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He felt—weird. Very weird, very strangely; he very much felt like he was floating through the clouds. He felt empty, devoid of energy, his mind was all light and airy and it was just weird because he normally never felt like this. He would get tired, yes, it was a normal thing for all people, dice were no exception, but to feel so tired that his whole body felt like a giant paperweight, so tired that he couldn’t move his limbs at all, so exhausted that he felt hollow and unnaturally bad on the inside was very, very weird. Was he dying? What was happening?
He thought he heard noises, coming from somewhere beyond the black void of lethargy he was trapped in—multiple, distant voices, overlapping each other, though he couldn’t place a name, a face, anything that held a mote of familiarity to them. They were all alien and they sounded… happy? Why?
Then there was a loud voice right next to him, so deep and bombastic it struck an inexplicable fear into him, and he felt like he was vibrating on the inside, much like how he felt when he turned into a bomb on the battlefield, ready to blow an enemy to bits. Only, instead of the excitement he usually harbored, it was replaced by an icky, so very wrong feeling that he couldn’t give a name for.
The wrong feeling faded, for a few seconds, and he felt like he was floating again, almost like that wonderful sensation of being thrown into the air by his dicewielder—
Only to be smacked in the face by the bad, wrong, so very terrible feeling all over again and it was ten times worse. He could feel himself tumbling across a hard surface, like he had been rolled, but it was all so bad and horrid and wrong and by the time he came to the stop on his side he felt like he was about to break apart into pieces.
Bad bad bad bad wrong bad—
And then it happened again, a sharp force, hitting him on his bottom, sending him hurtling forwards once more, that bad bad bad feeling intensifying with every impact with the floor. It was like the world’s worst merry-go-round ride and when he finally stopped he felt sick, along with the bad bad feeling wracking his small frame. He wanted to let everything in the world inside of him out, it felt all gross and tight inside for some reason. He wanted to get it outside but he knew if he did it would never stop and then he’d quite possibly kill himself from the overextertion. He heard about similar things happening to other dice and he was not about to put that rumor to the test.
There was a moment of nothing, and he just laid there, but laying there against that hard surface made the wrong feeling worse by the second, so he summoned all the strength inside of him and moved his arms. They were too shaky and too flimsy-feeling but he had good enough control over them to press his palms against the floor, brace his elbows, and push. He lifted himself just enough to get his face off the floor, and he opened his eye—there was a dim yellow light, but it felt entirely too bright and then—
“Dicey!”
Dicey tilted himself up higher, and there was Even, a blurry mess of purple and peach and brown, like someone had turned her into paint and splattered her across a canvas of brown darkness—she came closer, bent down, held him and for a moment the bad feeling faded into the background, dulled and cast aside as he focused on her distraught voice. It sounded strained, like she had been crying, and as he was pulled close to her chest he could feel her rapid heartbeat going thump-thump thump-thump, fast as a fleeing animal.
“I’m not leaving here without you, Dicey.”
Even was upset, very upset and Dicey was pretty sure this was the first time he had seen her like this. He knew her to be very stubborn, headstrong and furious at just about everything in the world and the circumstances that put her in the situation she had found herself in, her sister Odd ripped away from her—and then she’d been compelled in some way or another to set out all by herself and find Odd.
Sure, Dicey didn’t know the whole story, he wasn’t there at the moment Odd had rolled the One True Dice, got a six and was taken by the Nanny to the celebrated kingdom of Sixtopia. Even probably did take it hard, she was only—ten? Or was it eleven? He didn’t remember, his head was all fuzzy. But losing family had to take its toll on a little girl. She never really showed it, if she had taken it that badly, she was hardened up by all the fighting she did on a daily basis and all the creepy strangers she had to deal with.
All that to say that if she was this upset, something must be very wrong. Was this why he felt so bad? He did once hear that a dice was empathically linked to their dicewielder upon meeting them, but there was little to no evidence of that really being true. For all he knew something else was causing this bad feeling that was starting to encroach back on him, the sweet relief of being reunited with Even slowly fading. He could feel her standing up, and he let his arms fall limp, losing strength once more as she lifted him.
“Leave. Him. Alone. This dice is under my protection.” She moved him, as she spoke, sideways and up to her chest again. He didn’t know who she was speaking to, but he could pick up that familiar fire in her voice and he wanted to feel happy that he got that Even he knew and loved back but he felt so wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong bad bad wrong
“Ha! And a fine job you’ve been doing of it too,” the booming voice from before said. “But I am always up for a gamble… Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice announced, and the crowd started to cheer again, “In a surprise twist, a new challenger has entered the arena!”
