Zayd woke with a start, his body cold and stiff against the hard stone floor of the forgotten room. The dim light of dawn filtered through a shattered skylight, casting eerie shadows across the walls. For a moment, he lay there, his mind clouded with confusion, unsure of where he was. Perhaps he had dreamt the glowing bottle, the voice, and the deal he had made.

Then it all came rushing back—as he noticed the glowing bottle was in his hand, its presence impossible to ignore.

He sat up quickly, his heart racing. The bottle felt heavier than he remembered, as if it had grown more substantial overnight. He stared at it, his eyes tracing the intricate filigree and faint glow that seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat.

As he turned it over, trying to make sense of the object that had altered the course of his life, the voice returned. Smooth and taunting, it echoed in his mind like a shadowy laugh.

"Still trying to make sense of it, Prince Zayd?" the Djinn purred, its tone both mocking and amused.

Zayd scowled and, with sudden fury, hurled the bottle across the room. The clattering sound of it hitting the stone floor echoed sharply, but before he could take another breath, it reappeared in his hand. It had returned as if tethered to him by an invisible string, snapping back into place like a rubber band.

"No," Zayd muttered, his voice trembling with frustration. "No!"

He tried again, this time throwing it harder, aiming for the farthest corner of the room. The bottle struck the wall with a loud clang, but before his hand even fell back to his side, it was there again, resting in his palm as though it had never left.

"What is this?!" Zayd shouted, his voice breaking as anger surged through him.

The voice chuckled darkly, its voice coiling through his thoughts like smoke. "Did you think it would be so easy, Prince? You and I are bound now. The deal has been made."

Zayd tried again, and again, desperation clawing at his chest. He slammed the bottle against the stone wall, kicked it, even tried leaving it on the floor and stepping away. But each time, the bottle reappeared, unscathed, back in his hand.

"Stop fighting it," the voice said with a laugh that sent shivers down Zayd's spine. "You'll tire yourself out before long, and I'll still be here."

"Shut up!" Zayd growled, his grip tightening around the cursed object. "I'll find a way to get rid of you. I swear I will."

The bottle laughed, the sound low and resonant, dripping with mockery. Its glow pulsed faintly, almost alive.

"The only way to get rid of me," the voice purred, "is to pay your price."

"My price?" Zayd snapped, his frustration boiling over. He glared at the glowing object, his grip tightening as though he could crush it with sheer willpower.

"You must take me east, beyond the Gridlands, so that I can be free." The voice continued, its words curling around his thoughts like smoke. "It is part of the deal, Prince Zayd. A deal you cannot break."

This had to be a Djinn, Zayd realized, dread washing over him. He had, in fact, ignored the warnings of his nanny and made a deal with the devil's race. Desperation clawed at him as he dropped to his knees, clutching the bottle, and raised his voice in prayer.

"God, help me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Free me from this curse. Show me the way."

The bottle pulsed sharply in his hand, and the Djinn's laughter echoed in his mind, low and mocking.

"Praying, are we?" the Djinn purred, its tone dripping with malice. "You made me a promise, Prince."

Zayd's jaw tightened as the mocking laughter lingered, filling the air like smoke. His anger flared, but beneath it, a sliver of doubt pierced his heart. Was there no way out? Had his desperation truly sealed his fate? He clutched the bottle tighter, his knuckles white against its glowing surface.

"East?" he muttered under his breath, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "Tell me what's in the east?"

The Djinn stopped laughed softly. "That is not for you to question," the voice replied. "You wished for freedom, and this is the path to claim it."

Zayd gritted his teeth, fury flashing in his eyes. He had been tricked, bound to a deal he didn't fully understand, and yet the price was already being exacted. His hand moved instinctively to his chest, where he felt the faint hum of machinery beneath his skin.

Pulling his tunic open, Zayd stared in horror at the glowing circuitry etched into his flesh. The intricate patterns snaked across his chest, down his arms, and converged at his heart, where the faint thrum of a mechanical core vibrated against his ribs.

"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "No, this isn't what I wanted."

But it was too late. The very thing he had feared—cybernetic enhancements, the loss of his humanity—was now part of him. The Djinn had twisted his wish into a curse.

