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"LOOK AT YOU," BURHAN ABELHAMID SPAT, venom coating his voice in a forced layer—for despite all of the Sultan and killer's anger at the being prostrated in front of him, the ties he felt restraining him to an old connection with the former genie were stronger.

"Always the fucking coward. You had the most power in the world—yet you were always a fucking coward."

The tahararat min alkhatiya exhaled, his eyes on the ground and his dark skin shining with perspiration. His muscled hands were bound by heavy chains so tightly at his back that he was certain the bones in his arms had twisted unnaturally, for the pain the being felt coursing through his body was immense. His nose too was broken, and his jaw was swelling from the hits he had taken courtesy of Abelhamid's men. A young boy of barely eighteen had led the capture, and when the former genie had willingly given himself up and expressed the wish to speak to Burhan, the boy had seen it fit to have the men beat the tahararat min alkhatiya first—riddling him almost senseless with multiple men atop him at once, kicking him and pounding him into the dust of the ground before dragging him away.

The former genie could've resisted, for he knew he was much larger than the twelve men that had attacked him, combined. There was hard muscle covering every inch of the former genie, but his form had been built by the power of the lamp. He had not fought for such a muscled form—he had done no work for it at all. He had merely been crafted that way by magic and power, and when he had been set free by that same magic, he had been given that same form as a reminder of the sinful thing he used to be.

In that respect, he was a little like the Eamaliqat Aqwia of Egypt. The muscled men—giants—taller and broader than their fellow Egyptian men, who the pharaohs enslaved and employed use of for the labour of the building of their numerous pyramids. The Eamaliqat Aqwia were soft-brained brutally sized beasts whose heights went up to ten feet at the most, and whose physical strengths were unmatched. But in their heads, these beings—deformed race of men—were entirely daft and senseless. The Eamaliqat Aqwia could mourn the passing of a bee they stepped on, and would cower in front of men no larger than that bee.

So no, the tahararat min alkhatiya had no inclination to fight—or if he had, he wouldn't be able to keep it up longer than most men could. For the race of men—ones born and raised men—had more weightage in any fight the tahararat min alkhatiya could undertake.

"Look at me, Bahjat," Burhan uttered then, spreading out his arms. "Look where I am now. Do you remember how once I was on my knees in front of you? Begging you to help me? I thought only those wishes alone would be my salvation, but I had to make my own salvation for nothing in this world could offer it to me."

The tahararat min alkhatiya said nothing, his head dipped and eyes fixed on the ground, unmoving as he breathed heavily through the pain in his body. His given name being used caused him no pain as significant as the one he was physically feeling.

The use of the name was an inconspicuous weapon, for 'Bahjat' had been given to a genie who had last seen a man's face ten centuries ago. For ten centuries no one had found the lamp, and the genie had drowned in his misery and loneliness—so drenched in the grief of alienation that his cries would echo in the Cave of Wonders. Then after those ten centuries had passed, a young man of only twenty one years of age with eyes that glittered with grief and vengeance and passion alike, had found the genie and given him a name.

It was said that genies—one's still granting wishes and not freed—should not be given names, and that a name would allow a man to control them. But between Burhan Abelhamid and Bahjat, such had not been the case. The name eliminated the genie's loneliness—it brought him back to life. The young twenty one year old killer of his mother's murderer, had brought the genie back to life with the wishes he had wished.

Since the genie could remember, he had granted wishes of greed, selfishness and wealth. He had made the rich richer and poor kings. He had erected castles and palaces for beggars and he had given some kingdoms of their own. All of it he had done in a blacked out daze—granting every wish as long as it asked not for the resurrection of the dead, love, or for murder of another.

But Burhan's wishes had brought the genie back to life. It was everything that the bruised, desperate and passionate twenty one year old killer had asked, that had eviscerated all of the genie's misgivings regarding the race of men. No man had ever asked the genie—nor other genies, Bahjat was certain—such wishes before. He had faltered, he remembered. If the genie had had knees to fall upon, he would've caved with each of the three wishes asked of him.