Dicey felt Even tapping his head, shaking him lightly, and he knew why but he felt like he’d only fall over if he stood up, so he just clung to her. Wrong side for a piggyback, but it could still be a piggyback, right? But—
“Though perhaps I use the word ‘challenger’ too easily… This child looks more like a clown!”
He had to try. For Even’s sake.
Even sighed and pushed against his side, so he repositioned himself until he was hanging on from her back. She started running, so he held on for dear life.
The fight was agony, that bad bad feeling wearing down on him whenever Even moved too sharply – which was often – or when she rolled him. He normally relished the sensation of being thrown into the air, tumbling around as she brought out the unbridled power inside that little body of his to unleash havoc upon the robots she battled day-in and day-out. But the air that he sailed through was too hot and he fell too hard and tumbled too roughly and it all made that bad bad feeling so much worse.
He still couldn’t place the word for it. He knew the word in Dicean, yes, it was toaploom, but the word for it in Common—it was on the tip of his metaphorical tongue and why couldn’t he think of it.
Even had been talking to him when she could, during brief moments of respite and when he wasn’t flailing around to collect dice energy, or setting up hazards to wreck the enemies with. “You’re doing great,” she’d whisper. “I’m gonna get us out of here,” or, “You can do it, Dicey, I believe in you.” They were all said with a slight hint of dread in her tone but with so much hope that it filled Dicey with determination to get him through the chaos thus far.
But then he tripped and yelled out, and he could feel Even’s footsteps pounding through the wood as she retreated away from the ‘bot she was attacking to help him up, lifting him to her back and before he realized what he was doing he reached as far around her middle as he could, squeezed her like his life depended on it, buried his face into her back
and screamed
And he could hear her voice, distantly, as he yelled and cried into her jacket and clenched the fabric in his hands, trying so desperately to relieve the bad bad bad feeling coursing through his frame.
Bad bad bad bad wrong bad wrong
“Dicey, Dicey?! What’s wrong?!” He felt her sidestep and then an ensuing bang of an enemy’s hammer, and he gripped tighter as another cry came out of him. He heard her fire an arrow and the crackle crackle of a robot disintegrating, and he felt her relax the slightest bit. “Dicey, are—are you in pain?”
That was the godforsaken word, pain.
The pain was all throughout his body, a pressure on his frame, a fire in his limbs and it felt bad and he hated it and wanted it to go away. He hadn’t been in pain like this for—well, as long as he could remember. He didn’t know how old he was; he was older than Even, certainly. He might be considered a child in dice years but he wasn’t sure. Whatever the case he was young enough to know that he had never been in this much agony before.
He made a noise of affirmation and he could sense that fire lighting up inside of her again, he could feel the warmth radiating off her back as she slipped back into the ebb and flow of battle. “Stupid Fourman, stupid Queen,” she had mumbled at some point. “Why is everyone out to hurt us and stop us, it’s no fair, we don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve this!”
She threw him, again, and he swore that he tumbled a little farther this time and hit the ground a little harder—she rolled a three, and Dicey let his limbs pop out and he barely caught his balance as he did. Things were starting to get weird; he was all dizzy and that sick feeling was coming back. He fought to suppress it as Even carefully made her choices while time was frozen around them. A weapon, an elixir, a boost of some kind; he couldn’t make any of it out. His vision never quite cleared up, all the ambiance of battle and the sound of the crowd cheering had been replaced by a constant ringing. It was all overwhelming and had him glued to the spot as he tried to drown out all the badness, the fire and the pain—
He didn’t even realize that Even, in all her rage, ran off and started going nuts on a robot somewhere far off and he didn’t discover that she had done so until he saw the vague form of an enemy walk up to him, and whack him in the face with its sword, and bad bad bad wrong bad hurt pain—
Things were a blur after that, he felt lighter all of a sudden, he felt himself get lifted up by one of his legs so he opened his eye: but he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything that he was seeing. Everything was big blobs of disconnected colors, bouncing dizzily around his vision, intensifying that sick feeling. He thought he might have heard Even, and he wanted to reach out to her, but he didn’t know where she was so he just hung there, helplessly. Seconds later he was sailing through the air again and then—
And then he hit something and everything went dark.
He woke up, sometime later, and it was no longer loud and bright and he—liked that. He didn’t feel overwhelmed anymore—everything still hurt badly and he still felt sick on the inside but he also felt… safe.
And he realized it was because Even was right there with him—she was mostly on top of him, actually, Dicey wasn’t sure why but she was here.
