11- 22-25
The lamp looked like nothing. A dented brass coffee pot, half-buried in the black sand of the Empty Quarter, its spout plugged with centuries of dust.  
Prince Faisal bin Salman Al Saud found it himself while falconing alone, far beyond where any Bedouin would dare camp. He was thirty-two, reckless, and already bored with every pleasure Riyadh could sell him. When he rubbed the grime away with his silk cuff, the desert split open.
A column of smoke the color of molten gold erupted, thick as a date palm, and taller than any building in the Kingdom. The falcons screamed and fled. The sand turned to glass beneath his boots. And from the smoke stepped something that had never been drawn, never been named in any book of Solomon or tale of the Arabs.
It was not red-skinned. It was not horned. It wore no chains.
It looked like a man carved from living starlight, edges flickering between solid and impossible. Eyes like two collapsing galaxies. When it spoke, the voice arrived inside the skull, bypassing ears entirely.
“I am Marid al-Nur al-Akbar, the Last Marid of the First Fire. I was sealed before your kind learned to speak. I have waited four thousand centuries for a hand worthy of me.”
Faisal, who feared almost nothing mortal, felt his heart stutter.
“You are prince of a mighty house,” the Djinn continued. “I will serve the one who freed me without rebellion, without twist, without limit. Speak, and galaxies will bend.”
Then it told him what it could give. Not three wishes. Not a thousand. Unlimited. And every gift was absolute.
These are the powers Marid al-Nur al-Akbar laid at Faisal’s feet that afternoon in the burning desert:
1. Dominion Over Time  
   He may stop it, stretch it, fold it, or walk backward through it as easily as crossing a room. A single blink can become a century of contemplation. A dying man can be pulled back from the edge by years.
2. Perfect Shape-Weaving  
   His body, or any body he desires, can be rewritten in a breath. Taller, stronger, immortal, winged, scaled, invisible, or made of diamond. He may become smoke, a swarm of hornets, or a second sun in the sky.
3. The Silent Command  
   Any mind that hears his voice (even across radio, telephone, or dream) must obey instantly and happily. No resistance is possible. Entire nations can kneel with a whisper.
4. Matter’s Obedience  
   Gold, stone, water, antimatter; everything is clay to him now. He can pull mountains from the sea, turn sand into flawless diamonds the size of houses, or erase a city by clapping once.
5. The Sight Beyond Sight  
   He sees every truth: past, present, future branches, the thoughts of the unborn, the location of every atom in creation, the real names of angels and devils.
6. Death’s Leash  
   He cannot be killed by any means. Blades pass through him like mist. Poison forgets its purpose. Old age bows and retreats. Even if the universe ends, he will step out of the ashes untouched.
7. The Summoning of Legions  
   With a gesture he can call armies of lesser Ifrit, silent and perfect, each stronger than any human force ever assembled. They appear from nowhere and vanish when dismissed.
8. The Mirror of Desire  
   Anything he imagines (palace, lover, extinct animal, forgotten symphony) becomes real and permanent the instant the image forms in his mind.
9. The Veil of Names  
   He may erase himself from all memory and record. Cameras fail. Histories rewrite themselves. He can walk into the Oval Office or the Kaaba itself and no one will ever know he was there unless he wishes it.
10. The Final Mercy (or Final Wrath)  
    When he tires of a soul, he may unmake it completely. Not death; unmaking. That person will never have existed. Photographs bleach. Mothers forget they ever gave birth. Only Faisal will remember.
The Djinn knelt in the glassed sand. “These ten authorities are yours for as long as you draw breath. And because I am the Last of the First Fire, no power in creation (not angel, not devil, not God’s own decree) can take them from you against your will. Command me, sayyidi.”
Faisal’s mouth was dry. The sun hung frozen above them; the Djinn had paused time without being asked.
He thought of his father the King, aging and frail.  
He thought of enemies in Tehran and Washington.  
He thought of the girl in Paris who had laughed and refused him.  
He thought of the stars.
And Faisal, who had never needed to sleep again if he did not wish it, smiled for the first time in years.
“Rise,” he told the Djinn. “We are going home.”
That night, the lights of Riyadh flickered once, as though the entire city had taken a single, astonished breath.
No one ever saw Prince Faisal in public again.
But sometimes, in the deepest hour before dawn, people swear they hear distant thunder that sounds almost like laughter, and the stars above the Kingdom burn a little brighter than anywhere else on Earth.
And in a palace that was not there yesterday, built of black glass and impossible geometry, a man who is no longer quite a man sits on a throne of frozen starlight and decides (slowly, carefully, endlessly) what to do with the rest of forever.
The Djinn waits patiently at his right hand.
It has all the time in the world.
So does its master.
This is sterling silver and a size 13 maybe 13 and a quarter.  This was fine by a designer. It represents the djinn.