Never thought I'd end up here.
A white void—no shadows, no floor, no sky. Just... nothing. Perfect, endless nothing.
And me.
Standing there, staring at three dice floating in the air. Not glowing, not massive, just normal dice.
Three hundred-sided polyhedrals, about the size of a baseball. One red, one deep blue, one silver.
At first, I had no clue what they were for.
Then it hit me.
No voices. No fanfare. Just a clear thought, dropped into my head like it was waiting to be remembered.
Hey,
Congrats — looks like you hit the cosmic lottery. Some folks wait lifetimes for a shot like this. You?
You just walked in like you owned the place. Either you're ridiculously lucky… or someone's got a weird sense of humor and is watching out for you.
On the table — or in your case, the air — you'll find three dice. Don't rush it. They matter more than you might think.
One sets the stage. Another sets your limits — or shatters them.
The third gives you a head start.
Take your time. You won't get a reroll.
Whoever left this for you already knows what the numbers will be. So keep your hand steady.
A concerned observer
I didn't question it. Couldn't.
The message had no source, no logic, no proof.
And yet... I knew it was true. With the kind of certainty you feel in your bones, not your brain.
This was real.
The dice were real.
The stakes? I didn't know yet. But I would.
A few hours ago, I was no one.
Now?
I had three dice and a single chance.
A few hours ago, I was basically invisible.
Just a 20-year-old stuck in the same endless rerun — school, family, and walking my dog Loki, who's more "retired athlete" than "puppy energy" these days. He still wagged his tail like he was four again, but getting off the couch? That took a solid five minutes of negotiation. Every morning, I let him out first so he could sniff that exact same patch of grass he's been obsessively marking for a decade. Because priorities.
After that? Some "studying." Not because I loved it, but because falling behind gave me actual nightmares. Some days it was engineering theory — which felt like my brain was slowly dissolving. Other days I'd just rearrange files on my computer that I knew I'd never open again. Productivity at its finest.
When my brain turned into a gooey mess of numbers and diagrams, I'd hit reset the only way I knew how: reading fanfic. The more ridiculous or brilliantly absurd, the better. Multiverse travel? Check. Self-inserts? Double check. The irony wasn't lost on me — here I was, living a dull life, escaping into someone else's chaos.
Lunch happened whenever my stomach staged a protest loud enough to demand attention. Sometimes it was eggs and toast. Other days, if I had enough time and patience to be fancy, orange chicken, bulgogi, or cinnamon rolls. Cooking was one of the few things I could control. Well, mostly — sometimes I accidentally burned the kitchen down. Not today, though.
My brother usually rolled in before dinner. He's three years older, but when we're yelling at each other in League or tackling some bizarre indie co-op game, age just disappears. We didn't talk much outside of that — not because we hated each other, but because yelling was easier than feelings.
My parents were there too. Busy, tired, sometimes a little distant — but they cared. They tried, in their own way, which was enough most days.
Life wasn't perfect. I had stress, doubts, and a few nights staring at the ceiling wondering if I was falling behind while everyone else was speeding off into their futures.
But it wasn't bad. Not really.
It was... fine.
Just normal.
And then — bam — everything stopped.
Now, standing in the void, I stared at the dice, trying to decide what to do next. I scanned the endless white space like I was expecting a helpful neon sign or maybe a pizza delivery guy, but no luck. Just me and three suspiciously baseball-sized d100 dice floating in the air.
Finally, I grabbed the red dice.
And, of course, just like before, a message popped into my head — crystal clear, no chance to argue — explaining what this die was for.
This red die will decide the kind of world you'll be sent to. Roll a 1, and you land in a peaceful place — where the biggest threat might be an overenthusiastic squirrel. Roll a 100, and welcome to Eldritch Horror Hellscape: endless wars, monsters that would ruin your nightmares, and survival isn't just hard—it's a full-time job with zero days off.
For any normal person, these worlds are basically a death sentence. But for you… well, your chances depend on the second dice.
I stared down at the red dice in my hand, feeling the weight of all those possibilities pressing down on me. This wasn't just a dice roll — this was my future. My entire existence hanging on a handful of numbers.
