Power does not begin with cruelty.
It begins with certainty.
Mohamed felt it the moment the world folded again—not violently, but authoritatively. The ground beneath him reshaped into polished stone. The sky burned gold. Banners fluttered in the wind, heavy with symbols of unity, conquest, and divine mandate.
They stood in the heart of a Caliphate at its zenith.
Not the one remembered in textbooks.
The one erased between footnotes.
Minarets pierced the sky like declarations. Scholars debated openly in courtyards. Judges ruled beneath verses that carried both mercy and threat. Soldiers marched—not as brutes, but as believers.
Selene watched silently. "This convergence isn't about religion," she said.
"It's about who controls interpretation."
Mohamed nodded slowly. He could feel it—the tension between revelation and authority, wisdom and command.
They moved through the city unseen.
In one hall, scholars argued over law and philosophy.
In another, generals argued over borders.
And above them all—
A throne.
The Caliph sat beneath a massive dome inscribed with verses that spiraled inward, forming a crown of language.
He was not cruel.
That was the problem.
He listened.
He reasoned.
He believed.
"Knowledge must serve order," the Caliph said to his council. "Truth without discipline fractures empires."
Mohamed felt a chill.
Selene whispered, "Here is where it turned."
A scholar stepped forward—young, intense, fearless.
"Knowledge must challenge power," the scholar said. "Otherwise, it becomes propaganda."
Silence fell.
The Caliph's gaze hardened—not in anger, but disappointment.
"You confuse wisdom with rebellion," he said calmly.
Guards moved.
The scholar was not executed.
He was removed.
Exiled.
Forgotten.
Mohamed clenched his fists. "They didn't burn books," he said.
"They burned people."
"Yes," Selene replied. "Because books can be recovered."
The city trembled.
The sky darkened.
Ryoto Nobunga appeared on the steps of the throne.
"An efficient system," he said. "Faith centralized. Knowledge filtered. Dissent minimized."
The Caliph looked at him with confusion. "Who are you?"
Ryoto bowed slightly. "A student of outcomes."
Aiko skipped in behind him, twirling a dagger. "This one's boring," she whispered. "Too many rules."
Ryoto ignored her.
"You achieved stability," he said to the Caliph. "But stability stagnates."
The Caliph stood. "And chaos destroys."
Ryoto smiled faintly. "Which is why we choose controlled collapse."
The symbol ignited.
The convergence accelerated.
Mohamed felt pressure crush his chest.
"Selene—"
"I know," she said. "This one is dangerous."
Mohamed stepped forward.
"You built an empire on belief," he said to the Caliph. "But you feared the next question."
The Caliph looked at him—truly looked.
"And you," he said slowly, "would let doubt tear it apart?"
Mohamed answered honestly.
"Yes."
The symbol cracked.
The throne fractured—not physically—but conceptually.
Authority lost coherence.
The Caliph staggered, suddenly mortal.
Ryoto took a step back.
Aiko stopped smiling.
Faromet's presence descended like a verdict.
"Power fears knowledge more than rebellion," he said.
"And you weaken power instinctively."
Mohamed met his gaze.
"Power that fears truth deserves to fall."
For the first time—
Faromet hesitated.
The convergence ended.
The city faded into dust and memory.
They stood again in the present.
Mohamed's knees buckled. Selene caught him.
"Fourth convergence complete," she said softly.
Mohamed breathed hard.
"They weren't monsters," he said. "They were afraid."
Selene nodded. "That's how empires die."
Mohamed straightened.
"And that's why the Eclipse Order wants the Final Eclipse," he said.
"To remove fear by removing choice."
Selene looked at him grimly.
"And you?"
Mohamed's voice was steady.
"I'll give humanity the one thing every empire denied it."
She waited.
"The right to be wrong."
Somewhere beyond time—
Faromet began to plan faster.