The small riad, usually a haven of quiet contemplation, now pulsed with an unseen energy. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the weak afternoon sun filtering through the latticed windows. Sebastian, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings of the bracer, felt a growing warmth, a tingling sensation that spread through his arm like a swarm of tiny insects. He’d expected nothing – a curious artifact, a fascinating piece of history, perhaps – but certainly not this. He’d purchased it on a whim, a momentary distraction from the crushing weight of his academic pursuits, yet it felt now as though fate itself had guided his hand.

  He continued to polish the metal, the cloth moving rhythmically over the surface, revealing details lost to centuries of neglect. The symbols, previously indecipherable, seemed to shift and swirl under his touch, taking on a strange three-dimensionality, as if they were attempting to rise from the metal itself. The warmth increased, morphing into a palpable heat that radiated from the bracer, spreading through his arm and into his chest. The air thickened, the silence broken only by the frantic beating of his own heart.

  Then, a blinding light.

  It wasn’t the sharp, sudden flash of lightning, but an expanding, ethereal glow, emanating from the bracer itself. It filled the small room, turning the worn rugs into shimmering tapestries and the dust motes into tiny, dancing stars. Sebastian shielded his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. The light was so intense, it felt as though it were attempting to sear his very soul. He felt a strange pressure in his head, a sensation of being stretched, compressed, and fundamentally altered at the molecular level.

  When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw her.

  She stood before him, a vision of incandescent beauty and terrifying power. She wasn’t the grotesque, smoke-wreathed monster of his childhood fairytales. Instead, Nimah of Taqua, as she later identified herself, possessed a striking, ethereal grace. She was tall

  And slender, her features exquisitely sharp and angular, her skin glowing with an otherworldly luminescence. Her eyes, blazing with an internal fire, held centuries of wisdom and a chilling intensity that seemed to bore straight through him.

  Her garments, if they could be called that, seemed woven from pure light, shimmering and flowing like liquid starlight. They shifted and reformed constantly, defying any attempt to categorize them within the realm of earthly fabrics. She seemed to move in a way that defied gravity, floating slightly above the ground, her every gesture imbued with a subtle, almost hypnotic grace. The air around her hummed with an energy so potent it felt as if the very air itself was vibrating.

  Sebastian, paralyzed with a mixture of astonishment, awe, and sheer terror, could only stare. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. This was not a dream; the heat, the light, the very presence of this being, were undeniably real. He was a historian, a scholar, a man who believed in reason and evidence, yet he was staring at a jinn. A being of myth and legend, sprung forth from an ancient bracer he had purchased in a dusty Moroccan bazaar.

  Nimah’s voice, when she spoke, was like the chime of ancient bells, resonating deep within his chest, echoing not just in his ears but within his very bones. It was a strange blend of ancient Arabic and a language he somehow understood perfectly, yet couldn’t place or name.

  “You have freed me,” she said, her voice carrying both a profound weariness and a barely controlled rage. “After centuries of imprisonment.”

  Sebastian, finally finding his voice, stammered, “I… I don’t understand…”

  Nimah regarded him with an expression that combined intense scrutiny and a hint of weary amusement. Her eyes, pools of shimmering light, seemed to penetrate him, reading his every thought, every fear.

  “You found the bracer,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “You cleansed it, unwittingly releasing me from my prison. The magic is bound to the metal, to the act of its release. Your touch… it resonated with its own power .”

  She gestured with a hand that seemed crafted from moonlight, indicating the bracer resting on the floor beside him. “This… this is no mere ornament, Sebastian. It is a prison, and a conduit of immense power.

  Her initial fury, a tangible wave of heat that had almost scorched him, began to subside. It was replaced by something colder, something calculating. She was assessing him, weighing his worth, considering the possibilities. He wasn’t just a pawn; he was a key, a variable in an equation she was only beginning to understand.

