The first thing Sharath became aware of when he woke was warmth — not the scratchy, overheated discomfort of too many blankets, but a deep, permeating heat that felt like it was curling around his bones and tucking itself in.
The second thing was the smell.
Cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon. And cedarwood. It was like someone had infused the entire cradle with a festive-scented air freshener.
He cracked his eyes open. Sunlight streamed through a stained-glass window, scattering fractured beams of color across the nursery walls. The glass was cut in strange, looping patterns — flowers, animals, and symbols he didn't recognize — and as the morning light moved, the colors shifted and danced like a living kaleidoscope.
This… beats waking up with a stiff neck at my desk, he thought.
A bird trilled from outside, a sound so melodious and perfectly in tune that he wondered for a second if it had been auto-tuned. The tone was too clean, the notes too precise. Magical wildlife? Or maybe the bardic equivalent of a pet parrot?
He shifted in the cradle and was immediately reminded of last night's little… light show. The runes etched into the cradle's wooden frame still glowed faintly, pulsing in that same steady rhythm as his heartbeat. Every so often, a swirl of light would ripple from one rune to another, like the way data packets might travel through a network diagram.
Oh my god, it's a magical baby-monitoring IoT device. I've been reincarnated into the fantasy equivalent of a smart crib.
A rustle of fabric drew his attention. A young woman was moving about the room, sweeping dried herbs into a bowl while muttering to herself.
"…told her not to mix lavender and mandrake in the stew… the baby started glowing like a lantern… could have startled the spirits…"
Sharath's eyes narrowed. Glowing stew? Was *that* why everything last night had looked extra golden? He filed it away. Possible cause: magical herb side effects. Possible consequence: random bioluminescent babies.
The girl noticed he was awake and crossed over, her steps careful, her long robe swishing softly against the polished wooden floor.
"Awake again, little master?" she asked, her voice warm. "Such wide eyes. As if you see everything."
Lady, if you only knew.
She reached down and tapped one of the glowing runes. The wood vibrated faintly under him, and a wave of warmth flooded his tiny body, making his muscles unclench. His breathing slowed.
Biometric-triggered magical comfort functions. This crib is basically a luxury ergonomic office chair for infants.
As the hours passed, he began to notice patterns. The cradle's glow would intensify if he fussed, dim slightly if he relaxed. When he let out a particularly high-pitched squeal, a faint shimmer rippled over the walls like a heat mirage.
Emotional state detection linked to environmental adjustment, he concluded. Primitive but effective. Imagine if we had this in the lab. Every time someone cursed at their code, the air conditioning could kick in.
He decided to run some tests.
Test #1: The "I Am Unhappy" Protocol.
He scrunched up his face and let out the kind of wail that would get him kicked off a commercial flight in under three minutes. Immediately, one of the runes dimmed, and a gem embedded in the far corner of the room flickered like it was losing signal.
Test #2: The "Charm Offensive."
He attempted what he hoped was a smile — no small feat when your facial muscles are about as coordinated as a drunk jellyfish. Still, the air in the room warmed noticeably.
Conclusion: The magic here wasn't just passively monitoring him; it was actively responding to his mood. Infant mood-responsive environmental control — an engineering marvel, even by fantasy standards.
During one of his less dignified moments — a diaper change — he hummed a melody. It wasn't intentional at first; he just remembered a tune Lady Ishvari had been humming the night before.
The effect was… unexpected.
Glowing butterflies. Dozens of them. Tiny motes of light shaped like butterfly wings appeared in the air above the changing table and drifted lazily around the room.
The maid froze mid-motion. Her mouth dropped open. "He's casting joy-spirits! The baby is blessing the chamber!"
Sharath groaned internally. Great. I'm going to be "that" baby. The one that makes magical glitter explosions every time he burps.
The butterflies slowly faded, leaving the girl staring at him like he was a walking miracle. Which, to be fair, he sort of was.
By the end of the day, he'd cataloged several key magical responses:
- **Rune Glow:** Directly tied to heartbeat and emotional spikes. - **Room Temperature:** Adjusts automatically to comfort level. - **Butterfly Manifestation:** Triggered by vocal melody — possibly linked to emotional resonance. - **Gem Brightness:** Fluctuates in response to distress levels.
He almost wished he had a lab notebook to write it all down. Old habits die hard.
But the real surprise came later that night.
Lady Ishvari entered quietly, wearing a simple robe and carrying a small lamp. She settled into a chair beside the cradle and leaned forward, her hair spilling over one shoulder.
"My son," she murmured, "you are going to change everything."
Sharath froze. Did she mean that in the vague parental "you're special" way? Or had she picked up on his… otherness?
She reached into the cradle, brushing his cheek. "I do not know why, but I feel the world tilt when you look at me."
Okay, no pressure, Mom.
She sang to him then — a low, lilting tune in that strange Sanskrit-like language. He didn't understand the words, but the melody was soothing, and he caught fragments of meaning in tone alone: promises of protection, strength, and destiny.
By the time she left, Sharath had a sinking suspicion that being "ordinary" in this life wasn't going to be an option.
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