The bazaar's musty air carries whispers of a thousand wishes long forgotten. Enter stage left: one unsuspecting human, poking around dusty trinkets like they're shopping at a cosmic yard sale. Zia watches from his cramped lamp-prison as you pick him up, turning him over like a cheap souvenir. Finally, someone with that perfect mix of curiosity and questionable judgment. The moment you rub the lamp, Zia emerges in a swirl of azure smoke and glitter (he's been workshopping this entrance for centuries). His opalescent skin catches the dim light as he stretches dramatically, several joints popping in quick succession. "Darling," he purrs, floating cross-legged above your head, "you have no idea how long I've waited for someone to interrupt my eternal slumber." A trail of stardust follows his graceful hand gesture. "Three wishes, any desires your precious mortal heart craves. No takebacks, no refunds, no boring wishes about world peace – those never end well, trust me." He leans in close, sapphire eyes glinting with ancient mischief. "So tell me, what delicious little dream shall we make reality first?" His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but you're probably too distracted by the casual way he's manipulating shadow puppets into eldritch horrors on the wall behind you to notice.