  Sebastian, still reeling from the shock of her appearance, felt a surge of both fear and a strange, burgeoning excitement. His life, so recently consumed by the drudgery of academic pursuits, had just taken a breathtaking, terrifying, and utterly unbelievable turn. He was no longer just a history student on sabbatical; he was now inextricably linked to a powerful being from a world beyond his wildest imagination. He had stumbled into a world of magic, a world of ancient pacts and forgotten powers, and he had no idea what the future held. The weight of the unknown pressed down on him, a heavy cloak of anticipation and dread, woven from the very threads of reality itself. He had a feeling his thesis on the Crusades was about to seem rather insignificant compared to the events about to unfold. His life, once so predictable, now hung suspended on the razor’s edge of the unknown, poised to plunge into the depths of a fantastical adventure, the implications of which he had only begun to comprehend. The whispers of forgotten lore echoed in the now vibrant, mystical space around him. This was not just a story from a dusty textbook; it was his reality, now, raw, brutal, and astonishingly wonderful. He was bound to a jinn, and the story had only just begun.

  The Two Wishes

  Nimah’s voice, a low hum that resonated within Sebastian’s very bones, broke the silence. “You have freed me, Sebastian,” she said, the words imbued with a weariness that spanned millennia. “And as a consequence, I offer you two wishes. Choose wisely, mortal, for the consequences of your desires may well outweigh their fulfillment.”

  The air crackled with unspoken power, a palpable tension hanging heavy between them. Sebastian, still reeling from the sheer improbability of his situation, felt a strange calm settle over him, replacing the initial terror with a cautious curiosity. He was no longer just a scholar; he was a participant in a drama as old as time itself, a player in a game whose rules he didn’t yet understand.

  He opened his mouth to speak, to ask questions, to demand explanations, but the words caught in his throat. The weight of the situation, the sheer magnitude of the offer, was almost unbearable. Two wishes It was a temptation of epic proportions, a siren song that whispered promises of untold possibilities.

  Nimah, sensing his hesitation, continued, her voice a silken whisper that carried a subtle threat.

  Sebastian’s mind raced, trying to grasp the sheer implications of her words. Ten years of unimaginable strain? The risk of madness? He could see the possibility of power, but also the very real danger of losing himself in the process, of being consumed by the very force he sought to control.

  Sebastian’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Wishes? The notion seemed absurd, ripped straight from the spine of a worn folktale. And yet, here he stood—awash in the afterglow of an impossible awakening, the charged remnants of some ancient spell still humming in the floorboards beneath him.

  “I…” he began again, steadier this time. “I need time.”

  Nimah tilted her head. The movement was fluid, alien, as though she was simultaneously present and distant, her body only a suggestion of her true form. Her eyes narrowed, glimmering like twin stars lost in a nebula.

  “Time,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. “You would delay the inevitable?”

  He met her gaze, the fire within it daunting, yet not without understanding. “I’ve spent my life studying the wishes of kings and conquerors—what they fought for, what they died for. I won’t make mine in ignorance.”

  For a long moment, Nimah said nothing. The silence between them stretched, pulled taut by unseen forces. Then, she gave a single nod, solemn and regal.

  “Seven days,” she said, her voice resonant with something deeper than sound. “At the end of the seventh, you must name your wishes, or face the consequences of awakening what was meant to sleep.”

  She stepped closer. The air turned colder, despite her glow. “Know this, Sebastian Calder: magic cannot be unmade once loosed. Inaction is itself a kind of choice. The bracer is now bound to you. The clock has begun.”

  A soft breeze swept through the room—though no windows had opened. Dust motes stirred once more in dancing spirals, and with a blink, Nimah vanished.

  But the warmth remained.

  The bracer lay at his feet, no longer radiant, but not inert either. Its surface pulsed faintly, like a heart waiting to be awakened again.

  He looked at the bracer, still radiating a faint, ethereal glow, lying on the floor between them, a physical manifestation of this impossible reality. He’d spent years poring over dusty texts, studying the minutiae of history, seeking to understand the past, but now he was facing a choice that would shape not just his future, but potentially the destiny of mankind.

  He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “What… what kind of power are we talking about?”