The silence around me was complete. No hints, no clues, just me, the dice, and that weird voice echoing in my head.
I could almost hear the worlds calling out — each one a different nightmare, a different fate. One roll could drop me into a quiet life where maybe I'd get a nap. The next could chuck me into a horror show I wasn't prepared for.
And yet… there was no going back.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered — not quite a prayer, more like a desperate shout into the void:
I shut my eyes, took a breath, and muttered — not really a prayer, more like tossing a message in a cosmic group chat:
"Alright… Yahweh, Buddha, Gaia, Lady Luck, Arceus, Jirachi, Ajimu Najimi, Akasha, Alaya, the One-Above-All… hell, even you, Azathoth. If anyone's handing out miracles, now's a good time."
I liked to think my luck wasn't awful. In Honkai Star Rail, I usually got the characters I wanted in the first 80 pulls. Not amazing, but better than average. Hopefully, that streak still counted here.
The red dice spun in the air, clattering against the invisible floor beneath me. Numbers flickered past too fast to catch. My stomach twisted as it slowed down.
Please don't be triple digits. Please.
It clicked to a stop.
55
I exhaled — not quite relief, but something pretending to be it. Still not great, definitely not perfect… but good enough to keep breathing for now.
Then, just like before, the knowledge simply popped into my head. No voice, no words, just... pure understanding. Like I'd always known.
"You're being sent to a world where people are born with weird powers — mutants — and society can't decide if they want to fear them, worship them, or just hunt them down. A school hides the gifted, a bald psychic runs it, and politics, science, and violence all fight for control. You've seen it. You remember the name."
X-Men.
I remembered enough — mutants persecuted, hunted, weaponized. A school full of hopeful idealists, a metal-bending revolutionary, giant killer robots, future dystopias, timelines that loop back on themselves…
Yeah. Not exactly a beach resort.
Just enough to know I was in deep trouble. Not enough to have a plan.
Figures.
I stood there, staring at the number like maybe, just maybe, if I squinted hard enough, it would change.
55
Mutants. Powers. Fear. Hope. Violence. Compromise. And, of course, politics — because nothing says "fun" like people who think they know best.
I wanted to start planning — mapping out threats, timelines, versions of the X-Men universe I might end up in.
But then I stopped myself.
The message was clear: "One dice sets the stage, the other sets your limits — or breaks them."
No point in playing chess before knowing which pieces I get.
So, I turned to the next dice. Blue, d100, just like the other. Patiently waiting.
One more roll.
Then I'd know if I had a fighting chance or if I was just cannon fodder in some cosmic game of "Who Wants to Survive?"
I reached out. Unlike the red dice — which was oddly warm, like it had a personal vendetta — this one was cool, smooth, like a rock chilling in the shade.
The moment I touched it, another message slid into my brain. Quiet, calm, absolute.
"The second dice decides the nature and potential of your blessing.
Roll low, and you get a subtle edge based on your old world:
— The mental edge of a natural-born thinker — like Da Vinci, Einstein, or Plato.
— A body capable of peak human performance with training (so, basically, you still gotta hit the gym).
— Reflexes faster than your morning caffeine kick.
— A rare martial talent — not superhuman, but enough to be the best fighter at your local dojo.
Valuable, yes. Grounded, definitely. Human, absolutely.
Roll high… and you might just wake up with a full-on system:
Gamer-style stat screens, perk trees, subclasses, gacha mechanics, bonus drops.
Simulation engines, multi-path evolutions, reality bending.
Daily logins, chat groups with ranked privileges, even access to dimension-hopping stores."
I breathed out slow. No point planning until I knew the roll.
Clutching the die, I muttered, "Rob, you love your chaos, but maybe chill a bit? Let's get something balanced, not a death sentence, okay?"
The die spun across the invisible floor — slower… slower… and then —
It stopped.
82.
A soft ding echoed in the back of my skull, and suddenly, a flood of text appeared in my vision, like someone had just loaded a UI straight into my brain.
System Assignment Confirmed: The Celestial Grimoire.