Somewhere in the smoke-drenched ruins of war, the fire crackled low, half-smothered by ash and wind. The sky was bruised purple, with clouds torn apart like the banners that once flew high over the battlefield.
A man named Jack leaned against a cracked stone wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent cautiously as if it still mistrusted peace. Blood crusted his shoulder, and dried dirt streaked his jaw, but he held a tankard firmly in his hand.
"To surviving the impossible," he grinned, biting into a roasted drumstick.
Across from him sat a bearded soldier named Bren, crooked teeth flashing through laughter despite bandaged ribs that clearly pained him.
"To Jack and Bren, brothers of dumb luck!" Bren cheered, choking a little on his drink. They clinked their tankards messily, spirits high. Their makeshift table was an arrow crate, and their chairs were upturned helmets, one still stained with blood from battles past. Their feast consisted of whatever they had scavenged, roasted, or managed not to burn completely.
"They thought they could kill us," Bren said as he ripped into the meat.
"We're too stupid to die," Jack chuckled, taking another generous bite. His face, lit by the fire, was that of a man who had lost too much but still found a reason to smile.
"After this," he said, "I plan on sleeping for three days straight."
"Nah," Bren replied, raising his cup. "After this, we find girlfriends, drink stronger alcohol, and eat meat so fatty it drowns our regrets."
"To drowned regrets."
They drank, laughed, and feasted heartily. Jack bit into something particularly delicious, savoring the warm, salty, smoked meat.
Suddenly. An arrow hissed through the air.
THWIP.
CRACK.
The arrow came from nowhere, embedding itself in his throat. His tankard slipped from his hand. He jerked forward, gagging. The world spun, quickly swallowed by darkness.
***
Somewhere safe and far away, a different kind of chaos was unfolding.
Dinner was warm and lively, filling the house with comforting noise. Lyra sat between her parents, cheeks puffed with rice like a squirrel hoarding treasure. Across the table, Levin was quietly boasting about tomorrow to his dad.
"I'll teach her the basics," Kevin said, trying to sound more confident than he felt in mismatched socks. "We'll start simple." He smirked. "Though, I doubt she'll focus well. She's bursting with random energy and doesn't seem like the diligent type."
"I hope that's not true," Mom teased as she poured soup. "That would make a poor first impression for a future daughter-in-law."
Levin sputtered, "What?!"
Lyra tilted her head curiously. "What's a daughter-in-wall?"
Mom smiled mischievously. "It just means you two look cute together."
Lyra frowned. "YES I AM, but Levin's not. He's just okay."
Levin slumped, looking like a deflated dumpling. Grandpa snorted, feigning deafness. James sat at the table's end, bandaged leg propped on a stool, managing his soup with Mom's assistance and a very long spoon. He gave Lyra an approving thumbs-up like a true war veteran approving a new recruit.
Lyra's ears perked. She heard a gentle tap.
Tap.
Her eyes flickered to her dice, Dan, a moment ago he was innocently resting beside her cup. But now he was jumping around.
Hop.
Her eyes widened.
Hop.
He jumped again quietly. Nobody else noticed yet. Until he hopped onto the center plate.
CHOMP.
He bit the steak. The table fell silent. Grandpa's beard crooked thirty degrees mid-air. Kevin dropped his spoon, prepared for something. Levin's mouth hung open, mid-slurp. Dan chewed loudly. Shamelessly.
Lyra whispered, "Dan…?"
Hop.
He launched onto the fish. Bounced once. Twice.
CHOMP.
Everyone stared.
COUGH. GACK. THWIP.
Dan bounced upward, spinning like a frantic bug.
"Dan!?"
"HUFF—ack—bones—why do fish always betray me—BLEH—"
After that.
PLOP.
He faceplanted into the soy sauce bowl, creating small ripples. His voice, muffled and confused, reached Lyra's mind.
"Huh? Where is this? Why is everything… blood? Am I in a pool of blood?! WAIT—"
"…Bren? Where are you?" he called weakly.
Lyra's confusion turned to anger. "WHO'S BREEEEEEN?!" she shrieked, startling everyone.
"Lyra?!" mom gasped. "What's wrong?"
"Dan's looking for Breen!" Lyra shouted, pointing furiously at the soggy, glowing cube in the bowl. "Who is that?! WHO IS BREEN?! WHO WHO WHO?!"
Dad looked bewildered. "Wait, who's Dan?"
Levin stared, intrigued. "Hold on… the dice can move?"
Lyra didn't answer. She climbed onto her chair, grabbed the dripping cube with both hands, and held it up like it owed her a lifetime explanation.
"DAN, YOU TRAITOR—WHO IS BREEN?!"
"Uuugh…" Dan's voice echoed in her head. "Huh? Lyra? What's wrong?"
"I had this weird dream. I met someone called Bren… then he gave me his meat… and then I don't remember anything."