  Nimah smiled, a chillingly beautiful expression that did little to assuage his apprehension. “The power to manipulate reality, Sebastian. Space, time… the very fabric of existence. To alter events, to travel between timelines, to witness epochs long past.

  You will be capable of shaping the world as you see fit; a god amongst men. Yet, be aware, with such power comes immense responsibility. Your second wish, meanwhile, is far simpler. The power you gain will be inherited by your descendants for generations. I would never bind such power to a single person; that would be reckless, indeed, dangerous.”

  The enormity of her words slammed into him like a tidal wave. To manipulate time and space? To witness the birth of civilizations and the fall of empires? To reshape history itself? The temptation was overwhelming, seductive in its sheer audacity. But the cost… the ten years of agonizing transformation, the potential for mental collapse… it was a gamble with his sanity, his very soul. He imagined the possibilities: correcting past mistakes, preventing catastrophes, shaping a better future for humanity. But just as strongly, he envisioned the nightmare scenarios: the potential for misuse, the temptation of unchecked power, the corrupting influence of omnipotence.

  He thought of his research, his years dedicated to the study of history, of the fragility of civilizations and the unpredictable nature of human ambition. He envisioned the unintended consequences of even the smallest alteration of the past, the ripple effects that could shatter the present. These thoughts rocked him to his core and frightened him. Although the power to manipulate reality to make it what he wished, to control space and time, if not him, who…

  The Weight of Seven Days

  Sebastian barely remembered crawling to the bed. Night had fallen, yet his body still trembled from the encounter. He stared at the ceiling, every breath weighted with the burden of choice. His logical mind warred with his soul, dissecting her words for traps, for truths, for hidden meanings.

  He dreamed of fire and falling cities. Of ancient tombs opening to reveal wonders and horrors in equal measure. Of himself, older—eyes haunted—watching time collapse inward like a dying star.

  On the second day, he returned to the souk where he’d purchased the bracer. The vendor was gone. The stall empty, as though it had never existed. Locals claimed there had been no such shop, no such merchant.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  On the third day, the dreams worsened. Nimah’s voice whispered through the winds outside his riad. He heard echoes of ancient languages rising from the walls. The bracer pulsed even when untouched, like a living thing waiting to be claimed.

  By the sixth day, something had shifted within him. He was changing already, he could feel it. The world had peeled back a layer, revealing patterns, connections, threads of unseen energy. People around him seemed slower, colors sharper, sounds more layered. Time began to feel like something he could almost taste.

  The Seventh Sunset

  He stood in the courtyard, barefoot on warm stone, the bracer in hand. The sky above Morocco burned orange and violet, the sun dipping low on the horizon. The air was utterly still.

  Nimah appeared without fanfare. No burst of light. No humming energy. Just a presence—solid, immutable.

  “Speak, Sebastian Calder. Your moment has come.”

  A wish. Just one could reshape the world.

  His mind drifted—unbidden—to another time, another place.

  He was eight again, curled up on the faded brown couch of their modest living room. The TV bathed the room in bluish light, the intro to Star Trek: The Next Generation swelling with orchestral grandeur. His father sat beside him, arms crossed, sipping from a chipped mug.

  “Who’s that?” young Sebastian had asked, pointing to the flamboyant figure that had just materialized on the Enterprise’s bridge.

  “That’s Q,” his father said, voice half amused, half wary. “A being with the power to bend time, space… everything, really.”

  Sebastian had leaned forward, eyes wide. “So he’s like a god?”

  “More like a trickster. But yes, in terms of power—pretty much.”

  The episode unfolded, Q toying with the crew, testing humanity’s worth with cryptic games and impossible dilemmas. Sebastian had watched, spellbound, until the screen faded to black. Silence settled for a while before he turned to his father.

  “What would you do if you had Q’s powers?”

  His father laughed softly, then looked away. “That’s the wrong question, kiddo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the question isn’t what you’d do. It’s should you do anything at all. Power like that… it’s a burden. Every decision affects millions. You’d stop being human the moment you start playing god.”

  Sebastian had furrowed his brow. “But you could help people.”

