📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
وَإِذْ يَمْكُرُ بِكَ الَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا لِيُثْبِتُوكَ أَوْ يَقْتُلُوكَ أَوْ يُخْرِجُوكَ ۚ وَيَمْكُرُونَ وَيَمْكُرُ اللَّهُ ۖ وَاللَّهُ خَيْرُ الْمَاكِرِينَ
"And [remember] when those who disbelieved plotted against you to restrain you or kill you or evict you. But they plan, and Allah plans. And Allah is the best of planners."
— Surah Al-Anfal (8:30)
The dawn after the assault broke with silence, not celebration.
Though the masjid still stood, though the people had defended their ground, there was unease in the air. Something unseen, something unnatural.
And then, the scrolls began to appear.
It began with a whisper—then a rumor—then dozens of letters, nailed to doorways, scattered across bazaars, slipped into prayer books:
"The so-called Lightbearer has ties to traitors."
"Idris is the son of the man who conspired against the Emir."
"Those who follow him follow rebellion."
"The Emir offers amnesty—leave the rebels now, and your homes will be safe."
They were signed with the royal seal.
Bahir examined one and grimaced. "Genuine," he said. "These were written in the palace itself."
Even worse, some scrolls bore accusations that cut deeper.
"Idris promised peace, but brought war to our streets."
"The masjid has become a fortress, not a house of God."
"Where is the respect for scholars and elders? They now follow a boy."
"He hides behind your children. Is this the example of the righteous?"
Malik slammed his fist against the table.
"This is poison. And the people are already swallowing it."
Nasira stayed quiet, her hand clutching one of the scrolls tighter than she realized.
"It's not just politics," she murmured. "This is fitnah. Division."
Idris stood before the gathering that night in the masjid courtyard.
He held one of the scrolls high.
"Yes," he said aloud. "I am the son of a man who stood against injustice. Yes, I call for change. But I call for it with truth. Not through deceit."
But the crowd was not as unified as before.
Some nodded.
Others shifted uncomfortably.
A few turned away.
The Emir's trap was working.
Later that night, Idris found a note slipped under his door.
A single line written in careful calligraphy:
"They will not need to kill you, Idris—if they can make your people walk away."
He didn't know who sent it.
But it rang true.
The next morning, the Emir's voice boomed across the city through public criers and proclamations:
"Let Idris ibn Zubair come forth and face justice for inciting rebellion. Let him answer in a fair trial before the scholars and the people. If he is innocent, he shall walk free."
It was a masterstroke.
Now if Idris refused, it would seem he feared the truth.
And if he accepted, he would be walking into the lion's den.
Bahir frowned. "It's a trap."
Malik agreed. "You step into that palace, you might not step out."
But Idris was quiet.
Then he turned to them and said, "I will go."
Gasps filled the room.
"You can't be serious!" Nasira protested. "It's not a real trial!"
"I know," Idris said. "But the people need to see me stand. Not hide. If I vanish into the shadows, the Emir wins."
That night, Idris prayed longer than ever before.
On the cold marble floor of the masjid, his forehead touched the stone as he whispered:
"My Lord… if this is my path, do not let me stray. Give me strength to speak, even if my voice trembles. Let truth stand clear from falsehood."
And when he rose, a quiet peace filled his chest.
Before dawn, Idris prepared.
He wore simple robes. No sword. No armor. Only a small scroll tied at his waist—the letter from Ranya, the evidence of the Emir's war crimes.
Nasira hugged him fiercely.
Malik clasped his arm. "If they try anything… we won't sit still."
Idris smiled faintly. "I know."
Then he stepped out.
A royal carriage awaited him.
He entered alone.
The gates closed behind him.
And Nurhal watched.
As the Lightbearer went into the darkness.
End of Chapter 17