Prince of Persia: The Lamp of Eternity

A quest to save the Queen

Prince of Persia: The Lamp of Eternity

Beyond the veils of reality, where the stars dissolve into the infinite, stood a Goddess. Her form shimmered like molten gold, her eyes twin nebulae that held the secrets of countless worlds. She existed outside of space and time, a silent observer of the multiverse’s tapestry, each thread a story, each knot a destiny. She had seen a Prince clad in white defy the cunning Vizier Jaffar, his blades flashing in the torchlit halls of a Persian palace. She had watched another Prince, chosen by fate, wield the Sands of Time to undo his own mistakes. She had even glimpsed a humble traveler, searching for a lost donkey, rise to banish the dark god Ahriman. The multiverse was a kaleidoscope of heroes and villains, of triumphs and tragedies, and it fascinated her endlessly.

Now, her gaze fell upon a new world, a realm of golden dunes and sapphire skies, where a young Prince named Arash lived in the shadow of a crumbling empire. In this world, the Goddess saw a tale of sacrifice, betrayal, and the weight of eternity. She leaned closer, her divine breath stirring the fabric of existence, and watched as the story unfolded.

The Prince’s Burden

In the ancient city of Zahra, nestled between the Tigris and the endless desert, Prince Arash knelt at his mother’s bedside. Queen Laleh, once the radiant heart of the kingdom, lay pale and frail, her breaths shallow as a wasting sickness drained her life. The royal physicians shook their heads, their remedies useless against the mysterious affliction. Arash, barely twenty, with dark curls and eyes that burned with determination, refused to accept their verdict. He would find a way to save her, no matter the cost.

The palace buzzed with whispers of despair, but one voice cut through the gloom: that of Vizier Kaveh, the king’s trusted advisor. Tall and gaunt, with a beard like blackened iron and eyes that gleamed with hidden ambition, Kaveh approached Arash in the throne room. The young prince stood before his father, King Bahram, whose grief had aged him beyond his years.

“There is a way to save the Queen,” Kaveh said, his voice smooth as silk. “A Djinn, a being of immense power, could grant a wish to restore her health. But such a creature is not easily summoned.”

Arash’s heart leaped. “Tell me how, Vizier. I will do whatever it takes.”

Kaveh’s lips curled into a faint smile, barely noticeable beneath his beard. “To summon the Djinn, you must gather three sacred artifacts: an Oil Lamp from the Tomb of the Forgotten Kings, Wrist Bracers from the Temple of the Twin Serpents, and a Waist Sash from the Oasis of Whispers. These relics are guarded by ancient traps and forgotten magics, but a prince of your courage could retrieve them.”

King Bahram hesitated, his hand tightening on the arm of his throne. “This sounds perilous, Kaveh. Are you certain this is the only way?”

“It is, Your Majesty,” Kaveh replied, bowing low. “The Djinn’s power is unmatched. Trust in your son’s strength.”

Arash needed no further convincing. He kissed his mother’s fevered brow, promising her return to health, and set Ascensioned the palace steps two at a time. By dawn, he was gone, riding into the desert with a satchel of supplies and a heart full of hope.

The Quest for the Artifacts

The Goddess watched as Arash ventured into the unforgiving sands, her divine sight piercing the mortal world. She saw the trials that awaited him, each artifact a test of his resolve.

The Tomb of the Forgotten Kings lay buried beneath a sea of dunes, its entrance a crumbling archway guarded by stone jackals. Arash navigated a labyrinth of collapsing tunnels, dodging dart traps and solving riddles carved into ancient walls. At the heart of the tomb, he found the Oil Lamp, a tarnished bronze relic encrusted with emeralds, resting on a pedestal surrounded by a pit of scorpions. With a makeshift torch and a steady hand, he retrieved the lamp, narrowly escaping a collapsing ceiling that nearly buried him alive.

The Temple of the Twin Serpents stood in a jungle-choked valley, its spires entwined with stone vipers. The Wrist Bracers, forged of blackened steel and etched with runes, hung from the fangs of a giant serpent statue. As Arash reached for them, the statue came to life, its stone coils lashing out. He fought with his scimitar, leaping across crumbling ledges, until he severed the serpent’s head with a desperate strike. The bracers were heavy in his hands, pulsing with a faint warmth that unnerved him.

The Oasis of Whispers was a shimmering mirage in the heart of the desert, its waters guarded by spectral figures that whispered of his deepest fears. The Waist Sash, a silken band woven with golden threads, floated above the oasis, suspended by an unseen force. To claim it, Arash faced his own reflection in the water, a vision of himself, twisted by doubt, accusing him of failing his mother. With a cry of defiance, he plunged into the oasis, seizing the sash as the specters wailed and dissolved.