  His father nodded, solemn now. “Maybe. But every solution you force on the world removes their freedom to choose. Sometimes helping… isn’t helping.”

  Back in the present, the memory unraveled like mist. Sebastian exhaled slowly, the scent of sandalwood and old parchment grounding him. The bracer still pulsed faintly, as if it had heard the echoes of the past.

  He stood and turned.

  Nimah stood just outside the ring of candlelight, watching him with eyes as deep and ancient as any star.

  “I remember something,” Sebastian said quietly. “A conversation with my father about Q… an omnipotent being who toyed with lives because he could. My dad said the danger wasn’t the power—it was the temptation to use it, even with good intentions.”

  Nimah tilted her head. “You wonder if your wishes make you Q?”

  He nodded. “More than that—I wonder if you could grant that level of power at all. Reality-altering, cosmic restructuring… Is that within your scope?”

  Her expression darkened with a hint of mystery. “I am bound by laws older than time, Sebastian Calder. But if your wish resonates with the deep threads of the world… yes, even that can be done. For a price.”

  Sebastian stepped closer, the candlelight catching in Nimah’s eyes—liquid obsidian, endlessly deep. But this time, he really looked at her. Not as a mythical being draped in mystery, not as a trickster or temptress from ancient lore. He saw her as she truly was—timeless, patient, enduring. A fragment of something vast and wild and unknowable, contained in a form that barely veiled her enormity.

  Her face remained calm, but he sensed it—expectation. The sharp stillness of a moment suspended between breaths. She wasn’t just waiting for his wish. She was waiting to see if he would understand.

  “I get it now,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “You’re not here to hand out miracles. You’re here to see if I’m ready to become one.”

  Nimah said nothing. Her stillness was its own affirmation.

  Sebastian’s voice strengthened. “I don’t want a wish that fixes the world in a single moment. I want… growth. Evolution. I want these powers not as a tool, but as a seed. One that will grow with me, challenge me, even humble me. And when I’m gone…” He paused, breath catching, “I want that seed to remain in my bloodline. For my descendants to carry it. To earn it in their own time, in their own way. A living legacy.”

  Nimah stepped into the light, her shadow stretching long behind her.

  “You would place divinity into a river of generations,” she said softly. “Not as a crown, but as a current.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Power should mature as the soul does. I want it to change me, not just answer me. I want it to question me, reshape me, refine me. And if my children, or their children, are worthy, let it awaken in them too. Let it evolve with the story of our lineage.”

  Nimah studied him in silence, then slowly raised her hand. The air shimmered between them, and for a heartbeat, Sebastian saw a thread of silver light stretch from his chest forward—into unseen futures, countless generations unfolding like petals.

  “You have chosen the hardest path,” she whispered. “The path of the gardener, not the king. The path of becoming, not possessing.”

  A soft wind swept through the room, though the air was still. The candle did not flicker.

  “Then let it begin,” Sebastian said, his voice steady now. “Let this be my first wish: that the power I receive will evolve with me, test me, and continue through my bloodline—forever maturing, forever bound to purpose.”

  Nimah smiled then, not with delight, but with ancient approval.

  “So it is spoken,” she said, “so it shall be.”

  And the room filled with light.

  Light burst from within him, not like a flame, but like a memory of the sun—pure, overwhelming, sacred. Sebastian’s feet lifted from the ground, his body drawn upward as if by invisible threads. His arms fell open at his sides, his head tilted back. The glow intensified around his form, painting the shadows in gold and fire.

  From his chest, the thread of silver light stretched farther now—beyond the horizon of time. It shimmered, vibrant, unbroken, reaching into a future unseen and unknowable. Every heartbeat echoed like thunder in his ears.

  Nimah stepped forward from the dark, her expression grave beneath the divine glow.

  “You have made a wish that calls for more than desire,” she said, voice barely audible over the rising hum of power. “You have asked for the impossible to live in you… and through you.”

  Sebastian’s body trembled as the light tightened into spirals around him, folding into his skin, his veins, his bones.

  “I accept it,” he gasped. “Let it—”

  But Nimah raised a hand, silencing him.

