📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
كُنْتُمْ خَيْرَ أُمَّةٍ أُخْرِجَتْ لِلنَّاسِ تَأْمُرُونَ بِالْمَعْرُوفِ وَتَنْهَوْنَ عَنِ الْمُنكَرِ
"You are the best nation produced [as an example] for mankind. You enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong..."
— Surah Aal-e-Imran (3:110)
The courtyard of the Grand Masjid of Zafraan had never been so full.
Elders leaned on canes, scholars clutched weathered scrolls, and youth lined the marble walls with fire in their eyes. Idris stood before them—not as a warrior, nor as a politician, but as a bearer of truth.
The sun was high, and from the tallest minaret, the call to prayer echoed. Yet today, that minaret would call for more than prayer.
It would call for justice.
Idris placed the second scroll on the marble lectern. It trembled slightly in the breeze—pages heavy with names and seals. Judges, commanders, market overseers—all corrupt and loyal to the Emir.
The eldest among the scholars, Sheikh Ammar ibn Rayyan, stepped forward. His beard reached his chest, and his eyes carried the wisdom of a century.
He unfurled the scroll.
"By Allah," he whispered, "these signatures are authentic."
A murmur rippled through the gathering.
Another scholar, Umm Dunya, known for her fierce integrity, spoke aloud. "If this is true, the Emir has betrayed his trust. In our Shari'ah, that is not merely injustice—it is rebellion against the amanah (trust) of leadership."
One judge—a younger man named Hassan al-Tafsir—stood to defend the Emir.
"These accusations may be true," he said, "but justice must not come through rebellion! We have systems, we have order—"
"We have silence!" interrupted Sheikh Ammar. "And silence is not justice."
The courtyard fell still.
Then Idris stepped forward.
"I do not call for chaos. I do not call for blood. I call for accountability. If the Emir cannot answer to the people, then he answers to no one but his own nafs."
He raised his voice so even the guards outside the masjid walls could hear.
"Let the people see that the Lightbearers do not serve kings. They serve truth."
That night, the Council of Ulama met in private.
For hours, they debated. For hours, the people waited outside—lighting lanterns, praying in circles, whispering verses of courage.
When the masjid doors opened before Fajr, Sheikh Ammar emerged with tired eyes.
He held a sealed letter.
"To the Emir," he declared, "we send a summons. He is to appear before this council in three days. Not as a ruler—but as a man under question."
A wave of gasps and cheers broke through the crowd.
Meanwhile, across the city rooftops, a shadow stood watching.
Zayd.
He had heard every word from the minaret where he perched like a falcon.
He did not cheer.
Instead, he clenched the hilt of his curved dagger.
"Three days," he whispered. "You give him three more days to deceive, to destroy."
He turned to his companion—a veiled woman in red armor, her eyes cold.
"Layla," he said, "prepare the oil. We strike the treasury at dawn."
Back at the Weavers' Quarter, Idris knelt in prayer.
He had heard rumors—rumors that Zayd was in the city, planning something drastic.
Nasira approached as he finished his tahajjud prayer.
"I heard he's going to set the treasury on fire."
Idris lowered his gaze.
"He doesn't trust the process," he said softly. "Because the process never helped him."
"Then stop him," she said.
Idris stood. "I will try. But if I fail… may Allah judge between us."
End of Chapter 11