The climb up the slopes of the Volcano of Creation was a journey through temperature itself. At the base, the air was lukewarm, smelling of wet flour and rain. Halfway up, it turned hot and dry, scenting the air with toasted sesame and cumin. By the time Aryan and his weary family reached the rim, the heat was a physical weight—a roaring, golden thermal pressure that smelled of yeast and starlight.
"It's not lava," Barnaby gasped, fanning himself with his own tail inside the bowl. "It's... it's Protoplasm. It's the raw batter of existence!"
They looked over the edge. The crater was massive, a bowl the size of a city. Inside, a thick, glowing, golden substance bubbled sluggishly. It didn't burn like fire; it radiated Inspiration. Occasionally, a bubble would burst, releasing a cloud of steam that took the shape of a mountain, a river, or a laughing child before dissolving back into the heat.
"The Kitchen," Aryan whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. His mahogany arm was vibrating violently, the Creation Ink inside it reacting to the raw potential of the crater.
"The recipe," Mira reminded him, her voice steady despite the heat flushing her cheeks. "We have to mix them now. Before the Critics catch up."
Aryan placed the Mango-Wood Box on a flat stone altar at the edge of the crater. He opened it. The four ingredients lay inside, humming with power:
The Pearl of Star-Dust (The Spark).
The Vial of Void-Water (The Canvas).
The Mist of the First Lie (The Kindness).
The Heart of Flesh Essence (The Life).
"It's time to cook," Aryan said.
He picked up the Void-Water first. "For the depth," he whispered, pouring it into the bubbling golden crater. The liquid turned a deep, oceanic blue for a second.
He added the Star-Dust. "For the wonder." The crater sparkled, sending up fireworks of pure light.
He sprinkled the First Lie. "For the mercy." The bubbling slowed, turning gentle and soft.
Finally, he held the essence of the Heart. He looked at Mira. She nodded. "For the love," Aryan said, dropping it in.
The crater roared. The golden substance began to rise. It expanded, turning from a liquid into a thick, luminous Dough. It was rising, doubling in size every second.
The Titan of Red Tape
But creation is noisy. And noise attracts the censors.
The sky above the volcano tore open. It didn't rain; it bled. A massive rift of Red Ink appeared, and from it descended a nightmare.
It was the Deconstruction Titan.
The Editor-in-Chief had merged with the Recyclers. It was a monstrosity standing five hundred feet tall. Its body was made of tangled red tape and grinding gears. Its head was a giant, red correction pen. Its arms were scissors.
"THIS REALITY IS UNDERCOOKED!" the Titan bellowed. Its voice was the sound of a thousand papers being ripped. "THE PLOT IS BLOATED! THE THEMES ARE DERIVATIVE! I AM HERE TO SCRAP THE PROJECT!"
"He wants to flatten the dough!" Sarah screamed. "If he steps in the crater, the universe will be flat! Literally!"
"Defend the rim!" Aryan shouted. "Don't let him touch the Oven!"
The First Son, the Siege-Engine, roared. He grabbed a massive boulder of obsidian and hurled it at the Titan. The boulder hit the Titan's chest, but the red tape simply absorbed it, wrapping around the rock and crushing it to dust.
"INEFFECTIVE," the Titan droned. "PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IS A CLICHÉ."
It swung a massive scissor-arm toward the group.
"Rhea! Sing!" Aryan commanded.
Rhea stepped forward. She didn't sing a battle song. She sang a Timer Song. It was the rhythmic, ticking melody of a kitchen timer, urgent and precise.
The sound waves hit the Titan, forcing it to pause. The "Pacing" of the battle was being controlled by the song.
"I need to mix the dough!" Aryan yelled over the noise. "The ingredients are sitting on top! They aren't integrating! It needs to be kneaded!"
"We don't have a spoon big enough!" Barnaby cried, hiding behind a rock.
Aryan looked at the glowing, super-heated dough. He looked at his mahogany arm. He looked at his human hand.
"I am the spoon," Aryan whispered.
