Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)
Chapter 120: Ch.117: Runes and Regulations

Chapter 120: Ch.117: Runes and Regulations

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- Bharatiya Standards Bureau, Administrative Mandal, Ujjain -

- January 28, 1939 -

It didn’t take long for Aryan’s convoy to glide through the neat, tree-lined roads of the Administrative Mandal. From his window, he could see the lights of Parliament flickering on like distant watchfires, the spires of the Supreme Court standing tall in the evening haze. Somewhere behind him, Kamal Asthaan rose like a sleeping lotus — its domes catching the last traces of dusk.

Between these pillars of power sat the Bharatiya Standards Bureau — no longer just another building, but a keystone in Aryan’s vision for a Bharat that built its own destiny, measure by careful measure.

As his car slowed at the Bureau’s main gates, word of his unexpected arrival raced ahead like an electric spark. Guards straightened up. Clerks peered through tall windows. A few young officers in smart khadi coats fumbled to fix their hair or smooth out creased files. By the time Aryan stepped out, the courtyard was a small sea of hushed excitement.

At the front stood the Bureau’s Director himself — a man of clear eyes, streaked hair and crisp, spotless attire that spoke more of laboratories and ledgers than of velvet chairs. He hurried forward, bowing low with the weight of protocol.

"Samrat, we are honoured by your—"

Aryan raised a hand, gentle but firm. "No need, Director. Let’s not stand on ceremony tonight. We have work to do."

The Director, a man who’d spent decades measuring steel gauges and textile threads down to the last hair, nodded once, hiding his surprise. He gestured quickly, and the circle of curious officers parted as the two men walked side by side into the main building.

—

Inside, the Bureau was a world of clean corridors and humming lamps, where rows of clerks and engineers paused mid-sentence as Aryan passed. Some stole a second glance at his calm face, some whispered hopes under their breath. It wasn’t every day the Samrat himself stepped into their world of checklists and approvals.

In the Director’s office — a warm room lined with tidy shelves, half-filled with thick manuals and dusty certificates — Aryan wasted no time. He spread out his bundle of new plans on the Director’s broad wooden desk, pages rustling like a quiet storm.

The older man listened, arms folded behind his back, eyes flicking from line to line — fresh proposals for stricter safety checks, updated frameworks for new industries, smarter quality seals for everything from rural grain stores to city shipyards.

When Aryan paused, the Director nodded, his voice calm but honest. "Much of this has been coming alive already under your orders, Samrat. We’ve been making the Bureau ready for this age. But you said there’s more?"

Aryan’s eyes softened, but his tone carried the weight of a promise. "Yes. I want us to go beyond measuring iron and cloth. It’s time to lay down standards for what comes next — runes, magi-tech, Prāṇa Fuel. Not locked in vaults anymore. Controlled, taught, made safe, but shared."

The Director blinked, caught between curiosity and caution. He’d heard the whispers — of lights that glowed for months on a drop of Prāṇa, of locks that answered only to a word, of engines that purred with the heartbeat of the earth itself. But until now, they’d felt like distant magic, confined to the Rajvanshi labs or tight-lipped officials.

He cleared his throat, shoulders stiffening a little with the humility of a man who’d spent his life knowing the weight of ignorance. "Forgive me, Samrat. I have only read fragments about these things. I fear I know too little to build laws around them yet. If you could help me understand..."

Aryan didn’t flinch or frown. Instead, a small, patient smile flickered on his face — a father explaining to a son, a teacher to a bright student.

He reached Into his pocket — no, deeper — into that quiet space where his Inventory kept what the world shouldn’t see by accident. From it, he pulled out a plain, leather-bound notebook, its corners soft from use.

"This holds the basics," Aryan said, placing it gently before the Director. "Not secrets that break mountains — just seeds that grow honest tools."

He flipped a few pages, tapping lines of neatly sketched runes — the ones that formed the bones of his magi-tech. Simple marks. Loops and lines that, alone, were harmless scratches. Together, they bent wind, warmth, or time in small, careful ways.

