Silence.
Then…
Tremble.
In the wake of the incident—one that would later be referred to in whispers and horrified parental retellings as the Poopocalypse. The air clung with the warm, unsettling aroma of something recently unleashed. Floorboards groaned under unseen pressure. Dust motes shivered in place, as if contemplating escape.
The crib rattled—not from wind, nor motion, but from something else entirely. Something uninvited yet not quite malicious.
At the very center of the room, gleaming against the hardwood like a divine prank wrapped in mystery, rested a single object:
A six-sided dice.
Its off-white surface shimmered faintly, catching the dim light as though it had been rolled by fate itself. On its upward face:
[6]
A perfect number.
As if the universe had cast its lot and was now quietly backing away.
Then—
WUUUUUMMMMMMM.
A low pulse rippled outward. Not sound, not wind—something deeper. A resonance, like reality itself had flinched. The dice lifted from the floor, golden light spilling from its edges, humming with power that felt both ancient and vaguely omitted.
Beside it, another figure rose.
Tiny. Round. Radiant.
Lyra Swift.
She floated midair, arms splayed in triumph—or perhaps chaos—wrapped in pure mischief. Her curls, soft golden-brown, billowed as if the universe had chosen this exact moment to give her a dramatic entrance.
And she was laughing.
Pure, unfiltered baby laughter. The kind that didn't care for logic or gravity, only joy. The kind that made villains drop their swords and question the meaning of evil.
A sock broke free, orbiting her foot like a celestial moon.
Drool glistened in zero gravity, drifting loyally beside her.
And through it all, the glow intensified. Magic bent and twisted, not in resistance—but in reverence. As if the very laws of the world were pausing, reconsidering themselves.
Something was being rewritten.
And it began here.
The glow wrapped around them both, pulsing, swirling, folding inward like magic was rewriting itself to acknowledge this new existence.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Serena Swift's POV
Serena pushed open the bedroom door, cradling a folded cloth in one hand and a light scowl in the other.
"I swear, if James forgot to wipe down the crib again—"
She stopped.
She blinked.
Then again. Her hand froze mid-air, still holding the cloth. Her mouth opened—closed—then defaulted to blue screen of nope.
Her brain short-circuited somewhere between baby, hovering furniture, and the dice necklace glowing like a holy artifact caught in a thunderstorm.
"What… in all the rotting hay is this?!"
The room looked like a magical barn explosion—
Everything was floating.
Sheets, toys, chairs, diapers.
And in the middle of it all, her baby—hovering midair, laughing like she just learned to fly.
The air shimmered. The dice spun. The crib rotated like it was being exorcised.
And then Serena noticed something... brown, drifting peacefully across the room like it had a destiny of its own.
She leaned in.
She squinted.
Her face froze in absolute horror.
"James…" she said slowly, voice flat, not breaking eye contact with the airborne menace.
"Is that... floating?"
James stepped in behind her, eyebrows raised. "Huh?"
He followed her gaze.
Paused.
Then, with the confidence of a man who had changed more diapers than dreams, he stepped closer, extended one calloused farmer finger, and booped the object midair.
He brought the fingertip to his tongue.
Paused. Smacked his lips like he was evaluating a chili recipe.
"…Yup. That's the stuff."
Serena made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a spiritual exit—still trying, and failing, to process what her husband had just done.
James nodded, completely unfazed. "Well. At least we didn't step on it."
He tilted his head, casually observing the orbiting disaster.
Finally—finally—his eyes moved past the levitating poop and scanned the rest of the room.
The floating furniture.
The glowing dice.
And their daughter, hovering midair like a possessed cherub soaked in giggles and divine mischief.
James blinked. Slowly.
"…Uh. Sweetie? What's happening? What should we do?"
Serena didn't answer.
Because she didn't get the chance.
BOOM.
A shockwave of light erupted from the floating baby and dice—exploding outward like a silent thunderclap delivered by an arcane sledgehammer.
The air rippled, furniture flipped, and Serena's apron was yeeted over her head like it had just lost the will to live.
The sound wasn't just noise—it was pressure. A magic-infused pulse that turned gravity inside out for exactly three seconds.
