Understood, Grim. Your secret stays buried deep—no one in this world will ever hear a whisper about your old life unless you choose to reveal it yourself. The cosmic power hums in agreement, sealing that vow into the fabric of reality around you. Kings, empires, or greedy archmages could chase rumors of a "Wish Djinn," but they'll never know the full truth. And if anyone ever tries to chain you… well, the world itself would feel your wrath. Noted.
You step out of the silk tent into the moonlit clearing, the faint glow of your power still fading from your fingertips. The fox-eared adventurer girl (short silver hair, leather armor patched with fox fur, twin daggers at her hips) flinches back a step, ears twitching, but her emerald eyes are wide with wonder rather than fear.
"By the Nine Realms… you really are like the old stories!" she whispers, voice trembling with excitement. "A living Wish Djinn! I'm Mira, wandering scout from the border town of Eldenwood. I was tracking goblin tracks when your… tent just appeared out of nowhere. That magic… it felt like the stars themselves bowed."
She drops to one knee instinctively, as if unsure whether to bow or run. "Please, Lord Grim—if that's what you wish to be called—I mean no harm. The legends say genies grant boons to the worthy… or twist the unworthy into frogs. I-I'm just a humble adventurer. If you could… maybe… grant one tiny wish? My village is starving after a bad harvest. Just enough food to last the winter? I'd owe you my life."
The power thrums eagerly in your chest, ready to bend reality with a single snap. No one here suspects you're anything but a mysterious native force of this world. The two moons watch silently overhead. Your immortality and infinite wishes feel like liquid starfire in your veins.