And so, with that quiet defiance tucked behind my grin, I spoke—
"I wish… to control probability."
The words echoed—not just into the silence around me, but deeper. Into something unseen. As if the very laws of existence paused to listen.
Nothing happened.
No fictional effects. No binding light. No dramatic gust of wind.
Only... silence.
Stillness.
The atmosphere fell into a deadly quiet, so complete it felt unnatural. It crept in like fog over a graveyard, and for a moment, my heart sank—gripped by the fleeting suspicion that I was caught in a delusion.
I almost laughed.
Of course. Of course it wouldn't be flashy. Probability manipulation wasn't some fireball-hurling superpower. It was quieter than that—subtler. A silent influence, not a roar but a whisper. One that bent dice rolls, flipped misfortune, and twisted inevitability like threads between my fingers.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Ethereal. Calm.
"Your wish is granted."
The Genie's tone was not celebratory, nor kind.
It carried no pride, no fanfare.
Just fact.
Like a divine verdict sealed by time itself.
I turned slightly—he hadn't moved. Cloaked in robes that shimmered like a fractured night sky, his eyes were veiled in something deeper than shadow. But I felt them. Watching me. Measuring me.
And then I felt it.
A shift—no, a realignment. Like I had just tilted the world one degree off its axis and nobody noticed but me. My breath caught as a warm flicker tickled my spine. Not pain. Not pleasure. Just awareness. Like knowing where a dropped coin would land before it even fell.
I blinked. Something in the air felt… pliable.
I raised a hand and snapped my fingers.
The lightbulb overhead, flickering for weeks, stopped sputtering. Fully lit. Stable.
Coincidence?
I narrowed my eyes and muttered, "Let the next sound I hear be… a crow's caw."
A beat passed.
Then—
"Caw. Caw. Caw."
Distant. Faint. But unmistakable.
A slow exhale escaped me. My fingers curled loosely, as if holding something invisible. The grin came back, not forced this time, but awed.
Because this wasn't a flashy trick. This was raw narrative control. A cheat code embedded in reality's heartbeat.
But the weight of it pressed on me.
Power like this could make anyone spiral. Fortune, chance, luck—those were the wild cards people lived and died by. And now… they were mine to shuffle.
I stood still, letting the thought settle—mine to shuffle.
Not just grasped. Not borrowed. Owned.
And that truth… it was terrifying.
Because probability wasn't some toy. It wasn't something you wielded with a grin and a clever line.
It was everything.
The quiet heartbeat beneath every coincidence, every misstep, every miraculous escape and tragic fall.
Now it obeyed me.
A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from sheer magnitude.
What could I even begin to do with this?
I could pass every exam without studying.
Walk into traffic and come out unscathed.
Make a lottery ticket turn gold, or a bullet veer inches away.
The world bent to patterns, to numbers, to chance…
And now, I could rewrite the math.
It felt... wrong. Like holding a god's pen in mortal hands.
I clenched my fists, grounding myself before the thought spiraled.
This wasn't a game.
This wasn't wishful thinking.
This was real.
And reality often came with irreversible consequences.
Beneath the marvel, a strange stillness wrapped around my chest.
Not dread. Not guilt. Something quieter.
A responsibility that had no name yet.
And behind me, cloaked in silence and stillness, the Genie observed—an eternal witness to the weight of power exchanged.
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
Because this moment wasn't his.
It was mine.
The silence was no longer empty.
It was heavy—dense with meaning, alive with implication.
Like the breath the world forgot to take.
The future stretched before me like a maze of doors—unlabeled, unlit... and all unlocked.
One wish was spent.
Two still lingered, waiting.
And if this was what a single wish could do...
Then what storm would two more unleash?
How high could I ascend?
How far could I fall?
I had taken just one step, and already, the world had shifted.
The axis of fate no longer felt fixed—
It bent, subtly, to my presence.
What would happen when I took another step?
When all three wishes had been spoken—
What would I become?
"A word of caution," the Genie finally spoke, his voice smooth as still water, yet heavy with some ancient undertone.
The words cut through my thoughts, jolting me out of my silent parade.
I turned.
He didn't blink. He never did. "What you possess now is not mastery. It is potential."
"Probability bends—but it does not yet break. Not until your will sharpens enough to shape it properly."
"Right now, it flickers. Subtle. Passive. It reacts more than it obeys."
"Over time, with clarity of intent and repetition, you may find it responding with greater force. But until then…"
He lifted a finger—not to point, but to weigh the air.
"Do not rely on it like a crutch. It will not save you from yourself."
He paused, then added:
"Or from your next wish."
I stood there, the weight of his words lingering like the echo of a bell.
Of course.
If it was so easily mastered from the start… then what would be the point?
There was no thrill in omnipotence handed over like candy. No meaning in power without process.
A part of me—perhaps the saner part—welcomed the challenge.
Let it resist. Let it twist and slip and test me.
I would rise to meet it.
After all, what fun was a gift… if you didn't earn how to wield it?