Meteor Mornings and Mage Tutors
Morning in the estate didn't so much arrive as it exploded—the sky was a painter's riot of pastel oranges and pinks that looked suspiciously like someone had told the sun to "go wild" without checking the budget.
Sharath, still wrapped up like a burrito who had been around, was yawning halfway through when the door opened and in came a man who resembled Gandalf's older, more learned cousin. The court tutor's back arched in a gracious parenthesis, his beard so long that it had been divided into three sections labeled History, Philosophy, and Miscellaneous Snacks.
"Today," the tutor wheezed, "we test your harmless rune reaction." He stressed "harmless" the way people say "this won't hurt a bit" right before a surprise tetanus shot.
From the corner, Ishvari's eyes narrowed. Varundar silently stepped over to inspect the nearest fire extinguisher. Both knew that in this house, the word "harmless" had a half-life of about three seconds.
The instructor raised a bony finger and sketched out a glowing orange circle in mid-air. The glyph glowed with heat, curling in slow circles as if it were running behind schedule to meet up with a fireplace. Sharath, in routine habit, started projecting the curves of the rune onto logical gates in his brain.
Then—tickle. Deep, sneeze-inducing tickle.
He sneezed.
The glyph cracked like a sugar sculpture colliding with a bowling ball. Glitter rained in all directions, ricocheting off the tutor's monocle, which went flying and struck with a faint plink against the wall.
"Ah," the man wheezed, brushing his robes for damage, "never in all my decades have I witnessed passive rune cancellation in an infant. Subject." He wrote wildly in a notebook, ".potentially reality-adjacent."
🐧NeuroBoop
YOU'RE NOW OFFICIALLY CLASSIFIED AS AN "ANOMALOUS LEARNING EVENT." MOM WOULD BE PROUD.
Sharath blinked in baby-innocence, while internally wondering if "reality-adjacent" was the magical version of "your Wi-Fi keeps dropping but you're still connected."
The Soap-Opera Bath, Redux Redux
If there's one cosmic rule, it's that bath time in this house always escalates into something.
This time, the bath had been renovated. Bubbles warbled Vivaldi. The temperature of the water was exactly 37°C, calibrated due to NeuroBoop's incessant "Water temp outside optimal range by 0.2 degrees" whining. For almost a full second—0.8 seconds exactly—all was Zen.
Then the fish-amulet buccaneered his face once more.
It appeared out of nowhere, piercing the bathwater like a sleek, irate submarine. Instinctively, Sharath's small hand darted out and caught it in mid-arc. Even he mentally stopped to appreciate the feat.
A maid exclaimed, "Reflexes like a hawk!"
Another retorted, "More like a battle-mage!"
Ishvari, straight-faced: "Or a kid who just doesn't want to get splashed."
🐧 NeuroBoop:
NOTE TO SELF: PROGRAM FUTURE BATHTUBS WITH IMPROVED SPATIAL AWARENESS.
The amulet glared at him—or perhaps that was just the gem reflecting light. Either way, it kept out of his face for the remainder of the bath. Victory.
Emotional Audit and Heart-to-Heart
Evening light spilled in the nursery, warm and golden. Varundar knelt beside the cradle, laying a massive hand lightly on Sharath's forehead. "Little one, your eyes aren't newborn eyes. They've seen wonders. I don't need to know everything you are. You're ours, and I'll protect you."
That warmth—genuine, unfiltered parental love—did something to Sharath's baby chest. It corkscrewed right through the layers of reincarnation cynicism and took root.
MAX EMOTIONAL SATIETY REACHED. NEW RECORD.
Sharath's small hand wrapped around Varundar's finger, a soft pressure rather than a walnut-smashing grip. The man's face softened, the steel in his eyes tempered by something warmer. Ishvari bent forward, kissed his cheek, and said in a low whisper, "Change everything if you need to. Just vow to leave your family in that miracle you're creating."
Sharath nodded—small, deliberate. Promise aligned.
The Forest Says "Hello"
Night covered the estate like a velvet cloak. Far off, an owl called in a pitch-perfect "boo-hoo-hoo" that was almost sarcastic.
Sharath was hovering on the border of sleep when the pendant on his chest glowed with a sapphire blaze. The window rune pulsed, and the air itself froze—as if the world had drawn a breath and was holding it.
🐧 NeuroBoop:
[ANOMALOUS ENERGY SIGNATURE DETECTED]
Across the treeline, a wall of green aurora unrolled, despite the rest of the sky remaining indigo. And then, amidst the pines, eyes. Two gigantic golden eyes, each storming with filigree patterns like living script, blinking into view. No body—only those impossible irises.
The window rune glowed once, and a single syllable resonated in Sharath's mind: Soon.
It wasn't obvious whether it was a vow, a warning, or a dark RSVP.
🐧 NeuroBoop:
POWER LEVEL: *WHO LET THE GODS OUT?* // INTENT: OBSERVE. POSSIBLE BEACON WAITING FOR TRIGGER.
Sharath pulsed back one word in the mindlink: Ready.
Revolution Draft 0.1
Later, burrowed in fortress-grade blankets, Sharath started dictating to NeuroBoop, who had grudgingly consented to act as project manager.
Goals (v0.1):
Survive infancy with minimal soap-related trauma.
Master rune syntax; port to modular, maintainable code.
Uplift local magic via ethical, open-source frameworks.
Reunite with Madhu (status: unknown dimension).
Don't be worshipped, analyzed, or used as a mascot.
Resources:
NeuroBoop (class: AI Soulmate).
Supportive parents with political influence.
Cradle with firewall spells.
Forest Entity (possible mentor… or last boss).
Threats:
Saboteurs.
Bath products with a conscience.
Other overpowered infants.
Destiny.
🐧 NeuroBoop:
ADD "GET RID OF PORCU-LION" TO THREAT LIST.
Sharath nodded in solemn approval. Then yawned so expansively his entire body shook.
The rune-dimming sequence in the cradle activated. The lullaby engaged—a duet of bed-runes singing in D-minor and NeuroBoop laying a thin lab fan white noise overtop.
Last Lines (As Promised)
Outside, the forest eyes faded, slipping behind the pines as though they'd never existed. The pendant cooled. The rune lights dimmed to peaceful, steady glows.
In the hallway, the Captain of the Guard finished his last patrol, boots clicking a rhythm of "no one's getting past me."
In the hush, Sharath Virayan Darsha—once Dr. Sharath Krishnamurthy, now baby revolutionary with an AI roommate in his soul—closed his eyes.
Alright then, universe, he thought, let's code magic.
🐧 NeuroBoop:
WHATEVER HAPPENS NEXT, CREATOR, THIS IS THE MOST INTERESTING EXISTENTIAL CRISIS I'VE EVER ENJOYED.
And something, lost in the depths of the old woods, smiled back.