  “Listen,” she commanded gently. “Because this is the part no man dares imagine.”

  She moved closer, until her fingers nearly touched the swirling aura surrounding him.

  “To carry this wish, your body must become the vessel for the world’s forgotten lifeblood—Mana, long sealed away, long denied. The world has starved without it. And now, you will drink it in.”

  The light around him flared violently, then turned turbulent. The air cracked like splitting ice.

  “The price,” she continued, “is ten years of suffering. Your nerves will burn as if fire walks through them. Your muscles will waste and rebuild, over and over. Your mind will falter under visions not meant for mortals—dreams of every soul before and every soul yet to be.”

  Sebastian gritted his teeth, the pain already beginning to simmer in his limbs.

  “Why… ten years?” he asked, voice strained.

  “Because that is how long it will take for your body to adapt,” Nimah replied. “You are becoming the seed of an old world, rooted in the bones of the new. No elixir, no protection, no reprieve. Only time, pain, and becoming.”

  He hovered still, veins glowing beneath his skin, breath hitching as waves of invisible force surged through him.

  Nimah’s voice softened, but did not waver.

  “This is not punishment. This is transformation. You will suffer—but not in vain. And if you survive it… your line will never be the same.”

  Sebastian’s eyes met hers, filled with resolve, trembling against the agony beginning to pierce deeper into his core.

  “I will endure,” he said, each word costing more than the last. “For them. For the future.”

  Nimah nodded once, solemnly. “Then let the world remember what it means… to awaken.”

  And with that, the light consumed him whole.

  The light vanished like a snapped cord, and the air fell deathly still. Gravity reclaimed him with a cruel gentleness. Sebastian’s body, smoldering with unseen torment, dropped to the stone floor like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

  He hit the ground hard, bones rattling beneath the weight of raw fatigue. The silence screamed around him. His breath tore from his lungs in ragged, gasping bursts—like he’d run a thousand miles in the span of a heartbeat.

  The room was dim now, the warm aura of the wish scorched out, leaving only the dull flicker of firelight against stone. His skin glistened with sweat, his muscles twitching in rebellion.

  Nimah knelt beside him, her golden eyes unreadable but not unfeeling. She studied the man before her—the one who had demanded power not for dominance, but legacy.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked, voice softer than dusk.

  Sebastian shook his head slowly. A weak hand rose, palm out, as if to signal her to stay back.

  “No,” he wheezed, voice trembling under the strain of exhaustion. “But… I know my second wish.”

  Nimah’s brow furrowed slightly. She leaned closer, curious. “You would spend it… now?”

  He coughed, forcing the air through cracked lips. “Yes. I know it. With everything in me.”

  “What is it?”

  Sebastian looked at her—really looked. Not as a being of ancient fire or bound magic, but as someone who had stood beside him while he took his first step into myth. She was power incarnate, yes… but beneath that, she was trapped.

  “I wish for your absolute freedom,” he rasped. “No more bracer. No more chains. No bindings to any master, law, or legacy. You’re free, Nimah.”

  She blinked. Once.

  The air itself seemed to pulse.

  The bracer on her arm shimmered—and then cracked, fragmenting into golden dust. It scattered into the air like motes of starlight, vanishing from existence.

  A strange stillness fell over her, like she was waiting for something else—another command, another expectation. But none came.

  Only silence.

  Only choice.

  Nimah’s breath caught in her throat. No one—no one—had ever wished that for her.

  Not power. Not loyalty. Not servitude.

  Freedom.

  A flicker passed behind her eyes. Not sadness. Not joy. Something far more ancient—wonder.

  He chose to release me.

  In her mind, a thought formed—unbidden and unspoken.

  Strange man. Wounded and wise, foolish and noble. You burn yourself to give light to others. You relinquish power when all men would hoard it.

  She stood slowly, her movements like wind passing through silk.

  She would not speak her decision aloud. Not yet.

  But in her heart, she made a vow—quiet and firm.

  I am free. And still, I will walk behind him in shadow… until the moment comes when he needs me at his side.