It took a lot of effort to open his heavy eyelid. He could see much better than before, he didn’t see Even in front of him but there were some pips there instead, energetic as always, bouncing and hopping and tripping over each other. Even was to his side, partly on top of him, gripping him tightly, and—he could hear her, quietly crying, mumbling, “No, no, no…”
And then he put two and two together. He had been unconscious, laying somewhere, she was sobbing and crying and she thought he was dead, didn’t she?
He summoned all the willpower inside of him to wiggle slightly, to let her know he was alive, he was—he wasn’t quite okay, but he was awake and aware of his surroundings, unlike earlier. He didn’t plan on leaving Even anytime soon; he loved her with all of his metaphorical heart and he knew the feeling was mutual.
She noticed the movement, moved back a little, and exclaimed “Dicey!” as she pulled him up close and hugged him tight and—it felt nice; he felt safe and everything around him faded. Just him and Even; he felt too weak to lift up his arms to reciprocate the embrace, but he managed a small coo, hoping that she could understand that he appreciated it, and loved her, and that he just wanted to stay there like that for as long as possible.
But she let go far too soon and she gently turned him so that he could see her. Her face was red, there were still tears pouring from her puffy eyes and she was shaking, hard. “Dicey, I was so scared,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you hurt, I should never have put you in danger, we don’t belong here, and I just—I just—wanna go home.” She let it all out in a big long breath and she sunk to her knees, letting him go, Dicey found the strength to lift his arm, and place it on her back in what he knew was a human way of showing comfort, but she kept sobbing—
And then, a voice, from in front of them:
“Did someone say... ‘smuggle me home’?”
Dicey realized just how awfully tired he felt in that moment. He wasn’t paying much attention to the ensuing conversation, but of what he could glean from it, the teen’s name was Ludo Bets and he lost his brother to the High Roller—and since Even had a dice, she could win him back. They just needed more pips, to roll higher than a four, to beat the Fourman. They’d need to find out a way to fix him as well; Dicey just lost half of his pips after that last blow to the face.
And then they were off to… somewhere. She was moving quickly, very quickly, and Dicey was starting to have trouble keeping up; his whole body felt all heavy, every movement he made, he felt like he was trying to swim through molasses. Even eventually noticed, much to his relief.
“Dicey?” she said, voice small. Her eyes were still bloodshot and puffy. “You need a break? You… you look terrible.” She glanced to the side for a moment. Dicey knew guilt when he saw it, but he didn’t know how to articulate that this wasn’t her fault. He was just so tired.
“Sleepy,” he said. His legs felt all wobbly, now, as Even closed the distance between them. He clung to her jacket to support himself as she set a hand on the back side of him, and they started walking again, much slower this time. Dicey let his eye close, just focusing on his footsteps, one in front of the other. The streets were mostly quiet, voices drifting around every now and then, hushed and subdued. “Even, can… can we rest? Can I sleep?”
“You can, Dicey, just gotta find us a spot where no one will bother us—hopefully.”
Dicey wasn’t sure how far or for how long they walked, it felt long enough for his mind to go blank, too tired to think. He studied the way Even’s jacket felt between his fingers; the fabric was stiff but also soft in a cozy sort of way that he very much enjoyed. They did eventually stop and he finally succumbed to his shaky legs, falling to his knees. He heard Even gasp, quietly, and he was ever so gingerly lifted, and then placed on her lap. She held him close much like she did earlier, hugging him tight and it felt so nice and he wanted to tell her that but he was so exhausted.
“Thank you…” was all he could get out before sleep started to take him under. He thought he heard Even say something else, and he felt her lay her head on top of him, surrounding him with warmth, and he felt cozy, despite the pain; he just—he felt loved.
The sleep didn’t make him feel one-hundred percent better, but at least the pain searing through his body dulled to something much less terrible. He didn’t feel like he was going to topple over at any second either.
Dice could patch themselves up with enough sleep—but in his condition, he’d definitely need some outside help if he wanted to heal up properly. His lid was all crooked, some of his spots felt all weird after having those pips forcefully knocked out of him—they’d need to find someone to fix him, Even said. They only knew of one person who had both the skills and the knowledge to do so and they had no clue where he was.
Only, for some reason he was here in Fourburg, gambling at a table, having the time of his life, and by some stroke of luck they stumbled upon him and he immediately left the game to come and talk to them.
Seemore was ecstatic to see them. Even didn’t feel quite the same and Dicey realized he still didn’t know why she wanted to go home or why she’d been down in the dumps all day. Even seemed—lost, for a lack of better words. She ended up unloading herself onto Seemore, saying that she didn’t know what she was doing anymore, she doubted everything and even that she might have been wrong about her sister all this time, that Odd wasn’t who she thought she was and that she shouldn’t have looked up to her.