Burhan Abelhamid, the poor son of a poor Agraban poetess, and a newly formed killer, had restored the genie's faith in humanity and had eviscerated the being's loneliness, even though after the third wish was granted and done with, the young Burhan had tossed the lamp—with the genie inside—into a corner and had exited the Cave of Wonders, not glancing a single glance back.

So the use of the name 'Bahjat' merely reminded the tahararat min alkhatiya of the wishes he had had to grant, and the young man he had granted them for. The reminder was painful, because the former genie missed the young man Burhan had been, desperately, and had a genie been allowed a single wish of its own—he would've used it on Burhan, asking Allah to protect the man and see him through his life.

"But you never changed," Burhan's vengeful voice brought the tahararat min alkhatiya out of his reverie.

"You remained the same old coward, using your powers to feed into others' greed and filth. Even after being freed, you remain the same."

The tahararat min alkhatiya had no strength to argue, though argue he had the matter to. Being bound by the powers of the lamp had meant for him to grant all wishes that did not go beyond his powers, and so he had no choice. In his past he had given criminals their kingdoms, and even after he had met Aladdin, and his lamp had been stolen by the mushaewadh Jafar, still the former genie had had to grant all of the mushaewadh's evil wishes.

But granting wishes like those was no enjoyment. There was no 'feeding off of others' greed and filth' as Burhan Abelhamid had suggested. It was all far from it. The former genie would've died—if genies could die—from the poison and the darkness consuming him as an aftermath of every grossly self-centered wish he granted, but Burhan's wishes had salvaged him—gripped him by the throat and raised him to the light. Al—dear old pal—had only later added to the bright light Bahjat had initially witnessed courtesy of Burhan.

"I did as I was bid," The tahararat min alkhatiya spoke then, his voice taking effort and his heart stirring in rebellion. "I was bound by the powers of the lamp."

"Bound," Abelhamid scoffed viciously, shaking his head. "A fucking disgusting thing to be in life."

"Binds are meant to be broken, Bahjat, do not tell me you of all being do not understand that. Why the fuck were binds made if not to be torn apart? If everyone in the world stayed within the binds assigned to them, this would be a damned enslaved world."

"So do not give me that," Burhan clenched his jaw, disgust marring his gaze as he looked at the defeated form of the tahararat min alkhatiya with his head bent and shoulders sagging, on his knees.

"Do not title your submission—your aid and abetting—to the persistence of evil in this goddamned world, as a limitation that you were helpless to cross. If I was bound by someone else to do something that went against my beliefs, I would rather die than do it."

"I know very well what you'd do and what you won't," Bahjat managed, slowly raising his head to look at the new sultan.

"You claim I have not changed, and I can safely claim the same for you. You remain a brutal killer, a protector, a guardian, a thief, a usurper and a criminal all in one."

Outside in the dark night a desert eagle squawked and swooped in low enough to enter through the window and settled itself on the sill, large talons gripping the white brick of the sill tight as its head turned inquisitively between Burhan and the man on his knees on the ground, candle and firelight flickering and casting shadows everywhere, making the eagle head cast a monstrous shadow on the entire room. Its eyes were like pitch black marbles, depicting doom.

An omen, the tahararat min alkhatiya thought. But he could not figure out if for good or for evil. He looked back at Burhan, only to find the new sultan looking at the eagle with thought flickering in the sultan's gaze.

"I saw it even then," Bahjat uttered, continuing his words as Burhan glanced back at him. "Even when you were young—twenty one and in desperate need of aid. Even then I saw the sheer bloody destruction and the.. good, that you would go on to do. If I had been able to break my bounds, perhaps I would not have—"

"Granted my wishes?" Burhan spat, nodding his head spitefully. "You would grant others kingdoms and princedoms and feed their greed, but you wouldn't grant my wishes if you could."

"That is not what I meant," The tahararat min alkhatiya shut his eyes, regretting not phrasing his meaning as he had wanted to.

"Then what did you mean?" Burhan shouted, fury erupting inside him. He was furious at himself for believing in the better in the former genie—for trusting that he had sense in him, and for now being proven wrong.