A burst of light sent James airborne—his Beyblade disciple arc had begun. He hit the hallway wall with a crunch, followed by a muffled 'oof' as a pillow claimed his dignity.
Serena barely stayed upright, gripping the doorframe as her hair frizzed upward like a lightning rod trying to escape reality.
The room—no, the entire inside of the house—twisted into chaos.
Cups shattered. Spoons clanged. One of James' boots flew across the ceiling like it had been summoned into battle.
And at the center of it all…
Lyra.
Still giggling.
Still glowing.
And now—arms raised—floating higher, like she'd just been crowned by the chaos.
The light faded. The storm calmed.
And somewhere in the middle of it, a cube was screaming on the inside.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dice's POV
Okay.
WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!
I'M GLOWING.
WHY AM I GLOWING?!
Is this it?!
Is this the final form of my suffering?!
Did the brown meteor actually trigger a freaking evolution?!
GOODBYE #DiceRights
I was floating.
Floating, bro.
Bathed in holy light like I was about to be summoned by a final boss.
Lyra hovered beside me, giggling like she'd just unlocked a cheat code she couldn't read.
And the power—the power—it was REAL.
I felt something deep inside me… crack open.
Something ancient stirred—not as a whisper, but a surge. Like the click of a long-sealed gear unlocking. Pressure built in my nonexistent chest, as if some forgotten force had just flipped my "ON" switch.
Old strength. Buried magic. Forgotten weight.
I KNEW IT.
This was it.
This was the moment I'd been waiting for.
I WAS FINALLY TRANSFORMING.
Wings would burst from my sides. Or limbs. Or even a face. Anything. Just… something.
No more helplessness.
No more chewing.
No more rolling through life like a dumb cube of despair.
I'M NOT JUST A DICE.
I waited.
I braced.
I welcomed destiny with open… okay, imaginary arms.
I struck the Titanic pose.
Mentally.
Arms wide, chin lifted, spirit soaring—like Rose and Jack.
The glow brightened—then dimmed.
The air stilled.
Everything gently descended, floating softly back to the ground.
Even Lyra curled up midair and slowly drifted down like a smug little chaos goddess settling in her descent into the mortal world.
And me?
…
I hit the floor.
Rolled once.
Landed on a [3].
Still.
Silent.
Not even glowing anymore.
still… a dice.
…
…
This can't be real.
Muted. Powerless.
Untransformed.
I tried to glow again.
Nothing.
Tried to vibrate.
Nada.
I tried to summon flames… but instead, rolled like a sad pebble.
My power arc had died faster than a free trial.
I thought the joke was over.
But no.
I'm still the dice.
FMDL.
No more hope.
No goddess to beg.
No UI to see.
No one to ask.
I think I'm really done for.
Should I just pathetically accept my fate as a mute, immobile dice?
Honestly, this is worse than prison—
At least in prison, you can talk to someone.
But me?
No one.
I can only observe. Talk to myself.
And I don't know how much longer I can hold onto my sanity.
And yet…
When Lyra laughed beside me—
Pure and loud, like the world was still worth smiling at—
I felt it.
This dumb, infuriating warmth in my soul.
Like something tethering me to her.
An invisible thread, pulling me toward her.
Telling me I need to stay.
Telling me I need to care.
And somehow…
That was enough to make being a dice feel almost bearable.
Almost.
And that's what scared me the most.
Because I've felt this before.
Back on Earth, I cared. I trusted.
And the person I gave everything to?
They were the one who broke me.
Until there was nothing left but emptiness…
And the stupid truth that I kept caring, even when I already knew it didn't matter to them.
Kept hoping they'd return it someday…
Until I didn't even realize I'd been left alone.
I don't want to feel that again.
I don't want to go through that pain again.
Not anymore.
But her eyes…
That pure, innocent laugh…
It wavered my heart.
Should I gamble again? I wondered.
What's there to lose?
I have nothing left.
I can't speak. No one sees me as human—just a thing.
I'm doing what I was best at back on Earth: Observing.
Fading into the background.
Watching people forget I was even there.
Being invisible.
Watching life happen without me.
No purpose.
No future.
Just this body—this stupid dice.
And the worst part?
I might be making the same mistake again.
Feeling the same pain.
Suffering alone all over again.
Which… I've gotten very used to.