By Day 14, Sharath had figured out two important things about this new life: 1. He was absolutely *not* an ordinary baby. 2. This household — possibly this entire noble family — was making zero effort to hide it.
Which is why the Naming Ceremony preparations had turned into what could only be described as a medieval wedding crossed with a sports betting ring.
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## The Day Before
The activity started at dawn. Sharath was jolted awake by the sound of hammering in the courtyard. From his cradle, he could see servants hanging garlands of deep red and gold across the outer walls, the colors catching the early sunlight like fire.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, roasting meat, and… was that cinnamon again? Apparently cinnamon was the official scent of his life now.
Vinya arrived, bustling in with a tray of herbal bundles. "The astrologer is coming from the capital," she muttered while straightening his blanket. "Two days' ride, and they say he's bringing the Star Lens."
The way she said it made it sound like the Star Lens was the medieval equivalent of a nuclear launch key.
A second maid entered, arms full of cloth. "Lady Ishvari says to use the red silk for the ceremony," she told Vinya. "No, no," Vinya replied. "The head steward says gold shows prosperity. Red is for battle."
Sharath's brain was already spinning. Even the color scheme had political implications here.
---
## Nobles and Their Bets
By midmorning, the parade of visitors began.
Lord Varundar's fellow knights stopped by under the pretense of "offering blessings" but spent most of the time wagering over what the baby's name would be.
One weathered old knight with a scar across his cheek leaned over the cradle and whispered to another, "Twenty gold on 'Varundar Junior.'"
"Pfft," his companion scoffed. "It'll be something flashy. 'Elithran the Radiant,' or maybe 'Vaelric Stormborn.'"
A steward nearby leaned in. "Radiant? Did you *see* the baby sneeze on a rune circle? Burned it clean out!"
"I heard it sang back," another muttered.
"I heard it made its bathwater float," said yet another.
For the record, Sharath *burped* that day, not sang. But sure, let's call it sorcery.
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## The Tailor's Visit
In the afternoon, a thin, bespectacled man entered the nursery with a roll of measuring string. He bowed low to Ishvari before approaching the cradle.
"Even for a newborn, we must have the ceremonial garb fitted precisely," he said. "Magic clings better to well-tailored cloth."
Magic clings better? Is that a thing? Is static cling a problem for spells here?
The man worked with meticulous precision, wrapping the string around Sharath's tiny arms, chest, and even measuring the circumference of his head. He muttered numbers under his breath, occasionally glancing at a floating slate beside him that automatically recorded the measurements.
Okay, so you *do* have magical equivalents of tablets here. Nice.
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## Eavesdropping Like a Pro
That evening, Sharath pretended to be asleep while Ishvari and Varundar spoke in low voices.
"The court will be watching this ceremony closely," Varundar said. "The child's… abilities are already attracting notice."
Ishvari's tone was softer, but firm. "We will not parade him as a weapon. Not yet. Let him be a child for a while."
Her words sent a flicker of relief through him. At least one parent wasn't in a rush to turn him into a magical war asset.
---
## Morning of the Ceremony
The household woke earlier than usual. Vinya fussed over Sharath's ceremonial robe, which was a deep gold threaded with silver runes. The fabric was so soft it felt like being wrapped in a warm cloud.
Unfortunately, it was also slightly itchy at the neck, which he tried to convey through a series of strategic squirms. Vinya interpreted this as "excitement."
The halls were buzzing with voices, the shuffle of guests' boots, and the clink of goblets. From his cradle's vantage point, Sharath caught glimpses of richly dressed nobles, guards in polished armor, and servants carrying trays of food so artfully arranged they could have been paintings.
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## The Ceremony Space
The Naming Ceremony was to be held in the Great Hall — a cavernous space with vaulted ceilings and banners displaying the Darsha crest: a stylized silver hawk clutching a lightning bolt.
The dais at the far end held a carved stone platform surrounded by a shallow ring of water. Floating above the platform, suspended by some unseen force, was a crystalline sphere that glimmered faintly even in the morning light.
If I had to guess, that's where the magic happens. Literally.
Rows of chairs faced the dais, though most nobles seemed more interested in mingling and sipping from elaborate goblets than actually taking their seats.
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## Pre-Ceremony Festivities
Before the actual naming, there was a long period of "blessing" from various attendees.
A priest in white robes sprinkled water over the cradle while muttering in the melodic local language. Sharath caught the gist — protection, strength, long life — but also noticed the water shimmer unnaturally before vanishing midair.
A group of musicians played a tune on stringed instruments that looked like a cross between a harp and a sitar. The melody was slow, resonant, and had a peculiar undercurrent that made the rune on Sharath's cradle flicker faintly.
Magic *is* embedded in music here. That explains the butterfly incident.
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## The Whisper Network
The real entertainment came from the overheard whispers.
"…the child's eyes follow everything. Not like other infants…" "…lit the cradle on his first night, they say…" "…did you hear about the floating bathwater?" "…I heard he blessed the entire nursery."
Blessed. Sure. Let's call it that.
Sharath cataloged every scrap of rumor. Even as a newborn, his brain defaulted to mapping networks — who knew what, who repeated what, and which stories were exaggerated beyond recognition.
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## The Arrival of the Astrologer
And then, finally, the air in the hall changed.
Conversations quieted. Nobles turned toward the entrance.
A tall figure entered, draped in deep indigo robes embroidered with constellations in gold thread. His staff was crowned with a crystal that emitted a soft, continuous hum. His beard was long and braided, and tiny metal charms hung from it, each etched with miniature runes.
The old man walked with deliberate slowness, his presence radiating importance. Even without understanding the customs here fully, Sharath knew: this was someone who mattered.
The Star Lens was slung across his back — an intricate frame of silver holding a disc of opalescent glass that shimmered with shifting colors.
Okay, I admit, that's kind of awesome.
---
The hall grew utterly silent. Sharath could almost hear his own heartbeat — and the faint, eager hum of the runes beneath him.
Tomorrow, or maybe in the next few minutes, he'd find out exactly how much trouble he was in.