The Fourth Wish

The figure stepped fully into the moonlight, his silhouette cutting through the settling dust like a blade.

He was impossible to ignore.

Taller than any man in the room, his form was draped in flowing robes of midnight blue and gold, the fabric whispering against the broken marble as he moved. A turban sat regally atop his head, its folds framing a face half-hidden behind a veil of shimmering gossamer—only his eyes were visible, burning with an otherworldly sapphire glow. The air around him hummed with latent power, the scent of jasmine and desert storms clinging to his gray skin.

Jazz took an involuntary step back, his instincts screaming. A genie. A wave of furious, corrosive anger clawed at his throat, mixing with a roiling nausea that threatened to buckle his knees. His nerves sparked with inexplicable hostility. A genie, a contemptuous thought, trembled in the storm of his emotions. 'What is a genie, after all? Tricks and wishes. Annoying, but no real threat.'