“I’m not an Ifrit. I’m just fire. What’s an Ifrit?”
He asks out of curiosity. The flames are now gone
as he takes a seat on the ground. Crossing his legs,
he looks at the other and grins, waiting for an explanation.
“I know you aren’t. We’re a type of jinn
made of fire. You do know of the jinn?”
The question isn’t shocking - it seems to
becoming more and more common to not
be taught the dangers of the jinn. Eventually
one day all that will be left is the cursed
name of Iblis, a perfunctory warning to the
traitors. No more stories of the grand culture,
no more respect for their power.
“It’s okay if you don’t.”