Seemore lived up to his name and told her that what she was feeling was okay. Life was full of uncertainties, there was no helping it.
Even told him about the boy from before, who promised to smuggle her home if she saved his brother from the Fourman. Only way she could even challenge him, however, was to prove that she could roll a five. And Dicey was in no state to do so.
Seemore gladly took Dicey into his paws and set to work. It didn’t take too long; pop the pips back in, fix his lid—Seemore did something to his insides and it felt a little weird, but—he felt a lot better. There was still a twinge of pain in his limbs, but he’d been restored and with the extra pips Even retrieved from Threedom, Dicey was now capable of rolling fours.
Not enough to challenge the High Roller, however.
So, Seemore told them to go to the Soothsayer tents, and ask for someone named Ooma. And to not tell her that he was the one who sent them.
“Thank you!” Dicey said, as they walked off, and then he leaped onto Even, giving her a proper hug. Even was startled, but returned it all the same.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, buddy.”
The tents were a weird experience, most of it Dicey couldn’t remember because he’d been too busy getting distracted by, well, everything. The whole spooky atmosphere of the area, the shiny coins and jewelry some of the merchants sold—he even managed to get one of the fortune tellers to read his palm. They said his future was dicey and Dicey could only giggle at that.
They met a woman there who was known as the Rug Reader, in a tent lined with rugs she weaved, in different shades and patterns and it was all so pretty, in a way. She knew something about Ooma, but she wasn’t telling them unless Even helped a few folks in town who were in their own sticky situations.
The first one they went to was a man who used to be a dicewielder himself—that is, until the No Dice War. He made a bad roll with his own dice, Cubey—and he felt too guilty to ever confront her, make peace with her, or mostly with himself.
He hadn’t seen her since.
Dicey could see a semblance of recognition on Even’s face and he felt all sad on the inside again. It really wasn’t her fault that he got hurt; she didn’t need to feel guilty at all.
Nevertheless, they were faced with a challenge, now: win the fight this broken shell of a man couldn’t finish, and perhaps find out what happened to Cubey in the process.
Cubey was dead.
Even swallowed thickly as she picked up the gray, lifeless corpse of the dice, left here at the edge of the battlefield to gather dust. She looked at Dicey; her face was pale. Dicey hugged Even from her side. She had already gone through the hell that was earlier, and now she faced this? A grim reminder that her companion was very much capable of dying. Not only that, she now had to face a poor, lonely man and tell him his best friend was now dead.
Even was just a child. She didn’t deserve any of this.
Dicey wanted to make her feel better. But how?
No words could describe the shock, then the sadness that came over that poor man’s face as Even handed Cubey’s corpse over to him. He held her close, looked as if he was going to cry—but tears never came. He was going to give her peace, and then give peace to himself, he said. “I can’t forgive myself for my mistakes, but I can learn from them,” he explained. “That’s what she would’ve wanted.”
Dicey swore, he saw something spark in Even’s eyes.
The man handed Even a blue thread: a friendship bracelet Cubey had made for him, and that he thought she’d want Even to have it, he explained.
That’s it, Dicey realized. As they said farewell to the sad, but no longer despairing man, Dicey kept his eye out for—well, something. He’d know what he needed when he saw it.
The bond you and your dice share, it’s important.
The man’s parting words echoed in his head, as Dicey laid his eye upon a red ribbon, sitting in the middle of the street. As they walked past, he snatched it up, and tossed it inside of him.
The friendship will define both your lives.
Dicey snatched a shiny dice pin off of a gambling table, as Even gathered herself after an ambush of robots. He was back before she even realized he wandered off, and then they set off to help the third and final person.
Don’t let anyone keep you apart. You belong together.
And as they headed back to the Soothsayer tents, Dicey finally finished up his masterpiece, dusting the extra glitter off of the bow. “Even!” he exclaimed, and she turned, tilting her head slightly.
“What have you got, there?”
“A gift. For you!” He walked up to her, proudly displaying the bow in his lifted palms.
Even took his hands into her own, cradling them, as she studied the decorated ribbon. It twinkled in the dim moonlight, and—and she smiled.
“Dicey, I, it’s… it’s beautiful. Thank you.”
She hung her head low, allowing Dicey to pin it to her hair, right next to the base of her ponytail. She lifted her head up, beaming at him.
“Looks good, right?”
“You look fabulous!” he said, and she laughed, and it was probably the happiest he’s seen her all day and he felt good inside. He leapt onto her for another hug and she caught him, spinning him around, and Dicey knew in that moment that they were going to be okay.