📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
وَقُل لِّعِبَادِي يَقُولُوا الَّتِي هِيَ أَحْسَنُ ۚ إِنَّ الشَّيْطَانَ يَنزَغُ بَيْنَهُمْ
"And tell My servants to say that which is best. Indeed, Satan sows discord among them…"
— Surah Al-Isra (17:53)
A few days passed.
Lady Nasira taught Idris to listen more than he spoke. "Words are weapons here," she would say, "and the tongue is the sharpest blade in Zafraan."
But Idris grew restless. He had seen injustice with his own eyes—masked in perfume and poetry. He could not bear to remain silent.
One evening, Lady Nasira gave him a parchment with a single name: Bashir Al-Lisaan—"Bashir the Tongue."
"A famous speaker," she explained, "beloved by the people. He claims to speak for justice, but his words bend to gold. If you wish to serve truth, you must test yourself against him."
Idris bowed. "Then that is where I will go."
The next morning, Idris made his way to the Court of Voices, a wide circular forum where poets, philosophers, and thinkers debated publicly. At its center stood a silver platform called the Minbar of Reason, and upon it, Bashir was already speaking.
He was tall, well-dressed, with a voice like honey and hands that danced with every word.
"My friends," Bashir called, "the Emir rules not with chains, but with wisdom. He gives bread, not war. He brings calm, not chaos. Is that not justice?"
The crowd cheered.
Then he said something that stung Idris deeply:
"Truth, my brothers, is not one blade. It is many mirrors. Let each man hold his own."
Idris stepped forward. "Then what of the hungry mother who is told her pain is poetry? What of the orphan punished for truth while the liar is praised?"
Gasps followed. Bashir turned slowly.
"A bold question. And who are you, boy?"
"I am Idris of Dar al-Afiyah," he said. "I carry the Seal of Mīzān."
A hush fell over the forum.
Bashir smiled, unfazed. "Then let us welcome the Seal-Bearer. Come, debate with me."
Idris climbed the platform.
Bashir raised his voice. "Tell us, O bearer of balance—what is justice?"
"Justice," Idris replied, "is to give every soul its right—without favor, without fear."
"And who decides what that 'right' is?" Bashir countered. "You? Me? The poor? The powerful?"
Idris paused, remembering Shaykh Yunus's teachings.
"Allah," he said firmly. "And His message, brought by His prophets."
Some nodded. Others frowned.
Bashir laughed gently. "But this is Zafraan. A city of many voices. One cannot impose truth like a stone upon water—it must flow, adapt."
Idris looked him in the eye. "Water adapts, but truth stands firm. When we bend it, we do not guide people—we mislead them."
The crowd stirred.
A woman called, "Let him speak!"
Another man shouted, "Bashir speaks for the Emir!"
The debate was turning. Bashir sensed it.
So he struck harder.
"You speak of justice. But what have you done, boy? Where is your record, your wisdom? You are young. I have spoken in this city for ten years."
Idris nodded slowly. "You have spoken for ten years. But what has changed? The poor still suffer. The Emir still judges by coin. If your words were light—why is the city still in shadow?"
That silenced the court.
Bashir's smile faded. "Enough," he said. "Leave this place before your truth becomes a curse."
But Idris turned to the crowd.
"Do not follow the loudest voice," he said. "Follow the clearest. The most sincere. Justice does not wear silk. It walks with the orphan and stands with the oppressed."
Then he descended from the platform.
Not everyone clapped. Some jeered. But others—especially the poor and quiet—nodded slowly.
Truth had found its way through.
Even in the city of lies.
That evening, back in Nasira's courtyard, Idris sat beside her, exhausted.
"You challenged him," she said, proud.
"I didn't win," he replied.
"No," she agreed. "But you weren't meant to. You were meant to awaken."
She placed a hand over his Seal. "And today, it glowed. Not because of your voice—but because of your courage."
Idris looked to the stars above.
For the first time, he felt the journey had truly begun.
End of Chapter 5