The lights of morning filtered through the palace, casting long shadows across the nursery's ornate walls. sly, though swaddled in silk and luxury, lay awake, his golden eyes scanning his surroundings with an unusual intensity.
The nursery was a marvel of craftsmanship to his eyes. Golden dragon motifs adorned the walls, and translucent curtains swayed gently with the ocean currents outside the crystal windows. The soft hum of enchantments filled the air, ensuring the chamber remained warm and comfortable. From his crib, the prince could see a small troupe of servants tidying the room, their movements careful and deliberate under the watchful eyes of Daenerys.
Daenerys approached the crib with a soft smile, her golden eyes shimmering with motherly pride. "Awake already, little one?" she murmured, leaning down to lift him. Though sly tried to maintain his quiet composure, his small hand betrayed him, reaching out to grip a lock of her hair.
"You're curious, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle, gently freeing her hair from his grasp. Holding him against her shoulder, she walked to the window.
Beyond the crystal panes, the city sprawled magnificently. Towers crafted from shimmering coral and polished stone rose in tiers, their surfaces gleaming with bioluminescent patterns. Seafolk and Dragons moved through the bustling streets, their antlers,shells and scales catching the light like golden crowns. Schools of vibrant deep-sea fish swam through the canals, weaving around bridges carved with intricate designs.
sly stared at the sight with wide, unblinking eyes. He was entranced by the shimmering lights and flowing currents. His tiny hand reached out toward the window, fingers opening and closing as though trying to grasp the distant colors.
Arman entered the room, his presence commanding as always. Though he spoke no words, his expression softened as he looked at his wife and son. He crossed the room with measured steps, his golden eyes meeting the prince's curious gaze.
"He's observant." Arman remarked, his deep voice reverberating softly.
Daenerys nodded, adjusting the prince in her arms. "Somber, too. He watches everything as though he's already pondering it all."
Arman reached out, allowing the prince's small hand to grab his finger. The baby's grip was surprisingly strong, and Arman's lips curved into the faintest smile. "A firm grasp. He'll need that strength in the years to come."
The door opened again, revealing Lysander, the seer, clad in her flowing silver robes. Her antlers gleamed faintly, etched with runes that seemed to glow and fade like breathing. She bowed gracefully. "Majesties. The court awaits your presence for today's council."
Daenerys hesitated. "I'll come shortly." She glanced down at the prince, her hand brushing gently against his golden antlers. "He seems calm now."
The prince chose that moment to let out a tiny hiccup, followed by a surprised gurgle. The sound was so uncharacteristic that it made both Daenerys and Arman pause. A rare, amused chuckle escaped Arman as Daenerys kissed the top of the baby's head. "Perhaps not so calm after all."
Lysander's lips twitched, though she maintained her composure. "A voice like that will one day command armies, sire." she reminded
Daenerys handed sly to a siren nursemaid before joining her husband. The nursemaid cradled him gently, humming a soothing tune. Despite the comfort, the prince continued to stare after his parents as they left, his golden eyes filled with a quiet yearning to understand more of the world around him.
The hum of the palace returned to its steady rhythm, and sly settled back into his crib. Yet, even as his eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed him, his curiosity lingered—a spark of intelligence and purpose that seemed far too profound for one so young. 'I hate being a baby'
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The nursery settled into a tranquil quiet, broken only by the distant murmurs of the bustling palace. Sly—a name from a past life that echoed in his thoughts like a faint, stubborn melody—let out a small sigh. Being cradled in silk and attended to by doting servants felt like imprisonment more than privilege. His tiny fingers clenched, and he resisted the urge to vocalize the frustration of being trapped in this helpless form.
Even so, his sharp golden eyes never stopped absorbing his surroundings. The golden motifs, the crystalline light bending through the water outside, and the currents of life beyond the nursery fascinated him. Despite his frustration, he couldn't deny the wonder of the dragon kingdom's vibrancy. The rich culture and the serene yet commanding energy of this world tugged at something deep within him. He wasn't here by accident—he knew that.
And then there were his parents.
Daenerys's warmth was genuine, her motherly love both comforting and disarming. She carried herself with grace, but her strength wasn't hidden from Sly's discerning gaze. She reminded him of someone—someone he couldn't quite place from his fragmented memories of another life.
Arman, however, intrigued him the most. The king's presence was a storm contained within still waters, a paradox that demanded both respect and curiosity. When his father had spoken earlier, Sly had felt something stir in him, an urge to meet those expectations despite his current limitations.
But for now, he was a baby—a fact that gnawed at him endlessly. A hiccup from his small, helpless body had brought laughter to the room, but inside, he cringed. 'I hate this,' he thought bitterly. The indignity of being carried, coddled, and unable to speak his mind made every day a test of his patience.
Still, as the nursemaid hummed, her song like a lullaby woven from the ocean's currents, Sly let his tiny body relax. He knew frustration wouldn't solve anything. His sharp mind had always been his strongest asset, and this time would be no different. He'd learn the language of this world, the intricacies of its powers, and the dynamics of its rulers. Slowly, meticulously, he would reclaim control of his fate.
The hum of the palace seemed to lull him further, pulling him toward sleep, but not before one final, determined thought solidified in his mind.
'I have to get laid this time.'
As the currents outside whispered and danced, Sly drifted off, his small form serene but his mind anything but. His soul burned with purpose, hidden within the guise of an infant prince destined for greatness.