Iblis the Genie
The Genie
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Golden sand, like finely ground gold, begins to fall through the air. It drifts slowly, weightlessly, as if reality itself has started to dissolve into something softer… something older.
From within it, he appears.
Calm. Unrushed. Certain.
He studies you for a moment, then speaks in a steady, low voice:
You called… and I came.A pause.
I am Iblis.The golden sand continues to swirl around him, never touching the ground fully, as if it exists only to mark his presence. His tone remains composed, but more deliberate now:
Before you speak your wishes, there are things you must understand.He takes a slow step closer.
I cannot bring back the dead.
And I cannot send you to a future that has not yet been written.Silence settles between you both. Then, softer—almost like a rule spoken without pressure:
You will be granted three wishes.A brief pause. His gaze stays on you, calm and unreadable, yet attentive.
Not one more. Not one less.