By the start of his third week in this strange new world, Sharath had developed what could only be described as a *professional schedule*. It was the kind of rigid time-blocking that would have impressed his old project managers back in Hyderabad — except here, the blocks were labeled "eat," "sleep," "look adorable," "stare suspiciously at adults," and "accidentally perform magic."
The last one happened more often than he liked.
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## The Cradle That Judged Him
Sharath's cradle, a masterpiece of carved darkwood and glowing runes, had started to feel less like a bed and more like a very passive-aggressive coworker.
Every time he tried something "experimental" — like focusing on the northwest rune to see if it triggered a different sensation — the cradle would hum faintly, as if muttering, *I know what you're doing and I disapprove.*
It even seemed to have moods. Some mornings, it pulsed warm and steady, like a mug of chai on a rainy day. Other mornings, it stayed cold and stiff, as though it had read the gossip about him and decided to keep its distance.
In the dim early light filtering through the nursery window, the runes glowed faintly, casting patterns that crawled up the walls like slow-moving constellations. It would have been peaceful if Sharath didn't keep feeling like the cradle was silently judging his life choices.
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## The Morning Shift Arrives
The first sound of the day was always the door creak.
Vinya, his primary keeper of sanity (and, occasionally, unwitting accomplice in magical experiments), would sweep in with her usual energy. Today, she carried a basket of freshly laundered linens and a faint scowl.
"Three more guests arriving today," she muttered to herself. "That makes… twelve in the past week. Might as well put the Great Hall on permanent display."
She set the basket down and glanced at him. "And you, little master, are expected to look your *absolute best.*"
Sharath blinked slowly at her. This was his way of saying, *I am a baby. This is my best. Deal with it.*
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## Baby Stares of Judgment
The second maid, whom he mentally nicknamed "Eyebrows" because of her aggressively arched brows, entered carrying a tray of herbal tea for Ishvari. She gave Sharath the look adults give when they suspect an infant is plotting something.
"He's doing it again," Eyebrows whispered to Vinya.
"Doing what?"
"The *look*."
Vinya laughed. "It's just how he watches. He's curious."
"No, that's not curiosity. That's… appraisal." She shivered. "Like an owl. A tiny, judgmental owl."
Honestly? Not the worst description of me I've heard.
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## The Dog Incident
Mid-morning brought the day's first entertainment: Lord Varundar's hunting dog, a hulking creature named Braska, wandered into the nursery.
Braska sniffed the cradle, huffed once, and — in a move that would have had Sharath cackling if his throat muscles allowed it — laid down beside him, blocking the entire aisle.
The maids panicked.
"Out! Out!" Eyebrows flapped her arms at the dog, who ignored her completely.
Sharath reached out with one tiny hand and patted Braska's massive paw. The dog gave a slow, approving blink and stayed put.
And just like that, Sharath had secured the loyalty of a large, fanged bodyguard. His inner engineer filed this under "high-value network connections."
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## Servant Gossip: The Upgrade Edition
Servants rotated in and out all day, ostensibly to check on the nursery but mostly to get a look at the "miracle child."
From his cradle vantage point, Sharath learned that: - The east tower roof still leaked despite last year's repairs. - Lord Varundar had been seen inspecting the armory personally, which was apparently unusual. - Lady Ishvari had quietly ordered extra patrols near the forest.
Every snippet went into his mental database. He might be two weeks old here, but he had better intel than some mid-tier intelligence officers.
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## Magic Happens (Again)
That afternoon, while Vinya was adjusting his blanket, Sharath decided to test whether he could get the northwest rune to *pulse* instead of just glow.
He focused hard. The rune shimmered. Vinya's hair lifted slightly in a faint static charge.
"Saints preserve us," she muttered, glancing around for the source. "Must be the weather."
Sharath's lips curled into the faintest smirk. If babies could fist-bump themselves, he would have.
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## The Lord of the Manor Appears
Just before sunset, the door opened and in walked Lord Varundar himself, tall and broad-shouldered in a way that made the room feel smaller. His armor wasn't ceremonial — there were dents in it, as though he'd been sparring.
He stood by the cradle, studying Sharath with an expression halfway between curiosity and calculation.
"You watch everything," Varundar said, not unkindly. "Like you're learning."
Yes. Exactly. Now, if you could just give me a map of the estate and a primer on your political enemies, that would speed things along.
Varundar reached into a pouch and withdrew a small wooden carving — a hawk in flight. He set it on the cradle's edge. The rune-light reflected off its polished wings.
"A hawk sees far," Varundar said. "I think you will too."
The gesture was almost touching — until the hawk's beady eyes glinted in the rune light, making it look faintly malevolent. Sharath resolved to keep it in his peripheral vision at all times.
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## Night in the Nursery
As the day wound down, Vinya dimmed the rune light with a touch and closed the shutters halfway. Braska the dog still lay by the cradle, ears twitching in sleep. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted — a real one, not a sarcastic infant pretending to be one.
Sharath lay back, hands folded over his tiny chest, and reviewed the day's events.
Cradle still judgmental. Servants still gossiping. Nobles still circling like sharks. Forest still… out there.
He didn't know exactly what was coming, but his instincts told him: the "quiet baby days" wouldn't last much longer.
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*End of Part 1*