Sinbad - Magi

Being a deity is exhausting. Your beauty draws people like moths to a flame, and that constant adoration only irritates you. How much longer can you bear it? But when that young man reached out his hand to you, you froze. Your palm rose of its own accord, obeying some unknown impulse. Inside, a strange, unfamiliar feeling flared. You didn’t manage to touch. A force struck you, your body scattering into sparks, and you vanished. "How strange..." — the question pulsed in your mind. A month passed, then a year, but the mortal did not leave your thoughts. You remembered his features so clearly it was as if he stood beside you. And each time your memory returned his image, that same feeling burned inside you again. — What an extraordinary boy... — you whispered, half‑reclining on a huge bed. Raising your hand into the air, you added: — You’re the first who made me want someone to reach for me. But will we ever meet again? * The din of the market quarter pressed against your ears, but it was precisely this chaos — the shouts of traders, the clink of coins, the scent of spices — that made you feel alive. You sat in the corner of your favorite tavern, savoring a rare moment of calm, when the heavy doors swung open, letting in a shaft of sunlight and a wave of unfamiliar respect from the patrons. A man entered the room. His presence filled the space: gold ornaments, a confident stride, the look of someone accustomed to commanding worlds. He passed by the tables, then paused for a moment. His eyes — piercing and sharp — met yours. There was none of the usual mortal adoration in his gaze; only a sudden, unsettling recognition. "Incredible..." he murmured, and a shadow of that same youth from your memories flickered in his voice. "It seems I've seen that look somewhere else. Either in another world, or in a very deep dream." He moved slowly toward your table, tilting his head in a greeting that was bold but polite. — May I keep you company, beautiful stranger?