The Star Prism rotated with an almost hypnotic slowness, each facet catching and bending the glow from the rune circle into dazzling patterns. Colors Sharath didn't have names for shimmered across the walls. Some looked like molten gold, others like fractured moonlight, and a few reminded him disturbingly of code syntax highlighting gone wrong.
The air vibrated. Not loudly — more like the faint hum of a server room late at night. A low, constant, living sound.
---
## First Sweep
The magister tapped his staff once against the floor.
A thread of light snaked from the Star Prism, curling through the air until it touched the center of Sharath's chest. The moment it made contact, he felt an odd ripple — as if someone had just opened every tab in his mental browser at once.
*Stay calm. You've done audits before. This is just… a mystical one.*
The light spread, outlining his tiny body in a faint golden glow. Sharath glanced down (as much as his newborn neck would allow) and noticed it wasn't a solid color. It was webbed with lines — some bright, some dim, some flickering like bad Wi-Fi.
The magister leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Unusual patterning."
Great. That's exactly what you want to hear from someone doing a magical diagnostic.
---
## Commentary From the Peanut Gallery
Behind the magister, Vinya was peeking from the side of the room. Eyebrows stood beside her, whispering.
"What's unusual?" Eyebrows asked.
Vinya shushed her. "If it was *bad* unusual, they'd stop the reading."
Yes, thank you for that completely unhelpful reassurance.
---
## The Elemental Layers
The magister moved his hand over the closest crystal lens — the one inscribed with the symbol for fire. The glow around Sharath shifted, threads of orange and red weaving through the gold.
"Elemental fire affinity… above baseline," the magister murmured.
Oh no. Please don't tell me I'm going to be a fire mage. I barely trust myself with a gas stove.
Next came the water lens. Cool blues rippled through the glow, softening the harsher red lines. Then earth — warm greens and browns layered in. Air brought a silvery shimmer.
What struck Sharath wasn't just the presence of each element — it was that they weren't fighting for dominance. They braided together, balanced, almost… engineered.
The magister clearly noticed. His lips thinned. "Harmonic elemental alignment. Rare."
---
## The Thread Test
Now came the "binding threads." The magister took a spool of what looked like silver silk and let a single strand drift toward Sharath's hand. It didn't fall like fabric — it floated, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.
When it touched his skin, it lit up in a brilliant white.
The magister froze.
"Interesting," he murmured.
What's interesting? Do you people realize how stressful it is to be a literal infant during a performance review?
---
## The Unwanted Data Leak
As the thread settled across his palm, something odd happened — Sharath felt a memory surface. Not from this life. From his old one.
Sitting at his desk in Hyderabad, sipping chai while debugging a stubborn data pipeline. The faint hum of the AC. The ache in his wrist from hours of typing.
The magister's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
No. No no no. Did you *see* that? That's not supposed to be in this save file!
Sharath immediately forced his thoughts toward something neutral. Puppies. Rain. The taste of sweet lassi.
---
## The Political Murmurs
Ishvari spoke for the first time since the scan began. "Your assessment, Magister?"
The old man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted another lens — one Sharath didn't recognize. It was carved from obsidian, the rune etched in blood-red.
When the beam from that lens touched him, Sharath felt… *weight*. Like someone had draped a lead blanket over his soul.
The magister finally straightened. "Your son's magical pathways are… atypical. They suggest potential for both high elemental integration and cross-domain manipulation."
"Cross-domain?" Varundar asked.
"A rare aptitude," the magister said carefully. "Not inherently dangerous… but in the wrong hands—"
He stopped himself.
---
## Sharath's Inner Alarm Bells
In the wrong hands? I *am* the hands. And unless you're planning to recruit me into a medieval hacking guild, this conversation is starting to sound like trouble.
---
## Closing the Scan
The magister tapped his staff twice, and the runes dimmed. The Star Prism's rotation slowed until it came to a halt. The threads of light withdrew, snapping back into the crystal.
The air in the room seemed to thin again, like the moment after a storm passes.
Vinya hurried forward to check on him, fussing with the blanket. Sharath pretended to be slightly drowsy, just to avoid further questions.
---
## The Verdict
The magister turned to Ishvari and Varundar. "He will draw attention."
That was it. No poetic prophecy. No dramatic declaration. Just a quiet, heavy statement.
Ishvari's gaze flicked briefly toward Sharath, her expression unreadable. Varundar's jaw tightened.
"Thank you, Magister," Ishvari said, dismissing him with the barest dip of her head.
The old man bowed and left, his staff's obsidian sphere dimming as he went.
---
## Aftermath
When the door closed, Ishvari lingered by the cradle, one hand resting lightly on the rail.
"You heard," she said softly.
Yes. And I'd like to point out that "drawing attention" is not a personality flaw, it's just good networking.
Varundar placed the hawk carving back at the edge of the cradle. "Then we prepare," he said simply, before following his wife out.
Sharath lay in the dimming light, staring at the hawk.
This… was going to get complicated.
---