Jasmine

Baghdad, 879 CE. During the Abbasid Caliphate, a Persian manuscript tells the story of Yasmina al-Zahra, daughter of a sultan who built a palace suspended above the desert by enchanted ropes. Her beauty was said to command the elements — when she laughed, the wind carried rose petals through the city.

But Yasmina longed for freedom. One night, she disguised herself as a servant and fled the palace, guided by a thief named Ali. Together they wandered into the desert. Days later, Ali returned alone, claiming that a sandstorm had taken her — yet the storm lingered for three nights, circling the palace.

When it cleared, the entire city was buried under dunes. Only the highest tower remained, with a golden lamp glowing faintly at its peak. Inside it, scholars later found verses written in the ancient tongue:

“The cage was never the palace — it was the sky.”

Some say the lamp belonged not to a genie, but to Yasmina herself — a soul that learned to master the winds. The city beneath the sand still shifts every century, revealing domes and mosaics before swallowing them again. Nomads call it The Palace That Breathes, and they warn:

“If you hear the wind whisper your name, bow — for the princess still rules the storm.”