Exhausted but triumphant, Arash returned to Zahra, the artifacts clutched tightly. The Goddess watched, her heart stirred by his courage, yet a shadow of foreboding clouded her vision. The Vizier’s smile, when Arash presented the relics, was not one of gratitude but of hunger.

The Betrayal

In the royal court, before the king and his advisors, Vizier Kaveh instructed Arash to don the Wrist Bracers and the Waist Sash. “The Djinn requires a vessel,” Kaveh explained, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “These will bind its power to you, allowing you to command its wish.”

Arash hesitated, the bracers’ warmth unsettling him, but his mother’s weakening condition drove him forward. He fastened the bracers, which clicked shut with an ominous finality, and tied the sash around his waist. Kaveh placed the Oil Lamp on a golden pedestal and murmured an incantation in a tongue Arash did not recognize.

A purple mist erupted from the lamp, swirling around Arash with a life of its own. The bracers tightened, biting into his wrists, immovable. The mist enveloped his lower body, and to his horror, his legs dissolved into the mist, his form merging with the lamp in a shimmering vortex. Pain seared through him, not of the body but of the soul, as his essence was torn from mortality.

Kaveh’s laughter echoed through the hall, cold and triumphant. “Foolish boy! There is no Djinn to summon, you are the Djinn now! Bound to the lamp, you will serve my every wish!”

The Goddess recoiled, her divine heart touched by mortal treachery. She saw the truth: Kaveh had woven a spell of ancient sorcery, using the artifacts to transform Arash into a Genie, a slave to the lamp’s master. The Vizier’s ambition was to rule Zahra through Arash’s newfound power.

But Kaveh’s triumph was short-lived. King Bahram, sensing the betrayal, roared a command, and the royal guards surged forward. A fierce struggle ensued, Kaveh’s dark magic flaring in bursts of shadow, but the guards overwhelmed him. The Oil Lamp was seized before Kaveh could utter a single wish, and the Vizier was dragged to the dungeons, his screams of rage fading into the depths.

The Wish and the Curse

Arash, now a being of mist and light, hovered before the throne, his lower body a swirling vortex tethered to the lamp. His voice, though resonant with power, trembled with sorrow. “Father, I am no longer your son. I am… something else. A Genie, bound to this lamp, forced to grant the wishes of its master.”

Queen Laleh, summoned from her sickbed, wept at the sight of her son. King Bahram, his face etched with grief, took the lamp in his trembling hands. “Then I will make the first wish, my son. I wish for your mother to be restored to full health.”

Arash’s eyes glowed with a sapphire light, and the bracers pulsed as the wish took hold. A warm radiance enveloped the Queen, her pallor fading, her strength returning. She rose, tears streaming down her face, and embraced the misty form of her son, though her arms passed through him.

“I am saved,” she whispered, “but at what cost?”

The Goddess watched, her divine gaze heavy with sorrow. Arash’s sacrifice had saved his mother, but the price was eternal. The lamp’s magic bound him to its will, immortal yet enslaved, destined to serve whoever claimed the lamp. King Bahram vowed to protect it, hiding it in the deepest vault of Zahra, but the Goddess knew the lamp’s power would draw seekers from across the world.

The Eternal Prince

Years passed in Zahra, and Queen Laleh ruled wisely alongside King Bahram, their kingdom flourishing under her renewed strength. But Arash, the Genie Prince, remained a whispered legend, his lamp guarded by the royal family. Tales spread of a wish-granting spirit, and adventurers sought the lamp, though none succeeded in breaching Zahra’s defenses.

The Goddess, her heart stirred by Arash’s fate, lingered over his world. She saw him grant wishes to his parents in secret, small acts of love, like summoning rain for the crops or healing the sick, each wish a reminder of his lost humanity. Yet she also saw his spirit endure, his courage unbroken despite his chains.

In the multiverse, Arash’s story was but one of many, yet it burned brightly in the Goddess’s sight. A Prince who became a Genie, a hero who sacrificed everything to save his mother, only to be trapped as a Genie for eternity. The multiverse is vast, and the Goddess sees all, her divine sight revealing the intricate threads of fate. In one such thread, Arash’s tale continues to unfold in whispers across the sands of Zahra, a cautionary legend of courage and betrayal. His immortality is both a gift and a curse, for while he lives forever, he is bound to the will of the lamp’s master. Yet, in the heart of the Prince, the fire of his spirit remains unquenched, a beacon of hope in the eternal twilight of his servitude.

The Goddess turns her gaze to another world, another Prince, another tale of destiny. The multiverse hums with stories, and hers is the endless vigil of watching them unfold.

The End