"Aryan, no!" Mira grabbed his arm. "That heat... it's the heat of pure creation. It will burn the humanity right out of you!"
"If I don't mix it, the world will be lumpy," Aryan said, giving her a quick, tragic smile. "And nobody likes lumpy reality."
He pulled away from her. He leaped off the rim.
The Spice and the Spirit
Aryan fell into the crater.
He didn't hit a solid surface. He sank into the hot, golden dough.
It was agony. It wasn't the pain of fire; it was the pain of Over-Feeling. Every nerve ending in his body was bombarded with the sensations of a billion potential lives. He felt the cold of future winters, the heat of future summers, the grief of widows, and the joy of newborns—all at once.
"Mix it!" he screamed in his mind.
He began to thrash. He used his mahogany arm to churn the thick, heavy substance. He pushed the Star-Dust down. He pulled the Void-Water up. He folded the First Lie into the center.
As he worked, his vision began to blur. The heat was too much. His human heart was stuttering.
"It's too hot..." Aryan thought, his consciousness fading. "I'm going to burn..."
Suddenly, a cool hand touched his forehead.
The golden dough around him cleared for a moment. Standing there, in the center of the cosmic oven, was a woman. She was wearing a simple cotton sari that smelled of turmeric and rain.
Sunita Khanna.
She didn't look like a goddess. She looked like his mother. She was holding a wooden ladle.
"You're rushing the onions, Aryan," Sunita said, her voice sounding exactly like it did in the kitchen in Shimla.
"Maa?" Aryan wept, the tears instantly turning to steam. "I... I don't know what I'm doing. The recipe... it's too big."
Sunita smiled. She reached out and placed her hand over his hand on the mahogany arm.
"A recipe is just a guide, beta," she whispered. "The real cooking happens when you trust your hands. You don't need to be perfect. You just need to be warm."
She guided his arm. Together, they made one giant, sweeping motion through the dough.
"Fold it in," she instructed. "Fold the pain into the joy. Fold the winter into the spring. That is how you make a world that lasts."
With that final movement, the dough changed. It stopped being a chaotic mix of ingredients. It became One. A unified, glowing sphere of existence.
Sunita began to fade into the golden light. "It is rising now. Go, Aryan. Serve the meal."
The Rise of the Crust
Aryan exploded out of the dough, launching himself back up to the rim of the volcano.
He landed on the stone altar, smoking and glowing. His clothes were singed, but his skin—both human and wood—was intact. He was radiating a heat so intense that the air around him shimmered.
"He's back!" Mira cried, rushing to him.
But the Deconstruction Titan had broken through the defense. It was standing over the crater, its red pen raised to strike the rising dough.
"DELETE! DELETE! DELETE!" the Titan screeched.
Aryan stood up. He didn't use a weapon. He used the Heat.
"Get away from my kitchen!" Aryan roared.
He clapped his hands together. A shockwave of Creation Heat—the temperature of a supernova—blasted outward.
It hit the Titan.
The Red Tape didn't burn; it Dried Out. The ink turned to dust. The correction fluid cracked and flaked away. The Titan froze, its joints fused by the intense, dry heat of the oven.
"SYSTEM... OVERHEATED..." the Titan groaned. "CANNOT... PROCESS... THE FLAVOR..."
The Titan crumbled. It collapsed into a pile of dry, red dust that blew away in the wind.
The crater below gave a mighty THUMP.
The dough had risen. It settled into a perfect, golden sphere, floating in the center of the volcano. It was no longer dough. It was a New Universe.
"It smells..." Barnaby sniffed the air. "It smells like fresh bread. And victory."
Aryan collapsed into Mira's arms. He was exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy.
"Is it done?" Sarah asked, looking at the glowing sphere.
"It's baked," Aryan whispered, his eyes closing. "But... it's too hot. We can't live in it yet. It needs to cool down."
He pointed weakly to the north.
"We need the Breath of the Frost Giants. We have to take the Universe to the Glacier of Silence."