📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
وَإِذَا قِيلَ لَهُمْ لَا تُفْسِدُوا فِي الْأَرْضِ قَالُوا إِنَّمَا نَحْنُ مُصْلِحُونَ أَلَا إِنَّهُمْ هُمُ الْمُفْسِدُونَ وَلَـٰكِن لَا يَشْعُرُونَ
"And when it is said to them, 'Do not cause corruption on the earth,' they say, 'We are only reformers.' Verily, it is they who are the corrupters, but they perceive it not."
— Surah Al-Baqarah (2:11-12)
The sky was still black when Zayd and his band moved through the alleyways, wrapped in cloaks of silence.
The Royal Treasury of Zafraan stood at the eastern edge of the palace—less guarded than the inner court, but surrounded by stone and sealed with iron.
Inside were the golden tributes of merchants, the taxes of the people, and the blood-money of a corrupted system.
"Tonight," Zayd whispered, "we unmask the idol of wealth they worship."
At his side, Layla lit the first flask of oil.
But they were not alone.
From atop a nearby rooftop, Idris watched them in the moonlight. Nasira stood beside him, her hand on her dagger.
"We're too late," she whispered. "He's going through with it."
"Not if I can stop him."
Idris leapt down, landing hard between shadow and torchlight. He walked straight toward Zayd, arms raised.
"Zayd!" he called.
The rebels froze. One raised a bow, but Zayd held up his hand.
The two stood in silence, brothers in purpose—but not in path.
"I don't want to stop you," Idris said. "But I must."
Zayd narrowed his eyes. "Then move."
"This is not justice, Zayd. This is vengeance."
"And what's the difference?" Zayd barked. "You want scrolls and councils. I want change. Real change."
"You think fire will purify the city? It will only burn the poor who depend on the grain locked inside these walls."
Zayd's jaw clenched. "You think I don't know that? I used to be one of them!"
He stepped closer, voice shaking.
"My mother begged for flour in this city. The guards laughed. The day she died, I swore I'd never beg again."
He pointed at the treasury.
"This is the heart of their corruption. Their coins buy the silence of judges, the blades of assassins, the chains of orphans."
Idris stepped forward, calm and steady.
"And if you destroy it... what replaces it? What rises from the ash, Zayd? A people united—or afraid?"
Layla drew her sword slightly.
"He delays us. There are only moments before dawn."
Idris looked at Zayd, then did something none of them expected.
He knelt.
And placed his staff on the ground.
"If you must do this," he said, "then do it. But I will not fight you. And I will not leave."
The rebels looked at each other in confusion.
Zayd's hand trembled.
"Why?" he asked, broken.
"Because if I believe you're wrong… I must still believe you can change."
The flames flickered in Layla's hands. But Zayd… dropped his torch.
He turned away.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared at the treasury—at all it represented.
Then he whispered, "We need another way."
As the first light of Fajr broke the horizon, Idris, Zayd, Layla, and the others walked away—together.
No fire.
No destruction.
Only a decision.
Back at the masjid, Sheikh Ammar awoke to the scent of dawn and found Idris waiting at the steps with a small note.
"A verdict takes time," the old man said. "The people are impatient."
Idris handed him the note.
"It's not a verdict," he said. "It's a proposal."
Inside the note:
Let the people vote for their justice.
Let the scholars oversee it.
Let the Emir stand before it.
And if he refuses… then he rules only himself.
End of Chapter 12