The temperature in the bone-cave dropped to a level where physics began to give up. The air didn't just freeze; it stopped moving. The wind died, not out of calm, but because the molecules were too terrified to vibrate.
Aryan Khanna stood at the entrance, his mahogany arm trembling. The "Inferno of the Draft"—the golden fire of his passion—was sputtering. He was fighting a losing battle. The Entropy-Frost knights weren't attacking with force; they were attacking with patience. They knew that passion burns out, but the cold lasts forever.
"I can't... hold them," Aryan gasped, his breath turning to snow before it left his lips. The amber light in his eyes was dimming. "They're eating the heat, Rhea. It's like trying to fill a black hole with a candle."
Behind him, the First Son was already a statue. The Siege-Engine had frozen mid-roar, covered in a layer of black rime-ice. If he moved now, he wouldn't bend; he would shatter.
"Passion isn't enough, Aryan!" Rhea shouted, stepping forward. Her voice was the only thing that felt warm. "Passion is for battles! To survive the night, we don't need a warrior. We need a Keeper!"
Rhea grabbed the Mango-Wood Box from the frozen ground. She didn't open it gently; she kicked the latch.
"Khanna Culinary Sentinel! I summon you!" Rhea screamed. "We need the Hearth!"
CLANG.
With a sound like a gong being struck, a puff of soot exploded from the box. The massive, cast-iron Talking Stove materialized in the center of the cave. It landed heavily, cracking the ice. Its brass gauges were spinning wildly, and its iron belly was cold and dark.
"Good heavens!" the Stove clattered, its metal grate shivering. "It is colder than a critic's heart out here! Why have you summoned me? I am a precision instrument for stews, not a radiator for frozen vagabonds!"
"We need a Barrier of Domesticity!" Rhea commanded, grabbing a pot and slamming it onto the Stove's burner. "We need to cook something so comforting that the Entropy cannot enter!"
"Cook?" the Stove rattled indignantly. "With what fuel? There is no wood! There is no coal! And look at that fish! He's practically a fish-sicle!"
Barnaby the fish, currently frozen in a block of ice inside his bowl, could only move his eyes. He looked panicked.
The Scavenger Hunt for Flavor
"We don't need coal," Sarah said, understanding the magic. She grabbed a handful of the ancient, dried bone-dust from the cave floor. "We need Intent. Aryan! Cover us! We have to forage!"
"Forage?" Aryan gritted out, blasting a stream of weak fire at an approaching Ice-Stalker. "In a glacier?"
"Just do it!" Sarah yelled.
She ran to the back of the cave, scanning the frozen debris. In the world of the Unwritten, even the ice held secrets. She found a patch of Blue Moss growing on the dead leviathan's rib.
"Barnaby!" Sarah shouted, shaking the fish bowl. "Wake up! What is this?"
The ice around Barnaby cracked as he forced a bubble out. "That... is... Frost-Thyme! It only grows on the corpses of failed plotlines! It tastes like... regret and mint!"
"Perfect!" Sarah tossed it into the pot.
Rhea grabbed a handful of the Void-Water that had soaked into Mira's dress earlier. She wrung it into the pot. "Base liquid: The Unknown."
"Stove!" Rhea yelled. "Wake up!"
"I cannot ignite!" the Stove whined. "The ambient temperature is suppressing my pilot light! I need a Spark of Anger!"
Rhea looked at the Stove. She thought about the cold. She thought about the Architects, the Critics, and the monsters trying to freeze her brother.
She slapped the side of the cast-iron Stove. Hard.
"My brother is dying out there!" Rhea screamed, her voice cracking with pure, protective fury. "If you don't light up right now, I will turn you into a flowerpot!"
The threat—simple, domestic, and terrifying—worked. The Stove's gauges spun to red.
WHOOSH.
A fire roared to life in the Stove's belly. It wasn't a yellow fire. It was a Cozy Orange flame. The pot began to bubble.
The Knights of Zero
Outside the cave, the Ice-Stalkers stopped.
The lead knight, a towering figure of transparent ice, raised a sword that looked like a frozen scream. It pointed the blade at Aryan.
"THE SMELL," the Knight hissed. "IT DISRUPTS THE SILENCE. EXTINGUISH THE CHEF."
The knights charged. They moved faster than the eye could follow, a blur of frost.
"They're coming!" Aryan shouted. He tried to raise the Chisel, but his arm was too heavy. The cold had seeped into his joints. He fell to one knee.
The lead Knight raised its sword to decapitate Aryan.
"Soup's on!" Rhea yelled.
She didn't use a spell. She simply lifted the lid of the pot.
A massive, thick cloud of steam rolled out. It smelled of mint, roasted bone, salt, and Sunday Afternoons. It smelled of safety. It smelled of "The door is locked and the fire is warm."
The steam hit the Ice-Knight.
HISSSSSS.
The Knight didn't melt. It Retreated. The concept of "Cozy" was antithetical to its existence. It recoiled as if burned by acid.
"TOO... WARM..." the Knight screeched, backing away. "CANNOT... COMPUTE... COMFORT."
The steam expanded, filling the cave and spilling out into the snow. It formed a glowing, orange dome around the ribcage. Inside the dome, the temperature skyrocketed. The frost on the First Son's body turned to water and dripped away. Aryan felt the feeling return to his fingers.
"It's working," Mira whispered, clutching the cooling Sphere of Dawn. "They can't cross the threshold of a home."
The Feast in the Freezer
The Stove whistled a happy, tea-kettle tune. "Ah, perfection! A broth of Frost-Thyme and Void-Water, reduced to a glaze of pure Sanctuary. I must say, I have outdone myself."
Rhea ladled the soup into wooden bowls (which appeared from the Box). She handed one to Aryan.
"Eat," she commanded. "It's not real food. It's magic. It refills your stamina bar."
Aryan took a sip. It tasted weird—minty and salty—but the moment it hit his stomach, a wave of heat exploded through his veins. The "Sleepless" fatigue vanished. His mahogany arm glowed with a renewed, healthy luster.
"Barnaby?" Sarah asked, looking at the fish bowl.
Barnaby was floating in his now-liquid water, looking relaxed. "I say, the steam is wonderful for my pores. I feel like a dumpling in a spa."
They sat in a circle around the Stove, protected by the barrier of steam. Outside, the Ice-Stalkers paced back and forth, scratching at the orange dome, but unable to enter.
"We have to wait," Aryan said, looking at the Sphere of Dawn. It was now a dull, rocky grey. It had cooled completely. "The world is solid."
He picked up the Sphere. It was no longer hot. It felt... humming. Like a sleeping cat.
"But we have a problem," Aryan said, looking at the map in the Mirror-Book. "To get out of the Glacier, we have to cross the Bridge of Silence. And the Bridge has a guardian."
"Another monster?" Sarah groaned. "I'm tired of monsters."
"Not a monster," Aryan said grimly. "A Silence. The bridge demands that you make no sound to cross it. If you speak, if you breathe too loud, if your heart beats too hard... the bridge shatters, and you fall into the Void."
He looked at the Talking Stove, who was currently whistling. He looked at Barnaby, who never stopped talking. He looked at the First Son, whose wooden joints creaked.
"We have to be absolutely silent," Aryan said. "For three miles."
"Impossible," the Stove declared loudly. "I am a cast-iron appliance! I clang by definition!"
"Then we have to muffle you," Aryan said. He looked at the wool blanket Mira had made. He began to tear it into strips.
"Wrap everyone's feet," Aryan ordered. "Barnaby, hold your breath. Stove... try not to exist."
"This is going to be a disaster," Barnaby whispered.