📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
وَلَا تَرْكَنُوا إِلَى الَّذِينَ ظَلَمُوا فَتَمَسَّكُمُ النَّارُ
"And do not incline toward those who do wrong, lest the Fire should touch you…"
— Surah Hud (11:113)
The city of Zafraan did not sleep.
Not after Idris's proclamation. Not after the scrolls circulated through every quarter—from spice merchants to scholars, from beggars to the palace gates.
For two days, the Emir remained silent. His golden banners fluttered above the palace, unchanging. The guards stood stiff as always. But there was a hum beneath the silence. A gathering storm.
Idris waited. In his heart, he knew the response would not come in parchment or procession.
It would come in pressure.
And it did.
On the morning of the third day, Idris received a visitor—not a messenger, but a man dressed in fine silk and silence.
Vizier Luqman al-Kabeer.
An old man with a beard white as chalk and a voice soft as venom.
He entered Idris's humble chamber at the House of the Weavers, flanked by two guards who said nothing but watched everything.
"Lightbearer," Luqman said, not bowing. "You are summoned."
"Summoned?" Idris replied, already knowing.
"To dine with His Grace. The Emir of Zafraan requests your presence tonight. As his guest."
Lady Nasira stepped forward from the corner, her eyes sharp. "And if he refuses?"
Luqman smiled gently. "Then we shall assume he has... abdicated his desire for peace."
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise wrapped in silk.
Idris met the vizier's eyes. "Tell His Grace I will come. But I do not dine where the poor go hungry."
Luqman inclined his head. "Then perhaps His Grace will fast in your honor."
That evening, the palace shimmered in torchlight. The gates, once silent, creaked open for the Lightbearer.
Idris walked through them with nothing but his staff, his seal, and his truth.
He was led through marble halls lined with fountains and guards—each more decorative than deadly, yet still trained to kill without hesitation.
At the grand table sat the Emir.
Emir Jalal ibn Mahir, ruler of Zafraan, dressed not in armor but in opulence. Rings on every finger. A smile that never reached his eyes.
"My dear Idris," he said as Idris approached. "You've caused quite the stir."
Idris bowed his head only slightly. "Truth often does."
They sat.
The table was filled with roasted lamb, spiced rice, dates glazed in honey. Idris touched none of it.
The Emir poured wine into a goblet and swirled it thoughtfully.
"You accuse me of corruption. Do you know what that means here? In a city barely held together by coin and fear?"
"I accuse you of injustice," Idris replied calmly. "And I bring proof."
The Emir chuckled. "Proof given by a mute scribe and a hungry boy?"
He leaned forward. "You think the people will rise for righteousness? No. They rise for bread."
Idris remained steady. "Then perhaps righteousness must bake the bread."
The Emir slammed the goblet down.
"You insult my table, my court, and my name—and yet I welcome you as a guest!"
"And I speak as a servant of Mīzān," Idris replied. "As a Lightbearer of Nurhal. You rule by Allah's leave. You are accountable by Allah's law."
There was silence.
Then the Emir's voice dropped.
"You still think this is about laws and scales, boy? This is about power. About control. The people don't need truth—they need fear. They need stories."
He stood and walked toward the window.
"Once, there was a Lightbearer who thought like you," he said quietly. "Zayd, wasn't it? He wanted to burn my palace."
He turned slowly. "And if he does… it is you who will be blamed. Because you lit the spark."
Idris stood too. "Then let it be known that I lit it with truth, not hate."
The Emir waved a hand, and Luqman stepped forward.
"This is your final warning," Luqman said coldly. "Withdraw your accusations. Denounce the scribe. Burn the scroll. Or... your little girl in the slums may lose her way home one day."
Idris's heart froze.
Alya.
He clenched his fists—but then remembered the verse:
"And do not incline toward those who do wrong…"
He looked up, face calm.
"I have made my choice. Let the world see who you truly are."
And with that, he turned and walked out.
Outside the gates, Nasira waited on horseback.
"They threatened the girl?" she asked, already knowing.
Idris nodded.
"We must protect her," she said.
"No," Idris replied. "We must protect everyone."
He looked back at the palace, glowing gold in the night.
"I will not break. But they will."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a second scroll—hidden, untouched, containing the names of every judge who took a bribe under the Emir's rule.
"We bring this to the old scholars. Let them decide. Let the people hear it from voices they trust."
Nasira smiled faintly.
"You're walking into a storm."
Idris mounted his horse. "Then let me walk with light."
End of Chapter 10