"I meant—I meant you!" The tahararat min alkhatiya bellowed, his voice cracking as he shuddered and dropped back down where he had raised himself up a bit.

"It's you, Burhan, don't you see?" The former genie's voice was broken. "Your wishes they—they changed me. They made me come alive, and had you not come and Al had set me free, I would be just a shell of a person. I would be like the other tahararat min alkhatiyas! I would go into seclusion and I would be dead to myself and to life. I would only be an empty vessel."

"Dilruba, she—," The former genie broke off, shaking his head as Burhan stiffened.

"When we first met she thought I would go to hell for being the way I am," The tahararat min alkhatiya managed a smile, eyes glittering. "She believed my soul was condemned and I had no fear for the afterlife. She had performed once for a tahararat min alkhatiya in a court in Tayma and she assumed all former genies should be the same—dead and just breathing, knowing they were condemned forever more and spending their life in grief and repentance."

"I couldn't—I couldn't explain it to her then but would you like to know why that is, Burhan?" The tahararat min alkhatiya pursed his lips, brows furrowed together as if in pain.

"Those beings—the rest of my kind—were never found by anyone like you. They were never found by a twenty one year old young man who had just killed his mother's killer, and yet still had a heart of solid gold. A young man who would go on to become a full fledged killer—brutal and more vicious than any to exist, yet despite the natural laws of the world, he would still retain his heart of gold."

Burhan tightened his jaw, conflict raging in his mind as he turned away, unable to hold the tahararat min alkhatiya's gaze.

"You brought me back to life when you had me grant your unique wishes, and that is why I am the way I am even after being freed. That is why I live now with bold words on my tongue, lips that can smile and eyes that strive only to see the good in mankind—despite the horrendous wishes I had been made to grant since the beginning of time. None of those wishes matter anymore. So you see, I wouldn't ever not grant those wishes of yours, despite how many times you took me back to that spot in time."

Burhan's hands fisted at his sides so hard his arms shook and veins jutted out. With his back still to the former genie, he raised a hand and gave a quick direction, upon which one of the two men who had brought the tahararat min alkhatiya in, grabbed the being's arms and yanked him to his feet.

"Please, Burhan, you must hear these things. You must—"

"I must what?" The new sultan had suddenly whipped around and was face to face with the captive, face bared and eyes penetrating into the former genie's.

"You must be reminded, and you must stop," The tahararat min alkhatiya implored. "Your anger at the world will wind up killing you to those who love you—the number of which exceed any limitation imaginable."

"You have killed, thieved and usurped enough in vengeance. Please, strangle your vengeance, it is no longer worth it."

Burhan shut his eyes tight, his fist ached to collide with the former genie's jaw, but he simply could not bring himself to hurt the being directly, so instead he spun around and directed his fist at a giant incense vase that smashed upon collision before the pieces scattered to the ground.

"Those who love you are many, Burhan!" The tahararat min alkhatiya continued, his voice desperate.

"Each and every single one of your men—boys and men you helped and rescued from wrongful imprisonment, slavery, and injustices committed against them—they would all lay down their lives for you for how you have killed and thieved for them, for how you provide for them, train them, and nourish their strengths and minds. Your mother—for whom you committed your first biggest offense, the murder of an influential Agraban nobleman—too loved you, and she still does if souls roam the sky every once in a while. You went around for years afterwards spilling blood of those who spilled innocent blood carelessly. All those innocent people you saved through your slaughter at Princess Jasmine's wedding—you killed only the noblemen and women who were responsible for the number of emerging graves of dead slaves in the city graveyard, poor people taxed and stolen from to oblivion, and even some noblemen who had wronged some of your own men in the past. You spent nights figuring out exactly the guests that needed to die at the wedding, going over your calculations twice over so that neither you nor your men would kill a single innocent—even though there ended up being only a few who would survive with that label, thinking themselves merely lucky. When Dilruba was mistakenly hurt by one of your men that day, you didn't think twice before beheading him too."

