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.”

A young fisherman scoffed. “If your God is so powerful, let Him fill my nets.”

Finally, the elders gathered at the temple of the chief idol, a towering figure of hammered gold. “These three are corrupting our youth,” the high priest hissed. “Stone them. Let it be a lesson.”

Days passed. The three messengers were met with the same refrain: “You are only men like us. The Most Gracious would not send a man—He would send an army of angels!”

Habib did not run. He looked toward the three messengers, who nodded with tears in their eyes. As the first stones struck his shoulders, he whispered, “O my people… if only you knew… how my Lord has forgiven me…”