Long ago, when the stars still whispered secrets to the sea, the Arabian Islands were born from a jinn's dream. Seven islands rose from the turquoise depths, each a jewel carved by wind, fire, water, and stone. Their names were sung in bazaars and sailed on the lips of merchants: the Fire Isle, where flames danced in the night; the Water Isle, where coral palaces gleamed; the Storm Isle, where skies roared with fury; and others, each bound to a jinn who gifted its people power—and ambition.
In those days, the islands lived as one, their rulers sharing the Heart of the Sands, a crystal born of the first jinn's breath. It held the sea's tides and the sky's winds, a promise of peace. But peace is a fragile thing, and ambition sharper than any scimitar. A king, hungry for dominion, sought to claim the Heart alone. His greed shattered it, scattering its fragments across the islands, and with it, the jinn's trust.
War followed, fierce and unending. Fire burned water, wind tore stone, and the islands bled. The jinn, bound to their rulers, turned wrathful, their gifts twisted into weapons. Skyships soared, carrying death over waves. Bazaars fell silent, their sandalwood smoke choked by ash. The Heart's fragments, hidden in coral caves and desert shrines, became legends—cursed relics that could mend the islands or doom them forever.
Some say the fragments sing, calling to those with jinn-blood in their veins. Others say they lie dormant, waiting for one bold—or foolish—enough to seek them. In the shadow of war, a smuggler sails the storm-tossed seas, her name unknown to the bards. But the Heart knows her, and its song will find her, whether she wills it or not.
For in the Arabian Islands, no one escapes their fate.