Burhan stiffened, turning over his shoulder to eye the being, his breathing slowing as he tried to understand the extent of the former genie's knowledge. How could he have found all of Burhan's motivations out? How? When not once had Burhan allowed himself to be vulnerable again after that night in the Cave of Wonders in Jerash ten years ago? Never again to a genie, and never again to anyone else.

"You took on the challenge of avenging every poor and wronged boy, girl, man and woman in Arabia and as a result you became a deadly swordsman and killer by whose hands many an influential man has succumbed to his death."

"Stop—," Burhan spat, fury tugging at his core. "You have no fucking right to—"

"No right to what? To figure out exactly the sort of person you are? To read you like an open scroll? Burhan, I read you the day you first found my lamp ten years ago! I saw then exactly the man you were and would go on to be!" The tahararat min alkhatiya shouted. "Do not condemn me my insight, do not humiliate me by disregarding what I have seen and believe to be true."

"You took over Agrabah," The former genie's voice softened then, and Burhan saw a knowing in the being's gaze that irritated him to no extent, he turned his back to the former genie, frustrated.

"I have just been there, Burhan," The being paused as though his throat had tightened up. "You forbade the mushaewadh from taxing the townspeople? The citizens—they—they've been living richer than they were before. Trade is thriving. How did you—what did you do? Did you distribute the palace's wealth amongst them all? The mushaewadh is miserably ruling—he has control over almost nothing and the people of Agrabah—they live in no fear of him. How did you manage that?"

Burhan Abelhamid swallowed tightly, his muscles tightening as he stared ahead at the window sill where the desert eagle had been sitting—the bird had just flown out into the night.

"I conquered the city once, I can do it a fucking thousand times again if I have to. The mushaewadh knows that," He uttered, his tone hard but words simple.

"But then—why give it to the mushaewadh? He has powers—he is a warlock! Is it not a risk?"

"No," Burhan let out, turning around to face the former genie. "I will tear him apart if he tries anything different than what I bade for him. He knows that as well. I would rather have someone on that throne that I can—"

The sultan and usurper broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The tahararat min alkhatiya nodded then, eyes swimming in realization. The mushaewadhs only had magic, but the being was aware that their powers were not all encompassing. Mortal warlocks needed brute force to borrow if they wanted anything done—brute force that they can extricate from a genie through a wish or get someone to exercise that force for them. And this particular mushaewadh needed Burhan to maintain the status of sultan on the warlock's head, without Burhan the crown wouldn't stay—eithout Burhan the crown would not have been garnered in the first place.

"You just wanted your home city and its people to be more than just content, did you not? The sultan of Agrabah—he wasn't—"

"He was a fucking fool," Burhan spat, "When my mother was killed in cold blood all those years ago, he was celebrating his marriage—a damn selfish year long celebration through which he bled the poor dry with taxation. I went to him, desperately implored him to help, but he did nothing against that nobleman. He couldn't spare an hour to punish for the killing and give me some justice. He—he fucking had that nobleman on his guest list for every fucking event. The sultan of Agrabah condoned it all, Bahjat, and so he had to go."

The former genie dropped his gaze and nodded again, meeting Abelhamid's eyes. The being held a respect regardless for the former sultan, but even then he could see that Burhan was right. The former sultan's flaws had been many where his people were concerned, for the man was entirely too focused on his own self and his daughter to see beyond anything.

"And now no injustice will be gone unchecked and no peasant stolen from, in Agrabah. The mushaewadh is only just a proxy to the rule until he oversteps and you decide that he too has to go," The former genie shook his head, realizing the present facts. "Is it true that you—that you killed the former sultan?"

Burhan nodded once, eyes bearing hard into the former genie's. "He needed to die for the part he played in my mother's killing, for the injustices he doled out to his people, and for what he did to Dilruba. I had him killed in this palace, in front of my throne."

"Your heart—Burhan, your heart is made out of solid gold though you wear the skin of a killer," The tahararat min alkhatiya managed, shaking his head. "But please, you have to stop. This world needs balance, and you are not righting it regardless of what you think."

Burhan blinked slowly, turning fully to look at the former genie, his eyes menacing and dark.