"YOU HAD MEAT WITH SOMEONE ELSE?! BOY, YOU DON'T SHARE MEAT WITH STRANGERS!" Lyra yelled angrily.
"Why are you yelling?!"
"YOU BIT FISH AND YOU CRIED FOR BREEEEN!!"
"I was choking!" Dan protested.
"CHOKE ON YOUR GUILT!" she shouted, shaking the dice.
Everyone watched Lyra argue, talking alone with a soy-soaked cube.
Levin leaned closer to Kevin. "Is this part of learning magic?"
Kevin shook his head. "I don't think so."
Dad leaned forward, clearly lost. "What's going on?"
Mom lowered her voice. "I think your daughter is talking to a dice… and named it Dan…"
Grandpa calmly lifted his tea. "Ohh."
Lyra kept shaking the cube. "WHO IS BREEN?! WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO?!"
Dan groaned in her mind. "Please stop. I just came back from dying in a meat war."
"WAS HE YOUR BEST FRIEND? YOUR BROTHER? YOUR BOYFRIEND??"
"STOP INVENTING LABELS!"
"I HATE HIM!"
"You don't even know him!"
"I DON'T CARE!"
Mom turned to Dad and spoke slowly. "So… are we just accepting the dice is alive now?"
Dad finally intervened, "Lyra Swift calm down."
Lyra sat down, arms crossed, glaring at the dice like it had personally betrayed her soul. After a long breath to settle herself, she muttered, "Yes, Dad?"
James leaned forward slightly. "So… who is this dice? He can talk?"
Lyra looked at the soy-soaked cube in front of her. She took a deep breath, then explained everything—how Dan first spoke, the magic at the market, and how she felt something change inside her, strange and comforting yet unfamiliar.
By the time she finished, the room had fallen quiet. Not the awkward kind but the listening kind.
Lyra held the dice close to her chest, like it might disappear if she didn't. Dan, for once, said nothing.
Mom reached forward and gently brushed a strand of rice off Lyra's cheek.
"...You should've told us sooner."
"I thought you'd say I'm lying," Lyra mumbled.
"I probably would've," Kevin admitted, "since I caught you talking to squirrels more than once. Until, you know… the fish incident."
James leaned forward, wincing slightly as his bandaged leg shifted.
"So… when you threw him. That magic... that came from you?"
Lyra shook her head. "I dunno. It just… happened. Like he helped me do it. Like he protected us."
Levin scratched his head. "No wonder I thought that dice kept giving me weird stares…"
Grandpa finally put his teacup down. "This is what they call a living artifact. Rare, but not unheard of. Some can talk. Some can move. Some do neither, but the power they hold is no joke."
Everyone looked at him. He took a deep breath.
"And I've definitely never heard of a relic this... expressive."
Lyra blinked. "So… I'm not cursed? You're not taking him away, right?"
She was clearly more panicked about the second part, her favorite toy.
Grandpa looked at her then at Dan.
"Probably not," he said. "Do you feel... anything strange or uncomfortable?"
"Yes…"
Everyone tensed. Grandpa looked at her gently. "What is it, Lyra?"
"I hate Brennn," she muttered petulantly. Dan complained in her mind, "I hate fish." That broke her. Lyra burst out laughing—still the same Lyra, through and through. The rest of the table couldn't help but join in. But then Grandpa's voice cut through the joy.
"What happens here tonight stays between us. Especially you, Lyra. Never tell anyone that Dan is something special. If word spreads... danger might come before you're ready."
Mom rolled her eyes.
"Dad, you worry too much. She'll be fine. Don't tell me you've forgotten how, when she was two, she went around the market telling people her chicken's brownie was a meteor artifact? Or that cabbages could summon a genie? Literally every day and even now? She still goes around telling the villagers that the backyard squirrels can throw up gold."
"Oh—and recently I overheard gossip about something called 'Justice in Pink' trying to recruit cabbages as soldiers. I'm guessing that one's yours too, Lyra."
Everyone burst out laughing again.
Dan went quiet. Then, after a long pause, his voice echoed in Lyra's head.
"…You guys misunderstood something. That's not the chicken's."
Lyra froze mid-blink. She didn't get it.
"Wait," Lyra said suddenly. "Mom said this dice was a gift from Grandpa. Grandpa… where did you get it?"
Grandpa looked at James. And like once in a blue moon, James gave him a rare, strangely serious look.
Grandpa sighed.
"Let's leave that artifact conversation for when you're a little older."
Lyra said nothing. She glanced down at Dan. He was still. But she swore he looked gloomy and distant. Like someone who'd heard this story too many times—and already knew how it ends.
"A living artifact, huh…"
"So I'm just an item…"
"Trapped here. Forever," Dan mumbled to himself.
Lyra didn't understand his sadness.
But something about it ached, so she held him tighter.