Amir’s bike hummed against the late-night air, the city’s lights flickering like fireflies as he navigated through the quiet streets. His shift as a food delivery worker had started hours ago, and the streets had grown emptier with each passing minute. But then, a new order popped up—a delivery to a mansion at the edge of the city, one he’d never seen before.

The address was strange, hidden in the folds of the mountain ridge. But Amir, desperate for the extra tip, accepted. His phone flashed the message: A large feast. The div will be waiting.

He frowned. Div? Was this a themed party or some weird joke? Shrugging it off, he followed the route on his phone, pushing past the outskirts of the city. As he neared the mansion, the road seemed to narrow, the streetlights growing dimmer. By the time he reached the gates, the place looked almost unreal—an ancient mansion draped in ivy and carved stones, standing in perfect isolation.

A massive bronze door creaked open, and a figure emerged—a tall man with a dark, ageless face, his eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. “The delivery,” the figure said in a voice that reverberated with something primal, almost ancient.

Amir handed over the large container of food, trying not to look too nervous. His stomach churned, half from exhaustion and half from the eerie aura of the mansion.

“Come in,” the figure said, his voice low and commanding. “The feast awaits.”

The moment Amir stepped inside, he was enveloped in the rich scent of spices and cooked meat. The grand hall stretched out before him, a long wooden table laid with golden plates, glowing candles, and sumptuous dishes that shimmered with exotic colors. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. The atmosphere was warm, inviting, yet strange.

“Please,” the figure gestured, “join us. The div insists.”

Amir hesitated, his mind racing. This wasn’t just a normal delivery. Something wasn’t right. But before he could turn back, the voice of the div called out, smooth as velvet, “We wait for the final course.”

A low growl rumbled from the shadows, and Amir stiffened. A figure rose from the end of the table, tall and cloaked in a dark mist. He was neither human nor animal, a creature out of legend, his face like a swirling vortex of shadows and fire.

“I am Zahr, the div of forgotten realms,” the figure spoke, his voice both a whisper and a roar. “And you, mortal, have brought the most crucial ingredient for my feast—saffron rice.”

Amir blinked, confused. “I just delivered… I mean, I only brought the food I was asked to… What’s this about a feast?”

Zahr’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling smile. “This rice you’ve brought—it’s perfect. And you, Amir, have unknowingly crossed into a different world. A world where time bends, and immortality is offered.”

The div motioned to the large bowl of saffron rice at the center of the table. The aroma was intoxicating, delicate and rich, with the promise of something ancient.

“Only the perfect saffron rice can offer immortality,” Zahr continued, swirling his fingers through the air. “I offer you a deal, mortal. Join us. Feast with us. And you will never know death, never grow old. The world will be yours for the taking.”

Amir felt his pulse quicken. Immortality? It sounded absurd, yet the weight of the div’s words hung in the air like the heavy scent of the rice.

“But what do I have to do?” Amir asked, his voice shaky.

“Prepare the final dish,” Zahr said, his tone turning almost playful. “A dish that only a mortal can make. The perfect saffron rice. You have brought it to us, but now you must share it with us in your own way.”

Amir looked around. The guests at the table—all shadows and shapes, their faces hidden—stared at him with anticipation. The room was silent, except for the crackling of the fire and the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere far off.

He felt the weight of the decision pressing on him. Was this some twisted game? Or was it real? The idea of immortality, of escaping time itself, pulled at him with magnetic force.

But then, a voice echoed in his mind. His grandmother’s voice. True immortality lies not in the body, but in the heart and the soul. In the memories you leave behind and the lives you touch.

Amir’s hands trembled as he reached for the bowl of saffron rice, his mind racing. He had seen so much in life, but never had he been offered such a choice. To live forever? To escape death?

The div waited patiently, his eyes full of dark amusement.

Amir took a deep breath and placed his spoon back into the bowl, pushing it aside. “I refuse.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, and the div's smile faltered.

"You refuse?" Zahr’s voice thundered, shaking the very air. "You choose mortality? You choose the fleeting nature of your existence?"

Amir nodded, his resolve hardening. "I don’t need immortality. I only need the moments I have left."

A strange calm washed over him, as though the air itself exhaled. The guests at the table disappeared into shadows, the mist swirling and vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

Zahr’s eyes flared, but he said nothing. Instead, the mansion faded into the night, leaving only the scent of saffron lingering in the air.

Amir stood there alone, his heart pounding, the empty bowl of rice before him. The night outside was quiet, peaceful once again. He rode back to his apartment, the weight of the encounter still heavy on his chest.

But when passed by a small roadside restaurant on his way home, he stopped. There, behind the counter, was a steaming bowl of saffron rice, a memory of what had almost been.

And for the first time in a long while, Amir felt content with the fleeting beauty of the world.