The cybernetics in Zayd's body were more than enhancements—they were a complete transformation, fusing man and machine in an unholy union. Glowing circuitry laced his chest and limbs, pulsing in time with his heart, though it was no longer fully his own. Now a mechanical core, his heart regulated the energy coursing through his body, connecting circuits embedded in his flesh. The uneasy fusion of organic and mechanical felt like his essence was being overwritten. The faint hum in his chest, a constant reminder of the Djinn's curse, bound him to a life sustained and imprisoned by the very technology he had sworn to reject.

"Why did you do this to me?" Zayd demanded, his voice cracking, tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at the glowing bottle in his hand.

The Djinn's voice was smooth, calm, and unapologetic. "It is the only way for you to survive in the east," it said, the words curling around his thoughts like smoke. "The desert and mountains will be rough on your weak heart and lungs, Prince. You would never make it as you were. And you must go east."

Zayd's grip tightened on the bottle as fury and despair churned within him, a storm threatening to erupt. He wanted to scream, to curse the Djinn for the cruel twist of fate it had forced upon him. But instead, he swallowed his pride and made a decision he loathed—he would seek his father's help, the very man he despised most.

Confused, Zayd stopped in front of a polished column and stared at his reflection. He looked the same—dark hair, sharp features, the unmistakable face of Prince Zayd. Yet something was different. He couldn't place it, but he felt... invisible.

When he passed two guards stationed near the grand hall, his heart raced, expecting them to stop him. Instead, one spoke to the other as though Zayd wasn't there.

"Do you think the king will address the council today?" one of them asked.

"Doubtful. He's too busy worrying about the eastern territories," the other replied casually.

Zayd froze in his tracks. "No one sees me," he said aloud, his voice hollow, the weight of his realization sinking in.

The guards continued their conversation, their words fading into the sounds of the palace. They neither acknowledged his presence nor reacted to his voice. It was as if he didn't exist at all.

Heart pounding, Zayd made his way to his father's chambers, desperation pushing him forward. If anyone could explain this, it had to be King Rajan. The door to the king's private quarters was slightly open, and Zayd stepped inside to see his father preparing to address the council, his ceremonial sash being adjusted by a servant.

"Father," Zayd said, panicked. "I need your help."

There was no response. Rajan didn't so much as flinch.

"Father," Zayd repeated, louder this time, stepping closer. "Please! Something's happened to me!"

Desperation consumed him as he reached out, trying to grab his father's hands. But instead of feeling flesh and warmth, his fingers passed through as though his father were made of air. Zayd staggered back, his breath hitching. It was as if he were a ghost. A phantom in his own home.

Zayd froze, the words catching in his throat. His father couldn't see him, he couldn't hear him.

"Father, it's me!" Zayd shouted, stepping directly in his path.

But Rajan strode past him, his presence imposing as ever, oblivious to Zayd's pleas. The door slammed shut, leaving Zayd in suffocating silence.

He sank to the floor, clutching the glowing bottle in his hand. The Djinn's mocking voice echoed in his mind. "Do you see now, Prince? You are free. Free from your father, free from his tyranny. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Tears burned in Zayd's eyes as he whispered, "This isn't freedom. You've taken everything from me."

This wasn't freedom. This was exile.

As Zayd, resigned to his fate, walked toward the palace gates, he moved like a shadow, unnoticed by the bustling servants and guards. The once-familiar grandeur of the palace walls now felt oppressive, a reminder of the life he had been severed from.

Stepping through the grand gates, the bustling streets of Qadar unfolded before him, alive with noise and energy. Merchants called out their wares, children darted between market stalls, and the hum of alien-inspired technology pulsed through the air. For the first time, Zayd stood on the threshold of a world that neither recognized him nor cared for his presence.

These foreign people, however, could see him, but they did not recognize him as a the crown prince. As Zayd stepped further into the streets of Qadar, the hum of the city surrounded him—voices, footsteps, and the clatter of merchants' stalls filling the air. A small boy's ball rolled past his feet, and instinctively, Zayd bent down to pick it up.

