Waking up in a magical crib wasn't as peaceful as one might think.
The rune-etched cradle hummed softly, pulsing in rhythm with Sharath's heartbeat like a security system crossed with a lullaby. Its soft, magical blue light bathed the nursery in a soothing glow. If this were a hotel, Sharath would have given it five stars and a glowing review titled "Luxury Incarnate—Comes with Built-in Force Field."
Unfortunately, the body he currently occupied had other priorities. He was hungry, itchy, and mildly offended by the lack of dignity involved in needing someone else to wipe him.
This must be how smart Roombas feel—high processing power, stuck cleaning floor gunk.
A maid bustled in, carrying a basin and humming a cheerful tune. Her robes swished, embroidered with faintly glowing thread—probably minor enchantments. Sharath had begun recognizing these little flourishes. Here, even fashion was magically optimized. Last week, he'd seen a servant's apron deflect spilled soup midair.
As she approached, Sharath blinked innocently. It was an important skill in his new role: appearing baby-like while thinking like a technomancer.
"Oh, you're awake, little master," she said, smiling. "That's good. Lady Ishvari will be pleased. She's been worried you're too quiet for a babe."
Sharath gurgled in response. It was the most advanced linguistic tool he currently had that wouldn't get him branded as a sorcerer-reincarnate.
As the maid adjusted his sheets, she muttered, "Strangest thing—your cradle pulsed again last night. Gave the dog a fright. Poor creature ran headfirst into the gate rune. It still smells like burnt fur and regret."
Sharath snorted.
A snort.
No! Control your reactions, Krishnamurthy! You're supposed to be an adorable loaf of sentient pudding!
The maid leaned down. "Did you just snort?"
He blinked rapidly and gurgled again.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're not like other babies."
Lady, I cracked RSA-4096 before I learned to crawl. You don't even know how not like other babies I am.
Later that afternoon, he was propped up on a silk-lined cushion while various nobles stopped by for ceremonial visits. Sharath had mentally dubbed this practice "Kiss the Baby and Whisper About Succession."
"I hear his aura is unusually stable," said one lady in emerald robes.
"Stable? It's radiant," her companion whispered. "The Magister said it hummed back at him."
"He looks... alert," murmured an older noble. "Too alert. Like he's judging me."
Sharath very much was.
One of the younger noblewomen leaned down and made the mistake of wiggling her jeweled fingers in front of his face. Sharath responded with a textbook counter-grip maneuver—also known as a "baby death clasp."
The woman squealed, delighted. "He's so strong! Like a little lion cub!"
More like a very small, very judgmental tech consultant with muscle memory from typing 120 wpm.
Lord Varundar arrived soon after, sweeping in with dramatic flair and a mug of something that looked suspiciously like fermented goat milk.
"There's my boy!" he bellowed. "Come, Sharath! Grip your father's thumb and establish dominance!"
Sharath obliged, clamping down with both tiny fists.
Varundar chuckled, overjoyed. "By the ancestors, he's already got a warrior's grip! He'll be wielding a sword before he can speak!"
Or building a prototype drone that slices bread with arcane precision.
Lady Ishvari entered next, her eyes softening at the sight of her son. She knelt beside him and reached into her pocket to retrieve a carved wooden animal—something between a lion and a porcupine.
"I had this when I was a girl," she said, placing it beside him. "It's enchanted. If you squeeze its belly, it sings nursery rhymes."
She squeezed it.
The lion-porcupine hybrid immediately belted out something that sounded like a war chant performed by a squirrel choir.
Sharath blinked.
Ishvari winced. "It used to be gentler."
He reached out a pudgy hand and smacked it off the cushion.
She burst into laughter. "You have taste, at least."
That evening, Sharath lay in his rune-cradle, digesting everything.
Okay. Let's assess:
Parents: Loving, hilarious, slightly terrifying.
Cradle: Magic-enabled, mood reactive, excellent for eavesdropping.
Body: Baby. Fragile. No teeth. Zero bladder control.
World: Medieval fantasy, ruled by magic, weird politics, and animal-shaped musical landmines.
Conclusion: Adaptation must be strategic. Overperformance = suspicion. Underperformance = disappointing prodigy parents. Balance = survive long enough to revolutionize the world.
As he processed this, a quiet knock came at the door. A moment later, a tall, thin man entered the nursery, accompanied by a smaller figure in a deep indigo robe.
The man bowed to Lady Ishvari. "My lady, the court magister is here. He would like to perform the formal aura reading, now that the child is a few days old."
Ishvari looked uncertain. "Is that safe?"
The robed man stepped forward, lowering his hood. His face was lean and marked with shimmering tattoos—glyphs that subtly moved on his skin like silver script caught in the wind.
"It will be gentle, my lady," he said. "A surface scan only. To understand what blessings your child may have inherited."
She nodded slowly. "Proceed."
Sharath watched with intense curiosity disguised as drooling interest.
The magister raised a long crystal wand and pointed it toward Sharath. A web of glowing sigils bloomed in the air—rotating slowly like planets in orbit.
"Hmmm," the magister murmured.
"Hmmm?" Ishvari echoed, instantly maternal and suspicious.
"This child's aura…" He leaned closer, frowning. "It is old. Very old. But vibrant. Refined."
He turned to Varundar, who had just entered. "My lord, your son's spiritual resonance matches that of a sage, not an infant. It's as if… as if he remembers."
Varundar raised an eyebrow. "Remembers what?"
"That," said the magister, "is the question."
Oh great, thought Sharath. I've been spiritually audited.
The magister's crystal wand flickered. The lights in the room dimmed briefly, and for a moment, Sharath saw something behind the symbols. A shape. An echo. Like a ghost of his former self—binary lines layered behind the runes.
The magister took a sharp breath. "This child… he carries echoes of another life."
Ishvari clutched her husband's hand. "You mean he's… reincarnated?"
"I cannot say for certain. But the signs are… compelling. You must watch him closely."
No no no, Sharath thought, trying very hard to look like a sleepy drool-monster. Don't you dare start a prophecy around me. I am NOT interested in being The Chosen Baby.
The magister straightened. "He may bring great change."
He bowed, replaced his hood, and left.
Sharath let out a loud burp just to reestablish his baby credentials.
That night, while everyone else slept, Sharath practiced what he called "Passive Baby Surveillance."
He lay still, eyes half-lidded, listening.
From the hall:
"…Aldric says the boy should be sent to the Temple for evaluation."
"He says that about every child born under a full moon."
"But this one glows, Rava. His crib sings back when he cries."
From the far end of the corridor:
"…Lord Varundar has been pushing for more rune integration in the outer walls. Innovation like that could make enemies."
"But if the boy inherits his father's mind and his mother's instincts…"
Sharath felt both pride and dread.
They're already speculating. I haven't even learned to crawl yet.
Just then, a small object skittered across the stone floor—a cat-sized creature with six legs and fur that shimmered like moonlight. It paused beside his cradle and blinked at him with golden eyes.
He blinked back.
Okay, not a cat. Possibly a sentient mop with opinions.
The creature chirped once and then vanished into a shadow.
This world is weird. I love it. But also, I need backup plans. And possibly a wand.
The next morning, Lady Ishvari found him grinning up at her.
"Why are you smiling, hmm?" she asked, lifting him gently. "Did you dream of starlight again?"
Sharath reached for her face.
For a moment, he didn't think like a scientist or a strategist. He was just a baby, newly born, held close by someone who loved him deeply.
She kissed his forehead and whispered, "You're going to change everything, aren't you?"
That's the plan, Mother.