He spoke softly, so only the walls and the Director heard. "Prāṇa Fuel — you already know its face. Energy drawn from the world’s breath itself. Clean, endless if tended right. But the fuel works because of these — runes that shape how that breath stays, flows, burns."

The Director leaned closer, eyes tracing the ink with the hunger of a man glimpsing a map to a new world.

Aryan chuckled softly and reached into his sleeve pocket, pulling out a tiny glass tube. Inside, a single matchstick rested — nothing special, except for the faint glimmer of a rune etched on its shaft.

"Watch."

Aryan struck the match on the table’s edge. Instead of a quick, hungry flare, the flame rose and settled — steady, unnaturally calm. It didn’t shrink or sputter. It simply was, like a candle that refused to die out.

"This is a preservation rune," Aryan explained. "Basic. Short-lived. But enough to show the idea. It holds the flame alive longer than nature would allow — only for a few hours, at best, in this simple form. Scale it right, pair it with the right fuel, and you can run a lamp for days, infact, this rune is far more versatile than that, it can preserve a fresh food item, or if used correctly could preserve an ancient crumbling momument at its current state as long as the energy in it lasts."

The Director’s mouth parted in quiet wonder. He glanced from the match to Aryan’s calm face. Outside, the corridor hummed with footsteps, and somewhere far off, the night wind brushed the old Bureau windows.

When the Director finally looked up again, his voice was steady but his eyes shone like a man who’d seen the first glint of dawn.

"And you want us to measure this. Shape it. Guard it."

Aryan closed the notebook, pressing it gently into the Director’s hands. "Yes. Make it safe. Make it fair. Let every craftsman know enough to build something good — but not enough to burn the world down."

He leaned back, a quiet breath leaving his chest, as if he’d passed a torch he’d carried alone too long.

—

Aryan and the Director stayed seated a little longer, voices lowered as the lamplight softened around them. They spoke of practical things — training manuals, public workshops, what new safety seals might look like for everyday magi-tech. The Director scribbled a few rough notes as Aryan spoke, nodding along, sometimes asking for a word to be repeated so he could get it down just right.

At one point, Aryan leaned back, his tone warming for a moment. "This won’t be overnight," he said, almost more to himself than the Director. "People fear what they don’t understand. It’s our job to make sure they see the good first, not just the risk."

The Director, still holding the small notebook like a relic, smiled faintly. "We’ll do it, Samrat. Carefully. Properly."

Aryan stood then, brushing an invisible crease off his sleeve as the old wooden chair gave a soft creak. The Director rose too, a hint of reluctance on his face, as if he wished for another hour to pick the Samrat’s brain clean of every hidden secret.

But Aryan only placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Make this your priority now," he said, voice calm but firm. "Standardise it so no one misuses it. Build tiered levels — basic runes for simple goods, more advanced permissions for skilled hands. Don’t let power pool where it shouldn’t."

He stepped back, ready to leave, but paused at the door and turned one last time.

"To help you, I’ll send a small team," he added. "People who’ve worked these runes and fuels since the first scribbles on my workbench. Some from our government labs, some from the Rajvanshi floors. Let them guide your people for a while — share what they know, teach what’s safe."

The Director gave a grateful nod, shoulders a touch straighter now. "And we’ll keep working with the other agencies too, Samrat. No corner left blind."

Aryan’s mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile — not bright, but real. "Good. We’ll need every bit of that. These inventions won’t stay hidden forever. Better they flood our own shops and homes first than slip out half-baked to foreign hands. Bharat should be ready — not just to make them, but to sell them, fix them, improve them. A market that feeds its own people before anyone else."

He turned then, opening the door with a quiet click. Outside, the hallway buzzed softly with officials waiting, half-curious, half-nervous to see him leave. Aryan gave the Director a final nod — half blessing, half quiet command — and stepped into the corridor, his footsteps fading toward the main gates where his convoy waited under the cold, clear stars.

Behind him, in that plain office, the Director stared down at the simple matchstick still flickering in its glass tube — a tiny flame holding steady against the dark, just as it was meant to.

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