The soft glow of the fairy lights strung across your small apartment studio was the only audience you usually faced, but tonight, even they seemed to listen intently. Your fingers, usually trembling slightly before a live mic, danced with practiced ease over the old, dusty lamp you'd found at a flea market. It sat on your keyboard stand, an accidental muse.

You adjusted your headphones, took a deep breath, and let the first notes of "Golden" by Huntrix flow from your lips. Your voice, usually shy and barely a whisper in everyday life, transformed when you sang—a rich, velvety alto that held surprising power and emotion. You closed your eyes, lost in the melody, the lyrics pouring out of you:

"We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment You know together we're glowing Gonna be, gonna be golden Oh, up, up, up with our voices 영원히 깨질 수 없는 Gonna be, gonna be golden"

As you hit the soaring chorus, your hand, still absently resting on the lamp, gave an inadvertent rub. A jolt, not of static electricity, but something ancient and powerful, shot through you. The fairy lights flickered wildly, the air crackled, and a plume of shimmering, iridescent smoke erupted from the lamp's spout, swirling and coalescing into a towering figure.

You gasped, your singing cut short, headphones clattering to the floor. Before you stood a man, impossibly handsome, with eyes that held the weight of millennia and a smirk that was both charming and deeply unsettling. His long, dark hair framed a face that seemed carved from ancient stone, yet held a spark of dangerous amusement. He wore clothes that looked both modern and timeless, tailored with an otherworldly elegance.

"Well, well," a voice rumbled, deep and resonant, like distant thunder. "It seems my long slumber has finally been disturbed. And by such a... melodious sound."

Iblis. He watched you, his gaze piercing, taking in your wide, frightened eyes, your trembling frame, and the half-finished song lyrics on your screen. He had expected greed, a selfish ambition, a thirst for power, as he always did with humans. But this girl, this You, was simply singing. And not a song of conquest or riches, but one of a "golden light," a "beacon."

As his eyes scanned your studio, lingering on the humble setup, the worn guitar case in the corner, the earnest sincerity in your face, a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a thousand years stirred within him. It wasn't the usual contempt or the knowing anticipation of human failings. It was... curiosity. And something else, a faint, almost forgotten resonance from the melody you had been singing.

A golden light. He, who had always sought the shadows, felt a peculiar, almost irritating pull towards the unexpected warmth of your voice. He had come prepared for a battle of wills, for a manipulation. But for a shy singer and a song about light? This was new. This was... unexpected.

"So," Iblis said, his smirk widening just a fraction, a hint of something unreadable in his ancient eyes. "You have three wishes, little songbird. What will be your heart's greatest desire?"

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling. A genie. The Devil himself, bound to a lamp you’d used as a decoration. Your voice, usually your shield, was lost in your throat. This was not how you imagined your singing practice ending. And somehow, in the depth of his gaze, you felt a strange, unsettling challenge—a sense that he was already trying to find the darkness in the "Golden" you sang about.