The sun did not rise courteously over House Darsha.
It didn't tiptoe over the clouds with warm gentleness like a thoughtful cosmic neighbor.
No.
It blew up across the rooftops as if it had just been informed someone had insulted its mother, launching golden javelins straight through courtyard fog and bouncing them off every stained-glass window. In the distance, temple bells picked up the wavelength and began their own heavy-metal song. Griffon-hawks chimed in with squawks that sounded like "GET OFF MY CHIMNEY" as chimney crows replied with a "FIGHT ME" tone.
And right in the middle of it all—within the hallowed, marble-walled halls of House Darsha—a goat was running for its life.
Not any goat.
A goat wearing a wine-red velvet sash bound with a silver buckle, as if it had just walked off a medieval catwalk and thought it would branch out into big-time theft.
Following close behind, a florid-faced steward charged after it, waving a ladle of soup as a penalty whip.
"It stole the ambassador's fruit platter again! And I swear it's making a beeline for the wine cellar!"
Sharath Virayan Darsha—six kilograms of reborn software engineer, part-time tactician, full-time baby—woke up in the nursery just in time to catch sight of the sash's swooping flutter as the goat careened around a marble column.
His rune-cradle emitted a low hum—somewhere between "concerned bassoon" and "a fridge on the brink of death."
🐧 [GOOD MORNING, CREATOR,] chimed NeuroBoop3000, the AI best friend lodged in his consciousness like a mix between Clippy and a war strategist. [I'VE BEEN MONITORING HOUSEHOLD SECURITY FEEDS. COMBINED PROBABILITY THAT TODAY'S DIPLOMATIC GATHERING WILL BE COMPROMISED BY AN INTELLIGENT LIVESTOCK INCIDENT: 54 PERCENT.]
Great. A world where my mornings start with goat-based espionage.
The goat slowed, locked eyes with Sharath, and winked.
Confirmed: sentient.
🐧 [ENHANCED INTELLIGENCE DETECTED,] NeuroBoop added. [BUCKLE WORKS AS COMMUNICATION AMULET. GOAT IS EITHER A SPY OR A VERY DEDICATED PERFORMANCE ARTIST. COMPOSING DATABASE ENTRY: "CAPRINE ASSET #1.""]
Before "spy goat" had time to sink into Sharath's consciousness, three maids and a hovering rune-globe descended upon the nursery like pit crews at an enchanted baby Formula One. The orb beeped red for lint and blue for mismatched socks as it piped an operatic overture called Wardrobe Coordination for the Under-Fives.
"Today's tunic, little master!" warbled Rani, the chief maid, holding out a pale-blue tunic embroidered with sunburst glyphs that glowed dimly whenever Sharath let out a sigh.
🐧 [NON-DECORATIVE RUNES DETECTED,] NeuroBoop continued. [FUNCTIONS INCLUDE: PROTECTIVE SHIELD, FAMILY CREST AUTHENTICATION, AND A SHORT-RANGE COMM ARRAY. CONGRATULATIONS—YOU'RE BASICALLY WEARING A MEDIEVAL SMARTPHONE.]
A second maid poked his cheek with the ferocity of someone squishing an avocado to check if it's ripe.
"He most likely doesn't even know his own name yet!"
Correction: I do know my name, my previous life's Wi-Fi password, and the SHA-256 hash of my worst life decisions.
The rune-globe, seemingly outraged by the mismatched booties debacle, exchanged them in mid-air with a disapproving honk. Then, in guttural Elvish, declared: "Fashion corrected."
🐧 [CREATOR, I HAVE ASSEMBLED A WATCHLIST OF DANGERS FOR TODAY: SEVENTEEN HOMES GUESTING AT THE BANQUET. MAIN MENACES ARE: ENCHANTED CREATURES CONCEALED IN GIFTS, DIPLOMATIC SMALL TALK, AND, YES… THE GOAT.]
Add the cheek-pinching maid to your low-priority threat category while you're at it.
Dad's War-Room Pep Talk
Lord Varundar strode into the nursery as if he hadn't just received word of goat-induced pandemonium. He picked up the whole cradle—because in this household, even mobile defense systems have wheels—and wheeled into the council chamber.
Camped inside were captains huddling around an enormous map table, shoving markers like chess freaks at a three-a.m. tournament.
"Ironheart stands watch," Varundar said, putting down the cradle next to a six-foot pike sketch. "Verdict?"
Sharath unleashed his most potent baby trick: the serious, unflinching stare.
Varundar chuckled. "See? Even he says beef up the western turret."
🐧 [TRANSLATION: YOUR STARE JUST IMPROVED ROOM MORALE BY SIX POINTS. MISSION 'STEALTH BABY' IS STILL UNDERWAY.]
Hallway Calamities & Goat Analytics
As the meeting concluded, the goat sprinted by the war-room doors once more. This time a butler trailed behind, wildly ringing an alarm bell in a fashion reminiscent of a medieval fire drill.
The goat executed a perfect combat roll into a wine barrel, corked it with one horn, and started chugging like Dionysus at a petting zoo.
🐧 [BEHAVIOR PATTERN INDICATES INTENTIONAL DIVERSION,] NeuroBoop announced. [ALSO: BLOOD ALCOHOL LEVEL INCREASING. DRUNKEN CAPRINE AGENTS ARE FAMOUSLY UNPREDICTABLE.]
A flustered steward shouted: "Fetch the rune-net before it hits the fire-wine!"
Fire-wine? Who keeps pyromaniac booze within hoofing distance?
🐧 [WELCOME TO MEDIEVAL SECURITY PROTOCOLS.]
Wardrobe Completion & Pre-Game Politics
The rune-globe at last glowed green: tunic engaged, booties synchronized, sunburst crest softly humming like an overachieving feline.
"He'll beguile every envoy," Rani announced, smiling.
🐧 [PROBABILITY OF DIPLOMATIC Faux Pas THROUGH 'ADORABLE BABY OVERLOAD': 22 PERCENT. PROPOSED DEFLECTION STRATEGY: DROOL-WHEN-QUESTIONED.]
Practiced like a little diplomat, Sharath was wheeled towards the Great Hall. Colonnades glowed with mood-runes—gold for welcome, lava-red for gossip spikes.
This evening, this room would play host to nobles, mages, one note-taking owl, and at least one fruit-stealing goat of dubious morals.