While the lords and ladies of House Darsha murmured about omens, and Lord Rajan Darsha gazed at his newborn son with wary awe, Sharath embraced his one remaining tool: observation.
He noticed how symbols on the nursery walls shimmered faintly when the nurses entered, how the runes carved into the cradle responded to emotions—glowing warmer when soothed, colder when distressed. He noted how magical lights flickered just before being cast, how spells had both a phonetic rhythm and a visual structure—like writing code and seeing it executed at the same time.
His analytical mind sprang to life. Where once he'd debugged systems, now he tracked the subtleties of enchantment. Where once he'd profiled APIs, now he mapped glyphs and resonance patterns.
The world of Navaleon—strange and archaic—was still a system. And systems could be mastered.
He began mimicking small responses. Shifting his expressions based on what triggered magical glyphs. Tracking reaction time between input (emotion) and output (rune activation). His body was a cage, yes, but his mind roamed free.
And amidst this quiet study, a hunger stirred—not for food, but for understanding. For control.