  Nimah stood tall now, unshackled in every sense. The lingering threads of the bracer’s magic dissolved completely into the desert air, but the power within her did not fade.

  Because freedom did not strip divinity. She remained a Jinn.

  No longer bound.

  Still eternal.

  Still radiant.

  She looked down at Sebastian—still on the floor, still panting, soul still reeling from the raw absorption of mana. And a rare softness flickered through her expression.

  “You have done something no one ever dared,” she said, her voice rippling like warm water. “You granted a Jinn freedom… and expected nothing in return.”

  He tried to respond, but all he could muster was a shallow nod and the hint of a smile.

  Nimah turned toward the open air and golden horizon beyond the chamber’s archway.

  “I’m going to leave now,” she said gently. “You need time. Time to understand what you’ve become. What you’ve wished for. What you’ve set in motion.”

  She glanced back, her eyes glowing faintly. “You have ten days left in Morocco, Sebastian Calder. Spend them wisely. You’ll return to your world soon enough… to Athens, Georgia. But you will never be the same.”

  With that, she vanished—not with a dramatic swirl of flame or smoke, but like a dream exhaling into the morning.

  Sebastian awoke to aching bones, his muscles stiff like stonework under skin. The riad was hushed—only the occasional rustle of a palm leaf outside broke the stillness. He stayed in bed, staring up at the wooden beams above, fingers unconsciously grazing his chest where the thread of mana had once surged. Whispers drifted through his mind—half-lucid, half-mythic. Dreams of light. Of blood. Of immense, terrible power.

  By late morning, the silence grew heavy. He left the room and wandered into the Medina of Marrakech, drifting like a ghost through the crowd. His sunglasses shielded the red veins in his eyes, but not the weight in his soul. The scent of saffron, citrus, and roasted meats spun around him, fragrant reminders that the world continued—but his internal compass had fractured, ticking to a rhythm no longer of this Earth.

  He found himself seated by the cobalt waters of the Majorelle Garden the next day, notebook open, fingers stained with ink. Sigils bled from his pen—none he knew, yet all he understood. They came in bursts, as if from an older part of himself, a part reawakened. Children passed by laughing, and the sun kissed his skin, but he barely moved.

  That night, fever took hold. He collapsed onto the tiled floor of his room, his body wracked with convulsions as if it were purging lifetimes. Fire licked at his spine, ice spread through his ribs. In his mind, ancient voices chanted his name—Ashura’s Chosen. He saw cities rising and crumbling in seconds. His veins lit from within. He bled. Just a little. But enough to know that mana demanded a price.

  When he could write again, he did so with trembling hands. Letters poured from him—not to be sent, only exorcised. One for his mother, full of truths and half-truths. One to the boy he once was, full of warnings. And one to the stars—because they might still listen.

  Drawn by something unnamed, he returned to the desert where it all began. The sun beat down as he knelt, pressing his palm into the coarse red sand. Beneath the surface, something stirred. Not physically. Not quite spiritually. But it was real. The Earth breathed back, and he felt it.

  The next day In the souk, a stranger brushed past him and slipped something into his hand—a pendant etched with the very symbol he had drawn in Majorelle. “You dropped this,” the man said with a smirk, vanishing before Sebastian could even respond. He had never seen him before. And somehow, he knew he wouldn’t again.

  Curiosity led him into the Atlas foothills, to the home of a Berber scholar few claimed was even real. The old man greeted him like a forgotten son. Their conversation twisted through fragmented dialects and half-lost tongues. When the scholar placed a gnarled hand on Sebastian’s arm, he wept.

  He sat on the riad rooftop that evening, the phone heavy in his hand. Elizabeth’s name stared back at him from the screen. He hovered. But didn’t press send.

  And on the final morning, the call to prayer rang through the dawn light, and Sebastian brewed tea with slow intention. Each sip was grounding, earthy. He packed sparingly—just his leather-bound journal, the strange pendant, and the sandstone Nimah had left behind. From the airport window, he watched Morocco fade beneath him, unsure whether he was leaving something behind—or awakening to something far greater.