Tutor Trials & Rune-Sneezes
Dawn at the Virayan Darsha compound was not so much dawn as it was a tactfully assertive invitation from the universe that you really ought to wake up at this point. The nursery curtains billowed with the morning wind, the wispy scent of cinnamon bread wafting out of the kitchens (or perhaps, living bread—it was difficult to say in this establishment).
Entertainment for today: Rune Tutor Session #6, with Master Gliphar, the magical analogue of a library that had gone down the stairs and never quite managed to pick itself up. His beard was not merely long—it was filed. Every individual strand of facial hair was coaxed into a small leather sleeve and marked in runic script: "Agriculture," "Battle Theory," "That One Time I Saw a Dragon and Fainted," and the like.
He bent over the crib, reeking of old parchment and obstinacy.
"Straightforward warmth glyph test," he panted, lifting a knotted finger.
The orange sigil burst into flower in the air between them, churning with all the pomp and drama of a fireball that had just discovered interpretive dance.
Sharath wrinkled his eyes, concentrated, and—well—sneezed.
The glyph exploded into glitter. Not figurative glitter, either—actual sparkly particles showered down, covering Master Gliphar's beard until he resembled the product of a seasonal-themed mishap in an arts-and-crafts store.
The tutor stopped dead. His quill (which had been hovering in the vicinity, recording itself) jerked spasmodically in midair.
"Passive… cancelling…" Gliphar whispered. "Without precedent."
🐧 [LOG ENTRY: 'Magical Mary Sue Event #4' has been documented.]
Sharath grinned naively, the embodiment of "I have no idea what happened" as he mentally categorized the experience as "Fun ways to annoy future teachers."
Bath Musicals: Third Encore
Bath time was already a spectator sport in the Darsha home, but today's session was going platinum.
The fish-amulet—version 2.0 following last week's "accidental" bubble blast—now sported upgraded homing AI, a spiffy chrome tail, and the invincible self-assurance of a toddler's beloved toy.
Alas, it also possessed one egregious weakness: it was a jerk.
As soon as the maids lowered Sharath into the magical tub, the amulet came to life, spraying a precision-calculated stream of water squarely into his face.
The maids gasped. One grabbed her pearls. Another breathed, "He's under attack!" in exactly the same way people do when they talk about palace coups.
Instincts took over. Sharath leapt forward, grabbed the amulet mid-flicking-the-tail, and waved it triumphantly like a winning gladiator.
One beat of silence. Then—cheers.
The maids graded him "combat prodigy" on the domestic rumor book, which, to be explicit, was totally a thing.
🐧 [USER-FEEDBACK TICKET OPENED: Minimize fish aggression in v3. Patch ETA: before child declares vendetta.]
Parental Vows & Scientific Sniffles
Night. The nursery was bathed in warm candlelight, with a hint of lavender and fresh parchment scent.
Varundar—father, warrior, and occasional by-accident furniture-smasher—leaned over the crib. His normally thunderous voice was quiet, almost delicate.
"Whatever you are," he said, "you're mine, and safe."
Ishvari intervened, her silk garments rustling over the floor. She placed a hand on Sharath's head. "Change the world," she whispered, "but nap."
No elaborately crafted prophecy, no carefully vetted PR snippet. Just parent things.
Sharath reached up and wrapped their fingers around each other—small clasp, large emotions. The heat that surged through his chest could have powered the entire castle heating grid for seven days.
🐧 [EMOTIONAL HIGH SCORE ACHIEVED: Parental Bond v1.0 completed. Warning—overwhelming sentimentality can lead to data overflow.]
Below-Ground Ping
Later that evening, Sharath's pendant glowed—a light so gentle it seemed it existed only in a dream. And maybe it did, since the nursery melted away in a pale-green blur of somewhere else.
From under the estate there was a voice—not loud, but low enough to resonate in his bones:
"Catalyst awakens. Convergence soon."
The words rang out like a courteous earthquake.
🐧 [SENSOR SPIKE DETECTED: Ancient System Handshake. Potential triggering of "Big Plot Event." Suggest caution.�ت
Sharath reflected, in his finest mental monotone: Dungeon crawl delayed until diaper mastery.
The fog dispersed. The pendant went dark. Deep within the castle, a creaking, drafty hallway nodded softly in agreement.
Revolution Draft α
The crib-lantern dimmed. NeuroBoop's holographic interface materialized above Sharath's head, running what could only be called a late-night PowerPoint presentation named:
"Five-Point Plan for World Improvement (Infant Edition)"
Sharath blinked at his own outline.
Point One: Live to see infancy. Reduce soap-related trauma. Steer clear of additional battles with vengeful fish-based hardware.
Point Two: Learn rune syntax. Port to modular code. Get magic backward-compatible with JavaScript just to confuse people.
Point Three: Promote castle to open-source smart-fortress. Install all-purpose translation runes so the goat can finally justify its life decisions.
Point Four: Locate Madhu between dimensions. No idea yet as to how, but perhaps there's an interdimensional bus network?
Point Five: Remain cute. Steer clear of cults. (These may be one and the same in certain areas.)
🐧 [APP
Sharath hesitated over adding "Make bread sentient on purpose" but chose not to. Down that path lay anarchy, carbs, and maybe litigation.
20.5 Last Lines—Right Where We Started & Finish
Beyond the nursery window, the world breathed out. Shadows crept, curling into corners where even moonlight feared to peek. In the distance, golden eyes—huge, ancient, unblinking—stared for an extra heartbeat before dropping back into the darkness.
The pendant cooled. The rune-lights along the rail of the crib settled into their steady, comforting glow.
In the hallway, the Captain of the Guard completed his round, completely blind to the fact that his employment now rested in the hands of an infant with a superior network infrastructure to most universities.
Sharath Virayan Darsha—software engineer in his previous existence, mystic-infant in his current one—closed his eyes and mused: Time to code some magic.
🐧[TRANSMISSION: "Whatever happens next, Creator, this remains the most interesting existential crisis I've ever enjoyed."]
And that was the thing, wasn't it?
He didn't need the nobles, the tutors, or even the highly opinionated amulet-fish to know he had work to do. The world was already humming with threads—political, magical, and very probably baked goods-related—and he was sitting right at the center, drooling on his own onesie.
He just needed to find a way to preserve it without anyone noticing he was preserving it.
After all, he had an image to uphold: the cute, enigmatic baby who may—or may not—accidentally reboot civilization by noon.