I was a creature of wind and fire and the golden grains of desert sand. I was strife and mischief, a warrior and a wanderer.

A djinn.

Now, I am just a slave.

For all that I was, it was still no match for a ring of iron and brass and a will of steel bellowing my name. Just like that, I was subservient to man once more.

This human was no better than the last. He demanded wealth and a crown and palaces of grand golden spires, and death, death and destruction.

And just like any other time, the humans rose in revolt. They begged for a better ruler, a better life. And when my Master would not give this to them, they took arms and charged the palace of gold, battering at the doors so hard that the earth shuddered.

Ignoring the commotion, I stare out the gilded window at the top of a tower to the desert beyond. It is a beautiful thing, sand rising and falling in hills of molten, gleaming gold; the heat making them shimmer and waver—causing them to almost appear as towering waves about to crash down on the palace and engulf whole the people who dare call it their own.

It is menacing and everlasting and goes on for infinity, stretching out as far as even my eyes can see. I suppose, in a way, that I love it—love it for it's unforgiving wrath and scorching sun and storms that could destroy civilisations. But it has been decades—decades— since I have felt that sand, flown through that blue sky, felt free. Felt free and wonderful and alive.

I turn away from the beautiful sight at the first sign of heat pricking the corners of my eyes.

Djinn do not cry.

My Master lounges on his throne, crown perched crookedly on his head and the buttons on his finery straining as they fought against the folds of fat trying to escape. Spittle flies from his mouth as he hisses at me to take care of the problem to kill the invaders in his palace.

I cock my head and listen to the shuddering and the cracks of the great door as the peasant's rage against it for their freedom from oppression and greed. For a second, I feel a spark of pity at their plight, a spark of understanding. But it is easily washed away as the curse begins to take hold of me. It wraps itself around me, slithering up my arms, my legs and into me—my very essence— before forcing me to obey my Master's wishes.

I feel the palace doors give one last shudder before finally crashing open. With it, the faint roaring sound of angry humans swell rapidly, their voices a cascade of sound echoing through the grand, empty halls.

Infinite desert power wells up from within me.

I don't even try to fight as my hand rises of the curse's volition to where the first humans are charging into the throne room and clenches, crushing windpipes and sending them crashing to the ground clawing at their throats; screaming soundlessly. I don't fight as I make a sharp cutting motion towards more of them and they fall just as soundlessly as the others—except these ones are already dead before they hit the floor. I don't fight as I do it again, and again and again.

I am wading through bodies of the fallen. Some of them are bloody from where I have cut them with whipping storms of sand and others died as simply as a broken neck. Still, the curse drives me onward, onward, to keep fighting and to keep killing. Soon, I reach the last one.

I raise my hand to complete the last killing blow—one more until they are all gone, and it is over— and stop. She is naught but a girl, quivering and dark eyed and raven haired and so, so scared.

I imagine what I must look like to her—saturated in the blood of her fellow villagers, perhaps even her family. A demon creature of whipping winds and burning fires with eyes of unending despair. A slave.

The curse pushes insistently in warning of the punishment exacted if I wouldn't finish my duty, but, for the first time in many, many centuries, I fight.

I have committed many atrocities in my life of servitude. I have been responsible for the downfall of great kings and murdered many people and shed not a tear. But never in all of my terrible crimes have I ever murdered a child. And I will not take that one last step towards damnation. I won't.

I fight against its vile touch on my soul, its hold on my heart and its oppressive force in my mind. I fight against the centuries of pain it has caused me and I fight because I finally want to. I fight because I cannot kill this girl—I will not go that far.

But.

The curse is stronger than me. It always has been, always will be and despite everything I have got, it is slowly forcing my power out of me—slowly and torturously. With the last sliver of fight left in me, I turn away from her penetrating, fearful eyes and look back at my Master. He is sprawled comfortably on his throne, a sick expression of satisfaction and amusement on his face as he enjoys the havoc and tragedy of my—no, his—creation. He smiles smugly at me.

The djinn are twisters of words, masters of lying and he had given me the order to kill all the invaders. To me, he is as much an invader in this desert as all the rest.

With this realization, I smile back widely back, conveying silent promise.

I smile at him the way a wolf licks his jowl contentedly right after a delicious meal—the way a predator has when it knows it has won. I smile at him the way a fox does when something falls into its trap. I smile the way a coyote does, teeth gleaming and tongue lolling.

He stops smiling.

And then I strike.

Quick as a viper, a sandstorm on a windy desert day, I lash out at him with a fist of desert sun and feel the curse die with him. Feel it release its grip on my soul, my essence, my magic.

I turn away from the grisly sights and go back to the girl, dimming my fire and immortal strength until my skin is as dark as the desert night and I appear to be as human as her. Although I am still covered in the blood of her people, there is no condemnation in her gaze, only understanding. She takes my hand, and I squeeze hers back.

Then we leave.

Finally, I am in the desert again. Scorching hot sands at my feet, scorching hot sun on my face.

The earth quakes loudly beneath us, a cacophony of sound as the ground shakes and the sands shift; just like that the palace is no more—engulfed by towering waves of sand.

Sand dunes extend as far as the eye can see, no human civilization in sight. And just this once, I embrace the hot prickling in my eyes, feeling my legs give out and the first tears trickle down my cheeks. The girl joins me.

Once again, I am a creature of wind and fire and the golden grains of desert sand. I am strife and mischief, a warrior and a wanderer.

A djinn.

And never again will I be taken captive by greedy humans. I look down at a ring of iron and brass on my finger and smile.

I am home.