📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
يَا أَيُّهَا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا كُونُوا قَوَّامِينَ بِالْقِسْطِ شُهَدَاءَ لِلَّهِ
"O you who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah…"
— Surah An-Nisa (4:135)
The next morning in Dar al-Afiyah dawned brighter than usual. A stillness hung in the air, as if the earth itself waited for something to begin. Idris woke before Fajr, clutching the Seal of Mīzān close to his chest. It hadn't stopped glowing since he received it. Subtle, warm, and steady—like a heartbeat tied to something far beyond him.
He performed his prayer alone, and with it came a sense of calm he had never known. As he recited Iyyāka naʿbudu wa iyyāka nastaʿīn—You alone we worship and You alone we ask for help—his voice trembled. This was no longer just worship. It was a request. A surrender. A beginning.
After prayer, he stepped outside, where Shaykh Yunus waited with a lantern.
"Today," the Shaykh said, "you face your first trial."
"Trial?" Idris asked, eyebrows raised.
The old man smiled. "Before the Lightbearers were ever trusted with justice over others, they were judged for truth within themselves."
He handed Idris a walking staff. "Come. Your first test is not against an enemy—but your own heart."
They walked deep into the northern hills, beyond the olive groves, past the crumbling watchtowers that had once defended the village in ages past. The journey was silent but meaningful. Birds watched from above. Wind whispered ancient words through the tall grasses.
Eventually, they reached a stone gate built into the side of a hill. Carved above it were words in old Kufic script:
"He who lies to himself cannot carry the Light."
Inside was a small, dark cave. The Shaykh lit a torch and stepped aside.
"Enter alone," he said.
Idris hesitated. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing," the Shaykh said. "Just speak the truth. And only the truth."
Taking a deep breath, Idris stepped into the cave. The moment he crossed the threshold, the light from the torch dimmed—and silence engulfed him.
The cave was not large, but strangely vast. The walls shimmered faintly with some unknown mineral, casting reflections of Idris's face all around him. As he stepped deeper inside, the air grew heavier, like walking into a memory.
Then he heard it.
A voice—his own—but not from his lips.
"Why do you want justice?"
He turned, startled. The voice came from the shadows ahead, yet no figure stood there.
"I want to help people," Idris said firmly.
"Or do you want to be important?"
The words struck deep. "No… I mean… that's not why."
"Do you want to be praised for doing what is right?"
Idris faltered. "I… I want to do what's right because it's right."
"Even if no one sees it?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Even if you're hated for it?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
"Even if you must give up your own comfort, your dreams, your revenge?"
His lips parted, but no answer came. Could he? He remembered the soldiers who laughed while taking his mother's grain. The smug face of the tax collector. The powerlessness.
The voice came again.
"You want justice. But you still burn with anger. And where anger rules… justice dies."
Idris dropped to his knees. The truth cut deeper than any sword. He had dreamed of being a hero, of standing tall—but in this cave of mirrors, he saw a boy still clenching his fists.
"Then teach me," he whispered. "Teach me to empty this anger. I don't want revenge. I want what is right."
The silence that followed was profound.
Then, light.
The Seal of Mīzān pulsed, flooding the cave with golden radiance. The shadows withdrew. And from that light, a figure emerged—not the one from his vision, but an old man in a traveler's cloak. His face was darkened with time, his beard white like salt.
"You have passed," the man said.
Idris stood, eyes wide. "Who are you?"
"A guardian of the First Truth. The Lightbearers left behind trials such as this—caves, wells, towers, scrolls—hidden across the lands, waiting for those who would inherit the burden."
The man stepped forward. "And it is a burden, Idris. Do not mistake justice for glory. The world doesn't love those who carry the balance. The oppressors will call you a rebel. The people may call you a traitor. You will be feared before you are respected."
"I understand," Idris said softly. "And I accept it."
The man placed a small scroll into his hand. "This is your first lesson: 'Justice is not to punish wrong—it is to restore right.' That difference will guide your path."
And then he vanished—like mist in sunlight.
Idris stepped out of the cave to find Shaykh Yunus waiting.
"You heard him?" Idris asked.
The Shaykh shook his head. "No one hears what you hear in the Cave of Truth. What you found there belongs to your heart alone."
Idris looked down at the scroll, then at the horizon.
He was no longer just a boy with questions.
He was a bearer of answers—answers that would require action, sacrifice, and unwavering sincerity.
The wind stirred again, but this time it didn't feel like chance.
It felt like a direction.
End of Chapter 3