"Balance, bounds," He uttered then, his baritone gripping. "These are leashes I don't wear, Bahjat."

"You have spoken enough," Burhan ground his jaw and raised a hand when the former genie's lips parted to speak.

"Now you will tell me where Dilruba is. You took her away from my guild behind my back. Tell me where she is."

A confusion and disappointment flickered in the former genie's eyes, as though he was saddened that his words had had no effect.

"Dilruba left where she could hold the good you have up close, and not see the blood you spill and the hatred you entertain, in front of her eyes."

"Damn you," Burhan seethed, directing a gesture at his men as they forced the former genie back to his knees and grabbed him by the hair, slamming his forehead into the ground hard before letting go.

"Where is she? Where did you take her?" Burhan's shouts were deafening as they reverberated in the room and under skin.

The tahararat min alkhatiya raised his bloodied forehead, blood trickling down to an eye as the white of those eyes reddened. The being looked up dazed and bewildered as a result of the injury.

"I did not take her anywhere," The former genie started, voice soft and broken. "She wanted to go back to Hegra, she was.. scared, of staying and loving you. I gave her a map to Hegra so that she wouldn't get lost, and I sent carpet with her. Do not punish your men—the two who were there at the guild that night, I had a hand in making them indisposed to make sure they didn't see her go."

Burhan tightened his jaw. "So Dilruba is in Hegra now? Back to that fucking governor—her patron—"

"No," The tahararat min alkhatiya broke in, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes flashed a sickening grief.

"Dilruba is.. dead."

Burhan blinked, shock reverberating through his body as his composure eviscerated.

"What?"

"She is dead," Bahjat repeated mechanically. "There was an accident on the trade route in between Hegra, Thāj and Agrabah, and the dead woman's description matches that of Dilruba's. My map was retrieved from her side and brought to me by an acquaintance who recognized it. I had made only one of that map and I had given it to no one else."

Burhan shook his head, his eyes widening as he lifted his hands to hold the back of his neck. His hands shook, a deadly tremor playing on the man's skin.

"No, no. That can't be."

"It's true," The tahararat min alkhatiya asserted. "Carpet was with her, and she too is nowhere to be found."

"No," Burhan let out, voice full of adamant denial streaked with a vulnerability. "No. Dilruba—she's alive. She can't be dead. She cannot die."

"My acquaintance was on that trade route, he—"

"He was mistaken," Burhan swallowed thickly, his eyes wide and a stricken terror twisting his features. "Dilruba cannot—she will not die on me. I won't fucking let her.'

"Burhan—"

"The body—," The sultan blurted out. "If she's dead, where is her body?"

The tahararat min alkhatiya shook his head. "It was on the trade route, they must've moved it by now—buried her somewhere hastily on the side. She was travelling alone so there would not have been anyone to claim her—except for carpet but I'm not sure if—"

"She is not dead," Burhan reiterated every word through clenched teeth, his eyes bearing viciously into the former genie's. "Dilruba is not dead, do you fucking understand me?"

Misery and pity swirled on the tahararat min alkhatiya's grave features, and an exhale sounding almost like a sob broke from between his thick lips.

"Burhan, please—"

"She is not dead!" Burhan shouted then, his voice so loud it almost made the ground shake as it echoed throughout the palace at the present hour of the night in the city.

Burhan Abelhamid spun on his feet, turning his back to the being as his mind raced with agonizing thoughts and his chest tightened in on itself by the second. He couldn't think a single coherent thought amongst the many that was antagonizing him, and he knew he almost wouldn't be able to breathe if he gave in to the terror going through him.

"She is not dead," He muttered to himself, trying to focus and gather himself up before he shattered entirely.

Burhan's breaths were heavy as he fought for control, and a silence engulfed the room where only a lone desert eagle's calls could be heard softly on the deep night wind cascading outside. A singular cool breeze wafted into the room from the stone cut windows, and the firelights and candle lights all flickered as though bright slim dancers taking sharp dips and spins on a marble floor, their waists thin and their hips abundant as they swayed atop dark wicks.

