Transmigrated? My Cheat is a Random Dice?!

With his spirits lifted just a little, he stared at the purple die resting in his tiny, trembling hand.

The die felt solid and cold, its smooth surface marred by a faint roughness that sent chills through his palm.

The engraved numbers on its sides looked almost otherworldly, as if they held secrets to the universe itself. He tried moving his stubby baby fingers to grip the die more tightly.

But he had forgotten one simple, cruel fact: he was a baby. His motor control was laughably undeveloped.

As he tried to secure the die, his chubby, unsteady fingers slipped open just slightly.

The die slipped free from his weak grasp, tumbling downward.

CLACK!

The die landed on the wooden base of the cradle, rolling several times with soft, hollow thuds that filled the silent house.

He stared in horror, panic seizing his chest. He hadn't wanted to drop it! That die was the only gift from the System. His only hope in this bizarre world.

The die came to a stop. The face on top showed the number two.

He stared at the number.

Two. What did that mean? Was it like experience points? A new skill? The damn System hadn't explained anything about how this die worked! Stupid, worthless System!

Suddenly, without any warning at all, Desmond's tiny body was crushed by an overwhelming gravitational force. It wasn't ordinary pressure. It felt like the entire weight of a mountain was trying to flatten him.

Every molecule of air seemed to thicken and press down on him. His muscles locked up, bones screamed as if on the verge of shattering.

"Ugh… nghhh…!" Desmond tried to move, to cry out, but his body wouldn't respond at all.

He was completely frozen, pinned down by an invisible, monstrous force. Each breath felt like a battle for survival, his lungs crushed under the unrelenting weight.

A cold, raw terror gripped his heart. He had no idea what was happening. Was the die doing this to him? All he could do was sob, praying for help.

But even his cries came out as strangled, almost inaudible whimpers, smothered by the immense pressure.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking his face until it glistened under the dim light.

"Please… someone… anyone… Mom…!Dad…!" he pleaded in his heart, his voice shaking with agony and desperation.

He could only pray for the crushing force to stop. Pray to somehow return to his old world. A world without magic, without Systems, without a cursed die that seemed hell-bent on destroying him.

This wasn't power. This was torture. His cries grew louder, raw and piercing, echoing through the small wooden house.

The desperate wails of a helpless infant, of a grown man trapped in a body that couldn't fight back, every shriek filled with regret, rage, and fear. Regret for every choice that led him to this moment. Regret for ever crossing paths with that damn System.

He couldn't believe the die, the "gift" given to him by the System. Could hurt him this much.

A gift that had turned into a curse, a fragile hope twisted into a nightmare.

And there he lay, powerless, waiting for the crushing force to either end or for his tiny body to be pulverized into dust.

Just as Desmond felt his breath slipping away and his bones threatening to crack, a loud crash of a door slamming open shattered the suffocating silence.

BANG!

A woman burst into the room in a rush. Even in her panic, she was breathtakingly striking. Her long black hair fell in wild waves, glistening as it framed a face of rare beauty.

Her sharp eyes brimmed with worry, eyebrows knitted tightly in alarm. Her skin was a flawless ivory, lips thin yet full, and her strong jawline spoke of unwavering resolve.

She wore only a simple linen dress, yet an unmistakable aura of elegance clung to her, like a noblewoman in disguise.

In one hand, she carried a shopping basket filled with fresh vegetables and several small wrapped parcels.

This woman, his mother in this strange new world, he somehow knew instantly, stopped dead at the sight of her son.

She dropped the basket with a clatter, vegetables and parcels spilling chaotically across the wooden floor.

Her eyes went wide with horror as she took in her infant son thrashing in the cradle, his face flushed crimson, his cries loud but strangely muffled, each wail laced with raw, heartbreaking pain.

"Desmond! My baby! What's happening?!" she cried out, voice clear and beautiful but thick with terror.

She rushed to the cradle, dropping to her knees beside it.

"Oh, sweetheart? why are you crying like this?! What's wrong, my precious baby?!"

She reached out to scoop Desmond into her arms, desperate to soothe him. But the moment her hands neared his trembling little body, an unnatural force intervened.

Her hands grew impossibly heavy, like invisible iron weights had slammed them downward.

