a sword or some ancient prophecy to fulfill?”

Caelix smiled wider. “Oh, heavens no. Chosen ones are too predictable. But you? You’re interesting.”

“Oh, for fucks sake this is some isekai nonsense, isn’t it? I walk out my door, and boom—fantasy world. What next? Stats? A magical sword? Maybe a sidekick?”

John rubbed his temples. “Look, I’ve got work in twenty minutes. Mind zapping me back before I'm late. I really hate bieng late?”

Caelix ignored the question and pointed at John’s chest. “That shirt—it’s got flair. I like it.”

John glanced down at his bright blue Hawaiian shirt, patterned with flamingos. “Thank you I've been telling my wife for years Hawaiian shirts are the pinnacle of high fashion”

Caelix flicks his fingers. Numbers flicker faintly in John’s vision. Level 1 Rogue drifts by his name, along with other stats he can barely process. A faint shimmer passed over John’s clothes, and suddenly, his shirt’s stats flickered into view at the edge of his vision:

[Flamingo Shirt of Minor Charisma]

+1 to Charm when dealing with non-hostile NPCs

John froze. “What the hell—?”

“There you go,” the stranger continues. “Gifts to make life easier. Interface, stats, and even item perks. Consider it a starter pack.”

"No badass leather armor? You want me to sneak around a fantasy world dressed like Magnum P.I? John said questioningly

Caelix hopped down from the boulder. “You’ll figure the rest out. This world... it’s been lonely without adventurers.”

John frowned. “No Adventurers?”

“They’ve been gone a long time. You, however, might shake things up. If you survive.”

His eyes harden. “And what happens if I want to go home?”

Caelix’s grin softened just a fraction. “There’s a contest, John. One that happens once a decade. Win, and you can ask for anything—like returning home.”

Silence lingers between them. John clenches his fists.

A contest. Ten years. I could be stuck here for a decade if I screw this up.

“And if I lose?”

“Then you make yourself comfortable.” The man shrugs. “Plenty of interesting things to do here—fight dragons, rob bandits, start a tavern…”

John’s eyes narrow. Ten years of tavern management, huh? Hard pass.

He stares at the trees, taking a long breath. “…I hate you already.”

“Good. You’ve got time.” Caelix’s form shimmered. “We’ll speak again, I’m sure.”

Before John could say another word, the god vanished, leaving him alone beneath the swaying trees.

 His mind drifted for a moment—to his wife’s smile that morning as she kissed him goodbye to his daughter’s half-asleep wave from the kitchen table.

His stomach twisted. They didn’t know he was gone.

“I really need to get back,” John said.

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