2 002
In the far future, Judith Kernell was known as a powerhouse name.
For now, Judith Kernell was just a baby girl. An odd one. Another closed book for the kith and kins of her father, Desmont, Grendel Kingdom's reputable inventor.
When she was born, the baby girl showed no abnormal signs. She cried at her first breath, sleep right away, awake out of hunger, ignorant of the world. Desmont carried her three-four times before having another whale of time in his research for new invention demanded by the kingdom.
As she was able to see the world in clear colors, the servants of Desmont Kernell's house noticed small differences: one, she wouldn't cry to seek attention. Two, she had intense dislike if people were holding her too close, enough to breathe down her neck. She rejected her milk mother's nuzzle and embrace. If one was to force, like her eldest uncle once did, she would scream the place down with hands waved angrily, slapping away the faces too close for comfort. Then, the last, she's completely disinterested in normal things babies were attracted to.
In one instance of resting, the head butler told Desmont: "The Little Lady seems to dislike human's contact."
Desmont raised an eyebrow.
He then visited his baby daughter's room. Seeing the larger figure busily moving her hands and fingers in the cradle, Desmont was hit with a slight wonder: when was the last time he visited?
Unknowingly, the small figure wrapped in a blanket with wrinkled and red skin has turned into a fat dumpling-like doll.
His daughter stopped her movement when Desmont approached the cradle, just half a step away, fearing the baby would shriek from their distance. The nursemaid and butler on the side room could only stare with disappointment; how could a father maintain such cold attitude towards his own flesh and blood?
As Desmont was inspecting the baby doll, he felt the opposite also scrutinizing him. He saw the large eyes gazing up and down as far as her vision allowed, when they finished their respective observation, Desmont spoke: "I'm your father."
Baby Judith raises one hand, as if in acknowledgment, but make no bones about scrunching her whole face. Desmont raises an eyebrow. "What expression are you showing to your father?"
His daughter tried to turn her head. Her body wasn't developed enough for such complex action, so the only thing turning away was her gaze.
"Your first word to speak would be 'Dad'," continued Desmont, feeling completely amused. One hand touched the cradle's edge, rocking it slightly. "There's no way around it. Tough cheese, kiddo."
The baby girl started to be engrossed in moving around her limbs and fingers, so Desmont left not long after. Rather than continuing his luxury time, his steps brought him back to the research room, and once more, he's lost in his own world.
That was his last visit to Judith's room for the next few years.
#
For once, Desmont wasn't touching any of his research despite cooping up in the workroom. A tray trolly was rocking forward and behind by his hand.
His eyes then fall over the papers and broken pieces of what was once a tablet on the work table at the end of his foot. Each piece has hand-craved spells, on the research papers was traces of spell-crafting.
Needless to say, his current research failed.
The goal was to conjure a visual idea in the mind to manifest; out there, a magic tool for the mute to speak was already made. He had made intelligent animal's language understandable, which won him the title of 'Master Inventor'. Yet, this year was already his fourth in researching the topic.
The common spell for 'manifesting visual idea' usually was just tracking and marking movement while the spellcaster drew their idea. Desmont wanted to create one that did not need the user to lift their hand. Since there was a special crystal ball for future foresight and the rare telepathy (including visual image), surely, something as simple as 'manifesting visual imagination' outside the mind which doesn't confuse the mind alike illusions could work.
Turns out, it couldn't.
There were spells for telepathy, one he used as a base for the animal-language translation tool. Following the same train of thought, he'd used illusions spell as a base.
The result was a train wreck.
He then used a variety of psychic spells, even jump in at the deep end of psychic magicthe most unstable, unknown, secretive ground from all branches of magic, with their user banding as some kind of cult with delusions of grandeur. Not to mention all the efforts needed to contact spellmasters all over the world for consultation in tweaking spells.
Unwillingly, after all the efforts, Desmont needs to admit that he'd run into the sand.
If not for the occasional upgrading he'd done for various tools, he would've ran out funds since long ago. The more reputable Kernell household—his eldest brother's who held the rank of a Count—had cut off his funding long since his school years, back when the Count was still his father, all because Desmont chooses knowledge pursuit than politic.
Yet, in the end, the home he first returned to was exactly the Count Kernell household.
His eldest brother only received him so he could tidy his old workroom, though,
As such, when Count Deavon Kernell knocked on the door and found Desmont made a shipwreck instead of tidying, he rakes him over the coal with howling rage seemingly echoes all over the house, for a lot of people suddenly passes by the old workroom placed at the mansion's most desolate corner.
"I don't have so much free time to listens everything you want to said." Desmont, who hadn't been listening, cut off when his brain stopped turning over matters of his research in defeat. "I'll need to get back. Give me a horse carriage."
"Are your house's servants dead?! Call them to pick you up!"
"I sent you a share of my commission over the years, think of it as payment." Desmont stood and stared at the mess on the work table. "Also for tidying these."
"I told you to divide stuff you don't need and needed, not to work!" Deavon growled the words he'd spoken several times now. "Listens to someone when they're speaking, can you?!"
"You have your sons to listen to your scolding." Desmont stared at him as if he's an idiot. "Is my horse carriage ready?"
In the end, while glaring, Deavon resigns to his youngest brother's demand. While he was a Count and Desmont hold no title, His Majesty the King preferred Desmont. There were too many Counts in the country already compared to one inventor famed all over the continent.
While accompanying him out in a grumpy mood, Deavon recalled something: "Have I told you of news from your house?"
"Which one?"
"Your daughter's nursemaid died two months ago."
Desmont nodded. "That's the reason I returned now."
Deavon gave criticizing eyes to the man beside. "Your daughter couldn't even walk yet and you're already running all over the place. She should be at the top of your agenda. Kids sometimes turn into a bad egg if not us ourselves who watch over them."
Desmont thought of his baby daughter's look and felt Deavon had become a worrywart.
However, Deavon still harped on, "You're a father now, the top of your agenda should be your children. I can't believe you're still the same as when you are still a young blood; uncaring and unempathetic. It's already a miracle you got a woman to bear your child, yet here you are, still so reckless and careless... what will you do with your legacy? Your child might possess the same kind of brain as yours. You should've spent all the time used to be a bird of passage to be by your child's side. The commission from your inventions could last you a lifetime's luxury without even working a day, what're you doing running and about? Don't give me that dirty look, the amount you gave to us doesn't even amount to a fifth of what you got, I know..."
The horse carriage has arrived at the household's entrance. Desmont waved a hand in front of Deavon's face, stopping his barrage of words. "Yes, I'll return now to my child. Good-bye." Then he straight-away walked without glancing back.
Deavon stood on the entrance and shook his head. Since Desmont didn't bother with conventional procedure which involves a great welcoming and farewell, with rows of servant or minimally the butler.
Desmont didn't even greet her sister-in-law nor his nephew and nieces.
So before the carriage disappeared from view, Deavon had already stepped back inside.