The boy approached him hesitantly, his wide eyes locking onto Zayd's chest. "You're glowing, mister," the boy said, pointing to the faint, luminous lines visible just above the edge of Zayd's tunic.

Zayd froze, his heart thudding—half flesh, half machine—against his ribs. Quickly, he pulled his tunic closed, hiding the cybernetics that marked his curse. "It's nothing," he muttered, handing the ball back to the boy before walking away briskly, his shoulders tense.

The boy's curious gaze lingered on him as Zayd disappeared into the crowd.

Zayd clenched his jaw as he made his way through the winding streets. The first step was clear. He needed answers. He needed to understand what the Djinn had done to him, and more importantly, how to undo it.

"This isn't over," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around the bottle.

"You must take me east, beyond the Gridlands. That is the key to your freedom—and mine." The voice repeated.

Zayd's lips curled into a snarl. He didn't trust the Djinn, but he had no choice. The deal had been made, and the path was set. The city stretched before him, vast and indifferent, while the glowing towers of Qadar loomed behind him in the distance. Zayd's journey had begun, and he knew it would take him far from the city he had called home.

Zayd pulled his cloak tighter as he wandered the streets of Qadar. With a cloak over his head, he tried to remain inconspicuous, weaving through bustling merchants and noisy crowds until he reached the quieter outskirts of the city. The plan was clear: he needed to head east, beyond the Gridlands, just as the Djinn had instructed.

At a weathered stable on the city's edge, a young man was brushing down a horse, its metallic joints glinting faintly in the fading light. The animal's cybernetics, integrated into its legs and chest, were built for endurance, with discreet breathing apparatus along its neck to survive toxic or thin air. The man looked up as Zayd approached, his sharp features curious. His scuffed boots and confident posture marked him as someone familiar with harsh roads.

"Looking to ride east?" The young man asked, leaning on a post.

"Yes," Zayd replied curtly. "I need a guide and a horse." Zayd's jaw tightened. "You've been east?"

"I go weekly. I'm a merchant, you see," the man said, gesturing to the bags strapped securely onto one of the horse's backs. His tone was casual, but there was a gleam of caution in his eyes. "It's not a place for the faint of heart. But I can get you east—for a price."

Zayd hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing over the familiar weight of the emerald ring on his hand. It was a family heirloom, one his mother had given him when she arranged his marriage to Princess Hind. He could still remember her words, soft but resolute: This ring represents your duty, Zayd. To your family, to your kingdom.

But that life was gone now—erased by his own desperate deal.

Steeling himself, Zayd slid the ring off his finger, the emerald catching the light as he held it out. "Will this cover it?" He asked, his voice steady, though the gesture felt like another severed tie to the man he used to be.

The man laughed and shook his head, his eyes widening at the sight of the ring. "This is too much, my friend," he said honestly, his tone more thoughtful than greedy. Zayd could tell he wasn't trying to take advantage—there was a straightforwardness about him, a trustworthiness that seemed rare in this part of the world.

"You need to understand," the man continued, his gaze scanning Zayd's clean hands and unscarred face. "You look wealthy, untouched by the rough environment. The trip east isn't easy on the body—it's brutal."

The man set the brush down and studied Zayd. His eyes lingered on the faint glow beneath Zayd's cloak. "Oh, but you've got cybernetics, don't you?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips.

Zayd stiffened. "What does it matter to you?"

"It matters because if you're heading east, you'll need them," the man said casually, gesturing toward the distant horizon. "The lands beyond the Gridlands desert and mountains are brutal. Ordinary lungs and hearts won't cut it—not for long, anyway." He tugged down the collar of his tunic, exposing faintly glowing implants embedded in his chest. "I've got some too," he added with a grin, the glow faint but steady. "Nothing as fancy as yours, though."

Zayd hesitated, glancing down at the ring in his palm. It felt heavier now, the weight of his mother's gift and the memories of his old life pressing against him. But those memories no longer mattered. He clenched his jaw and met the man's gaze.

"I need to go," Zayd said, after all he had no choice. "Whatever it takes."

The man's expression softened, he pocketed the ring. "I'll take you, friend. My name's Hamza. You?"

"Zayd," he said, shaking Hamza's hand.