She felt the same crushing pressure. No, it was even worse than what Desmond endured. Her hands refused to budge.

"What?!" she gasped, eyes wide in disbelief. She tried again, determined to touch him.

Again, the same result.

Her hands were forced down, pinned by a suffocating, invisible wall. She couldn't reach her child.

Panic and confusion contorted her flawless face. "What is this? What's happening? Is… is my baby under attack? Or… is my baby cursed?!" She frantically scanned the room for any sign of an intruder or a lurking threat.

Terror shone in her eyes, raw and undiluted. She was a mother, and nothing was more horrifying than watching her child suffer while being utterly powerless to help.

Her mind raced, considering every horrible possibility: A curse? Dark magic? Some unseen monster?

But as panic threatened to consume her, an unbreakable determination suddenly ignited in her gaze. She would not let her child suffer. She was his mother. And she would do anything, everything, to protect him.

Summoning every ounce of her strength, she focused with fierce determination.

A strange, soft light shimmered around her, wrapping her in an aura that pulsed gently yet powerfully. She raised her hand again, this time her face set in fierce concentration, eyes blazing.

She didn't try to grab him, but carefully, with all her willpower, she lowered her palm until it hovered directly above Desmond's tiny chest. She held it there, barely making contact. A touch that radiated both love and iron resolve.

With her jaw clenched tight and eyes squeezed shut, she shouted with a voice that thundered through the room:

"OPEN POLARIS PATH! GRAVITY MINUS!"

A wave of energy burst forth, gentle yet unyielding, rippling from her palm. Desmond felt a tide of foreign power, something primal and raw, unlike any magic he had ever read about in his old world's novels.

A small, glowing sigil appeared at the center of Desmond's chest.

That power wasn't like the neat, orderly spells of fantasy books; it felt deeper, older, more fundamental.

In an instant, the crushing gravitational force evaporated. His body felt feather-light, as if he were floating in zero gravity.

He felt himself drifting gently inside the cradle, completely freed from the suffocating weight.

The agony that had been tearing him apart vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. His lungs drank in air greedily, his muscles relaxed.

Desmond gasped inwardly. What was that power? "Gravity Minus"? This woman, his mother. Possessed astonishing strength! Power to manipulate gravity itself?

What did she mean by "Open Polaris Path"? Was she unlocking something inside him? Or channeling her power into him? And "Gravity Minus"… did it mean she reduced the gravity around him with her magic? Could that be it? Questions tumbled chaotically through his mind.

This was a true fantasy world. And his mother wasn't some ordinary village woman! He couldn't help but wonder: who was she, really? And what other secrets did this world hold?

His mother, seeing her magic succeed, immediately scooped Desmond into her arms, hugging him tight. A hug overflowing with apology and fierce, unconditional love.

"I'm so sorry, my baby… I'm so sorry I left you alone… I won't leave you ever again…" she whispered, her voice trembling as tears threatened to spill.

She stroked his head tenderly, holding him as if to shield him from every horror this world might bring.

But for Desmond, the crushing pain, followed by the sudden wave of relief, was simply too much.

His eyelids grew heavy, vision blurring at the edges. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, pulling him into darkness.

In the final moments before darkness claimed him, he glimpsed his mother's face, still twisted with worry, calling his name, checking him over desperately, terrified for his safety.

That expression, raw with fear and love, burned itself into his mind.

Then, unexpectedly, a memory from his old world flashed: a fragment from his distant childhood. He remembered being small, climbing too high on a playground slide, falling before twisting his ankle.

It had barely been a sprain, but his mother from Earth, with shoulder-length hair and eyes wide with panic. Had dashed to him instantly, scooping him up and racing him to the hospital as if he were on the brink of death.

That feeling, the absolute certainty that someone loved and protected him unconditionally. Felt exactly the same now, in this strange new world, in the arms of this woman he barely knew.

Desmond's consciousness slowly faded, surrendering to sleep, carrying with it the image of his mother's anxious face and the warm, bittersweet memory of a mother's love from a world he thought he had lost forever.

He fell into deep slumber, safe at last in the embrace of a mother he had just met… in a world he still couldn't bring himself to