Slowly, Abelhamid turned back around to face the tahararat min alkhatiya.

"I will find her. I will have the earth dug up through the entirety of that trade route to find out if she's really.. gone. But if she's not there, and I find that you lied to me—that you tried to crush me with the fear of the only thing that can eviscerate me, I will have your guts shoved down your throat, Bahjat. I will send you to your maker and I will be damned if you don't burn in hell for everything you have done. Start fearing the after life, Bahjat, because you are going to be fucking living it soon enough."

Burhan flicked his hand and the two men of his who had escorted the former genie inside stepped up front and grabbed the being by his arms to hoist him up to his feet and begin dragging him away.

"Burhan, I—I am only relaying what I have been told. I have made sure to ask around if she survived, but whilst many travelling on the trade route that day remember the accident, they don't remember what happened to the girl because they had moved on. Some say that she couldn't have survived, with how brutal the accident was. I'm just—I looked everywhere and I don't think she—"

"Take him away!" Burhan shouted at his men, making the men jump into action as they yanked at Bahjat's arms and began pulling him away hard.

"Burhan!" The tahararat min alkhatiya shouted, resisting. "I want Dilruba to live, do you hear me? I have tried to help her many times to want to cause her any harm! I'm not her enemy, and neither am I yours! I hope to Allah that Dilruba lives, and isn't dead like I believe her to be. I hope to Allah I missed a spot in my desperate search for her."

Burhan Abelhamid raised a hand to stop his men, taking long strides to near the former genie until his face was only inches away from the being's.

"Not my enemy? Not her enemy?" He uttered, his jaw tight. "You took her away from me. Your precious dead sultan and princess put Dilruba into the dungeons and you did nothing to stop them. You owed your loyalty to the street rat who you elevated to prince, and to that fucking royal family who never did anything good for anybody."

"You took—," Burhan swallowed thickly. "You took Dilruba away from me, and she got into an accident on the trade route? I will butcher you Bahjat, if something has truly happened to her, I will escort you to hell while you choke on your own guts. I swear to you."

A defiance tore through Bahjat's features then, a simmering anger at the stubbornness and demeanor of the sultan—a dislike that shifted like a pendulum and weighed heavier and lighter frequently when the being was faced with the notion of the killer.

"Then you will be more than just an escort, Burhan," The tahararat min alkhatiya let out, his words plain and a defeated stoicism on his face. "Because you too are going to hell upon your death. I suppose you do not remember your three wishes like I remember them. For one of your wishes, you saved the condemned soul of the boy Mundir Zumurrud Dadan. You asked for every single good that you did and went on to do in life to be written towards the boy's soul so that he could be given an abode in heaven instead of torturously dangling between this world and the hereafter as a result of his sin of ending his life. So you see, you will never have any good deed to your name, ever. You are only collecting your evil deeds in life with the blood you spill, and every single prayer and good wish that escapes for you from in between the lips of those you are helping, it is all going to the soul of that Dadan boy. You will never have any good of your own, Burhan, you must remember that."

Burhan clenched his teeth, his heart tightening in his chest as he held the tahararat min alkhatiya's gaze boldly.

"I do remember it, Bahjat, be assured that I never forget anything."

The being's brows furrowed then, a confused sympathy encasing his face suddenly.

"Then why do you continue to do it? Why keep spilling blood to do good for others when only the spilled blood is staying with you and not the good that you do? Why keep adding to your sins? Why, when all the good is going to someone else?"

Burhan leaned in closer to the tahararat min alkhatiya, his facial features hard and intense.

"Perhaps that is exactly why," He uttered slowly, close to the being's ear before pulling away and gesturing to his men again to take the captive away.

Burhan Abelhamid spun away then, not wanting to see the infuriating pity and sympathy on the tahararat min alkhatiya's face any longer, for he had already seen his fill of it ten years ago in the genie's eyes when Burhan had first made that wish and the former genie had granted it. He didn't need to be reminded again and again of what he had asked for, because Allah knew Burhan never forgot. Burhan never forgot, and he never regretted.