"Well, Zayd," Hamza said with a kind smile, "pick a horse," he said, gesturing toward two of his steeds. "I was planning on leaving soon, anyway. No point wasting daylight."

Zayd quickly chose a sleek black mare without the bags, its alert eyes scanning the terrain, and soon they were on their way. The towering spires of Qadar faded behind them as they rode out, replaced by the barren expanse of the Gridlands—a desolate stretch littered with remnants of alien technology. Jagged metal structures jutted from the earth like broken bones, some humming faintly with residual energy.

"Watch your step out here," Hamza warned, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. "Some of the old tech is still active. One wrong move, and you might vanish."

Zayd nodded but kept his eyes fixed ahead. He had never been east before. The thought unsettled him, and the uncertainty gnawed at his mind. When Hamza broke the silence again, it caught him off guard.

"So, where exactly are we going?"

Zayd hesitated, feeling the bottle pulse faintly in his pocket as if it were listening. The Djinn's command echoed in his mind: Take me east, and I'll show you what's next.

"I'll tell you when we get there," Zayd said finally, his voice hollow and distant. The words sounded foreign even to him, as though they weren't his own. They echoed the Djinn's instruction, and for the first time, he realized just how deeply he had lost control. He was no longer a master of his own will, less free than he had ever been.

"That's odd," Hamza said, casting Zayd a curious glance but ultimately shrugging. "I'll head east toward the Maharaja's palace, that's where I am going. If you need to stop before then, just let me know."

Zayd gripped the reins tightly, his jaw tightening at the mention of the Maharaja. That was Princess Hind's father. He didn't reply, the weight of the reminder sinking deep into his chest. He had known, of course, that Hind was to have been his wife—a political match arranged by his father. But now, as the palace came into view, shimmering beside an oasis in the distance, it felt like a cruel vision of what could have been. A life where he might have been free to love, free to be human, free of the Djinn's curse.

"The Maharaja's daughter," Hamza said, his gaze following Zayd's. "She's quite the legendary beauty. I hear she is supposed to marry one of Rajan's sons. Lucky man, whoever he was."

Zayd's hands tightened on the reins, the leather creaking under his grip as he fought to shake the thoughts away. He focused on the shifting landscape instead, the barren Gridlands littered with haunting remnants of alien technology. Each step the horse took felt heavier, the sight of the palace burning in the back of his mind.

Without another word, Zayd pressed forward, letting the glittering spires of Hind's palace fade into the distance behind him.

As they passed the palace, its crystalline spires fading into the distance, the weight in his chest grew heavier. Had he not made the deal, he might have been there, fulfilling his role as prince. Now, he wasn't sure if he would ever marry, let alone live a normal life again.

"You alright?" Hamza asked, casting a sidelong glance at him.

"I'm fine," Zayd muttered, shaking off the thoughts. "Let's keep moving."

Hamza didn't press further, but his gaze lingered for a moment before turning back to the trail ahead. The palace disappeared behind them, swallowed by the desolation of the Gridlands, but Zayd couldn't shake the unease that clung to him.

The air in the Gridlands grew thicker, heavier, with a faint metallic tang that stung Zayd's lungs. His breath became shallow, and he finally understood why the Djinn had forced him into cybernetic enhancements. The toxic air, poisoned by centuries of alien decay, had wiped out most life, leaving behind a desolate wasteland. Without the enhancements filtering the poison and bolstering his heart, Zayd realized he wouldn't have lasted long in this hostile land. The very technology he loathed had become his lifeline.

The landscape was eerily still, with rusted remnants of alien machines jutting from the cracked earth like skeletal remains. A faint hum of energy echoed around them, a ghostly reminder of the alien forces that had once reshaped the world. Even the horses moved cautiously, their breaths labored in the poisoned air.

As the sun dipped low, they approached the towering gates of the Maharaja's kingdom, their intricate carvings glowing faintly with ancient technology. Beyond the gates, opulent spires and lush gardens rose from the haze, a rare oasis of life amidst the wasteland.

Hamza slowed his horse and gestured toward the gates. "There it is," he said. "The Maharaja's kingdom."

