In the nursery, Yoriichi lay in his fortress of pillows.
To the untrained eye, he was merely a few days of infant. But the soul residing within that tiny frame was ancient and unbothered. Though his memories of demons and breathing styles were locked away behind the veil of reincarnation, his core instincts remained. He did not cry, nor did he flail blindly. He simply rested, his deep, burgundy eyes calmly observing the two golden-haired giants hovering over him.
Jeyne, asserting her dominance as the fierce one-year-old, crawled boldly over to the edge of the pillows. She peered down at the dark-haired boy with intense curiosity. Reaching out a chubby hand, she pinched Yoriichi's pale cheek.
She waited for the inevitable squall of tears that usually accompanied babies.
Yoriichi merely blinked, his calm gaze locking onto hers. He felt the slight pressure on his cheek, analyzed it as non-threatening, and ignored it.
Seeing no reaction, Jeyne found this incredibly funny. A wide, toothy grin broke across her face, and she let out a delighted, childish giggle.
Not wanting to be left out of the fun, two-year-old Myrcella crawled over to the other side of the pillows. With her sweet, gentle demeanor, she reached out and pinched his other cheek. Again, Yoriichi remained perfectly stoic, exhaling a soft, rhythmic breath. Haaah...
Myrcella clapped her hands to her mouth, giggling happily at the strange, quiet boy. God only knew what was running through their developing, childish minds, but they had clearly accepted him not as a fragile thing, but as a new, incredibly sturdy playmate.
The two girls sat on their knees right in front of him and began to drag their toys across the carpet, pushing them to the edge of Yoriichi's pillows.
Jeyne, taking charge, grabbed a painted wooden dragon. She puffed out her chest, looking bossily at Yoriichi, silently demanding he pay attention to her performance. With a fierce little grunt, she swooped the dragon through the air and crashed it violently into a wooden knight, knocking the knight over. She raised the dragon high, simulating flight.
Yoriichi watched the wooden arc of the toy. Deep within his dormant muscle memory, the concept of a downward strike resonated.
What happened next made the three handmaids standing by the wall physically gasp.
A few days of old infant does not have the motor control to deliberately move its limbs with purpose. Their nervous systems are simply not developed enough. But Yoriichi's soul commanded a supreme, absolute mastery over his physical vessel, even one this young.
Slowly, deliberately, Yoriichi raised his two tiny arms. With startling coordination, he brought his small hands together.
Pat. Pat.
It was a soft, clumsy clap, but it was undeniably deliberate. The ancient swordsman, amused by the child's display of 'combat', was applauding her.
Jenny, seeing the reaction from her little brother, puffed out her chest even further. She let out a proud, triumphant "Humph!" like a conquering general celebrating a hard-won victory.
Myrcella, seeing her sister get the quiet boy's attention, immediately pouted. She pointed a demanding little finger at Yoriichi, silently telling him it was her turn.
Myrcella picked up a beautifully carved wooden horse and placed a knight upon its back. She pushed it forward across the carpet, making a soft, bubbling sound with her lips. "Groo... groo..." she mimicked, her version of a horse's gallop.
Yoriichi's burgundy eyes tracked the movement of the horse perfectly. Again, defying every law of human biology, he raised his tiny hands.
Pat. Pat.
The awe in his eyes was the innocent wonder of a child seeing a toy move, but the physical execution was supernatural.
Near the door, the head maid clutched her apron, her eyes wide as saucers. "By the Seven..." she whispered to the girl beside her. "Did... did the newborn prince just clap his hands? That's impossible."
"He is blessed," the younger maid whispered back, a mixture of awe and slight superstition in her voice. "The Queen said he was a divine gift. Look at him... he doesn't even cry. He just plays."
The maids relaxed, soft smiles breaking across their faces as they watched the unprecedented scene. The three royal siblings, born into the most dangerous, politically cutthroat family in the world, were simply sitting together on the floor. Jenny smashed her dragon, Myrcella galloped her horse, and the marked, dark-haired prince offered his quiet, impossible applause.
The atmosphere in the nursery was incredibly soothing, a bubble of pure, untainted innocence bathed in the warm glow of the hearth.
But just through the heavy stone wall, in the adjacent royal bedchamber, the atmosphere was rapidly descending into a dark, intoxicating hell.