The city of Antakya was a jewel of commerce and craft, nestled between a silver river and ochre hills. Its people were proud—proud of their temples, their idols, and their shrewd logic. They had no need for invisible gods or moral sermons. They had their marketplace, their wine, and their well-rehearsed laughter.
Habib raised a trembling hand. “O my people! Follow the messengers. Follow those who ask no wage and are rightly guided. Why should I not worship the One who brought me into being? To Him is your return.” surah yasin 1-20
And the messengers? They walked out of Antakya at dawn. Not all hearts had been sealed. A handful—a tanner, a slave girl, a former soldier—slipped out behind them, following the invisible road to the Merciful. The city of Antakya was a jewel of