Beneath the Palace, Behind the Mask

📖 Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)

فَصَبْرٌ جَمِيلٌ ۖ وَاللَّهُ الْمُسْتَعَانُ عَلَىٰ مَا تَصِفُونَ

"So patience is most fitting. And Allah is the one sought for help against that which you describe."

— Surah Yusuf (12:18)

The prison beneath Nurhal's palace was not built for men—it was built to erase them.

Cold stone swallowed sound. Narrow halls whispered of forgotten screams. And the cell Idris was thrown into had no light, no name, and no mercy.

The iron door clanged shut behind him.

He sat on the bare floor, his back against the damp wall, and whispered, "O Allah… do not leave me in the hands of the unjust, even for the blink of an eye."

Meanwhile, above the ground, in the cluttered study of a long-abandoned mason's guild, Malik spread an old parchment across the table.

"This map was hidden inside the floorboard," he said. "It's real. A tunnel—directly beneath the royal archives. And it's still intact."

Nasira studied the route carefully. "It's too narrow for horses. But if we go tonight, we can reach the lower vaults."

Bahir frowned. "And then what? We're not there to break him out, are we?"

"No," Malik said. "We're there to finish what he started."

He placed a thick leather-bound journal on the table. Stolen from one of the Emir's envoys.

The words on the front read:

"Archives of Operation Iron Mercy — CONFIDENTIAL."

Inside were detailed reports of a campaign long denied—an extermination operation the Emir had orchestrated in the eastern villages, blamed on bandits and "foreign agitators."

"There's enough in here," Nasira whispered, "to turn every elder, every merchant, every family against him."

Back in the prison, Idris was not alone.

A figure entered his cell—draped in royal blue, face covered in a light silver veil.

"Who are you?" Idris asked, rising slowly.

The figure removed the veil.

It was Zayd.

The Emir's chief advisor. The man who had once presided silently over the trials.

"I came to offer you a choice," Zayd said.

"I'm listening."

Zayd stepped closer. "Plead guilty. Denounce your actions. Tell the people you were misguided. The Emir will exile you quietly. No execution. No war. You live."

"And in return," Idris said, "he gets to keep his throne, clean of blood?"

Zayd's face twitched. Just once.

"You have fire, boy. But fires burn out."

"And truth?" Idris replied.

Zayd didn't answer.

But before he turned to leave, he said something strange:

"You remind me of your father. He also chose truth. And the chains were heavier for it."

The door slammed shut.

And Idris was alone again—with only shadows and silence for company.

That night, in the royal archives, Malik, Nasira, and Bahir emerged from the tunnel like ghosts.

Cloaked in shadows, they slipped past the empty scroll racks and wax-sealed cabinets until they found the chamber the map had marked in red.

Bahir pulled the iron latch—and the door opened with a hiss.

Inside: shelves of old war plans, decrees, and execution orders.

Then Nasira found it.

A box labeled:

"Project Sadaf — Whisper Control."

Inside were scripts. Entire dialogues prepared for public criers. Fake testimonies. Letters forged in the names of community leaders. Fabricated crimes against Idris and his followers.

"It was never about peace," she said bitterly. "It was about controlling the story."

Malik grabbed the documents. "Come on. We show this to the people."

But as they turned to leave—

They heard a voice.

Clapping slowly.

From the hallway stepped a new figure.

A woman, tall and cloaked, with amber eyes that gleamed in the torchlight.

"I thought someone might find this place," she said. "But I didn't think it would be you."

"Who are you?" Malik asked, sword half-drawn.

She pulled down her hood.

"I'm Zaynab bint Idris. His aunt."

Nasira's breath caught. "But… they said you were dead."

"I was," Zaynab said grimly. "Until now."

End of Chapter 19