Transmigrated? My Cheat is a Random Dice?!

Desmond chewed the last spoonful of the bland wheat porridge his mother had prepared for him.

The taste still wasn't something he could truly enjoy, he was far too used to the rich, flavorful dishes of the modern world. But the genuine smile on Celestine's face as she watched him eat made each bite seem a little sweeter.

He finished his meal and looked up at his mother with a blank expression.

"Such a clever boy!" Celestine praised, her smile blossoming like a warm sunrise. She reached out and gently stroked Desmond's dark hair, her fingers brushing through the soft strands with motherly affection.

"You ate so well today. My little one really is the smartest and most obedient child," she said softly, gazing at Desmond with eyes full of love. But then her brows knitted slightly, a hint of worry flickering across her face.

"But… why are you always so quiet, sweetheart? You rarely speak at all. It makes me wonder… is something wrong?"

Cassian, who had just finished his breakfast, let out a hearty laugh that filled the cozy room. "Ah, Celestine, don't worry yourself so much! Maybe that's just his nature. Every child is different, right? He just needs time. One day, he'll open up and chatter your ears off just like his mother does!"

Celestine exhaled a soft sigh but then nodded, understanding. "Maybe you're right, Cassian."

She stood up from the table and walked to the corner of the room where the market basket from earlier lay waiting.

She started wrapping something carefully in a clean cloth. Desmond watched her intently. It was food: several pieces of homemade wheat bread, some fresh cheese, and a small bottle of milk. He knew this routine well. His mother often did this.

"Sweetheart, would you take this to Sierra Mother for me?" Celestine approached Desmond, gently placing the bundle into his small hands. "She'll be so happy to get this. You know the way to her house, don't you?"

Desmond nodded. Of course, he knew the way. Sierra's house, more precisely, the house of his mother's friend. Was a place he'd visited many times.

He'd gone there often, delivering food or supplies, and their families frequently exchanged harvests or handmade goods. It was part of the peaceful, cooperative life of the village.

"Be careful on your way, sweetheart. Don't go running," Celestine warned, her smile radiating the kind of concern only a mother could give.

Desmond nodded again, silently bidding his parents goodbye in his heart since he still wasn't comfortable speaking out loud. Then he stepped outside the warmth of their wooden home.

The fresh morning air enveloped him as soon as he stepped outside. It was such a stark contrast to the polluted, exhaust-choked atmosphere of his old modern world.

Here, every breath felt crisp, clean, and invigorating. The scent of damp earth mixed with the fragrance of wildflowers and leaves dancing in the breeze.

The scenery around his home was lush and vibrant. Farmlands spread out in the distance, full of crops growing strong under the soft morning sun.

The houses of Bramblehaven, though simple, looked sturdy and welcoming, made of wood and natural stone with neatly thatched roofs. They were spaced far enough apart to give an airy, peaceful feeling to the whole village.

Desmond walked calmly, the bundle of food looking rather large in his small hands. His tiny feet moved steadily along the dusty dirt path.

He passed a little bakery that smelled heavenly with the scent of freshly baked bread wafting out, teasing his senses. Next, he walked by the village blacksmith's shop, where the sharp clang of hammer on metal echoed through the morning air. Villagers who caught sight of him called out warmly.

"Oh, it's Celestine's boy! Good morning, Desmond!"

"Look at how cute he is, walking all alone with that bundle. Such a good little lad!"

"Off to Sierra house, huh?"

Desmond offered small, polite smiles and nodded in reply. He'd gotten used to these friendly greetings.

Everyone knew Desmond—the quiet little boy who often made his rounds delivering things on his own. There was something irresistibly charming about his baby-like frame paired with the strangely serious aura that glinted in his eyes, making him something of a beloved curiosity in the village.

He strolled past a massive, ancient tree whose thick trunk and sprawling branches shaded much of the village with its dense canopy.

That tree, according to the villagers' stories, was Bramblehaven's guardian. A legend Desmond still didn't fully understand, but he knew the tree held deep spiritual meaning for the people here.

His mind began to drift. Three years, it had been three years since he found himself stranded in this world stuck in the body of an infant, forced to relearn how to crawl, stand, eat bland food, and endlessly wait for the System that only bothered to show up every once in a blue moon.

He felt like he'd been wasting time, three whole years with nothing substantial to show for it. No meaningful knowledge of this world. No clues about how to return. It was starting to feel suffocating.

He needed to do something useful. He had to start gathering information.

Finally, after a while of walking, Desmond arrived at a house slightly larger than his own, surrounded by a beautiful little garden full of blooming flowers. This was Sierra's home. He raised his tiny hand and knocked on the wooden door several times.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

It wasn't long before the door opened. A small girl appeared, about the same height as Desmond, with short silver hair that shimmered in the sunlight and big, innocent blue eyes.

It was Sierra, the daughter of his mother's friend. The girl stared at Desmond shyly, her cheeks tinted a delicate pink.

Desmond offered a small, hesitant smile, then held up the bundle of food in his hands.

"This… for… mother…" he said in a soft, halting voice, making a careful effort to pronounce the words clearly despite the childish lisp of his little mouth.

Sierra blinked several times, her shyness deepening. Slowly, she reached out with her small hands, taking the bundle from Desmond with the utmost care, as if it were a fragile treasure.

She didn't say a word, only gave a tiny nod before spinning around and running inside to deliver the food to her mother.

Moments later, a kind-looking woman, her features a mature and gentle version of Sierra's, appeared at the door.

It was Sierra Mom. She smiled warmly down at Desmond. "Oh, Desmond! Thank you so much, dear! Your mother is truly a wonderful woman." She reached down and gently patted Desmond's hair, her touch radiating affection.

"Sierra! Come here, sweetheart! Come and meet Desmond properly!" She called back into the house.

Desmond stood there quietly, watching. Deep down, he found himself longing for companionship. Three years spent trapped in his own adult mind, isolated without a single peer to talk to, had left him unbearably lonely. Maybe… maybe making a friend wouldn't be so bad.

Not because he had any sort of weird attraction to little girls, he definitely wasn't like that. But just looking at Sierra, he had a gut feeling she could grow up to become someone extraordinary, maybe even a heroine of this world. If that were true, perhaps she could help him someday.

The little girl, Sierra, peeked out from behind her mother's skirt again, her wide blue eyes blinking shyly at Desmond.

Mother Sierra smiled encouragingly and gently nudged Sierra forward so she stood face to face with Desmond.

"Come on, Sierra, don't be shy. You two haven't properly introduced yourselves yet, have you?" Mother Sierra said softly.

Desmond, though he already knew her name, decided to play along.

"My name is… Desmond," he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

Sierra's eyes flicked up to meet his, her cheeks growing even redder. Her voice was tiny, barely more than a whisper. "My… my name… is Sierra."

Desmond's lips curved into a genuine smile. "Nice to meet you… Sierra."