The bottle pulsed again in his pocket, its warmth spreading through Zayd's body like a persistent, unwelcome presence. The Djinn's voice unfurled in his mind, smooth yet commanding. "Good," it murmured. "Don't enter this kindgom, go to the kingdom of Paristan."

Zayd clenched his jaw, feeling trapped, his reins trembling in his hands. He turned to Hamza, his tone measured but firm. "Do you know of a place named Paristan?" he asked carefully.

Hamza pulled his horse to a halt, glancing at Zayd as if he'd grown a second head. After a moment, he burst into laughter, nearly doubling over in his saddle. "Paristan? You're kidding, right?" He wiped his eyes, his grin wide. "Oh, wait, you're serious?"

"Yes," Zayd said, his tone clipped. "Is it very far?"

Hamza's amusement lingered, though he straightened slightly. "Paristan's not real. It's some legend—people say it's the kingdom of fairies." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Aliens and Djinn? Sure, maybe. But fairies? Come on."

Zayd didn't laugh. "That is where I need to go, Hamza," he said with quiet sincerity, his voice firm but avoiding Hamza's gaze. "It's a matter of life and death."

Hamza raised an eyebrow, the grin fading from his face. "Alright, fine. I'll take you there," he said after a moment, his tone cautious. "But I don't know where it is."

"I do," Zayd replied, his voice resolute. "Let's keep going east."

Hamza's grin faltered completely. "The eastern pass, huh? Well, it's not exactly a tourist spot. Not much out there but rocks, winds, and trouble." He paused, studying Zayd for a moment before adding, "But if that's where you want to go, fine. I'll take you. Just don't expect me to go beyond the pass."

From his pocket, the bottle pulsed faintly, and the Djinn's voice slithered into Zayd's mind, smooth and sinister. "That will suffice."

"Thank you," Zayd replied, pulling his cloak tighter.

Hamza shrugged and clicked his tongue, urging the horses forward. "Suit yourself. But if you're chasing some legend, don't come crying to me when all you find is bad weather and toxic air."

As they continued, the air grew colder, the terrain more unforgiving. The narrow trail snaked along the edge of a steep mountainside, the jagged rocks below a constant reminder of the peril.

"This is it," Zayd muttered to himself, as the Djinn instructed, before turning to Hamza. Hamza slowed his horse to a halt, his expression wary as he surveyed the desolate landscape ahead.

Zayd dismounted, the wind whipping at his cloak. "Thank you," he said quietly. "This is as far as I need you to go."

As they reached the edge of the eastern pass, Zayd dismounted, the biting wind tugging at his cloak. He patted the sleek black mare he had ridden, then handed the reins to Hamza. "Thank you, Hamza. May God's peace be with you."

Hamza hesitated, glancing between Zayd and the treacherous path ahead. "May God's peace be with you too, friend." He said, his brow furrowed.

Without another word, Hamza turned his horse and led both mounts back the way they had come. Zayd stood silently, watching the figures grow smaller until they disappeared into the haze of the Gridlands.

Turning back to the pass, Zayd felt the sharp wind cut through him as he faced the steep ledge ahead. The drop was dizzying, the chasm below an endless void. He clenched his fists, his breath quickening.

The Djinn's voice slithered into his mind, smooth and commanding. "Step forward, Prince. The path lies ahead."

Zayd's chest tightened as fear gripped him. "There's nothing here," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Walk," the Djinn said, its tone mocking. "Don't you trust me?"

Zayd raised his eyes to the heavens, his voice breaking. "God, if You can hear me, guide me. Protect me," he prayed, his hands trembling. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and stepped off the ledge.

For a moment, he felt the air rush around him, the weightless terror of falling. Then warmth enveloped him, and his feet landed on solid ground. Opening his eyes, Zayd gasped.

Before him was a breathtaking landscape: rolling meadows, vibrant wildflowers, crystal-clear lakes reflecting snow-capped peaks. Streams wove through the lush greenery, and the sunlight bathed the world in a golden glow. The air was crisp, fragrant with life, and impossibly serene.

Zayd stood in awe of the paradise before him, but unease crept in. This was no ordinary place.

"Feels good to be home." The Djinn's voice coiled in his mind, smooth and satisfied. "We are in Paristan."