đ Hadith:
"Do not wish to meet the enemy. But if you meet them, be firm and patient."
â Sahih al-Bukhari
The people of Nurhal had barely tasted the sweetness of peace⌠when the wind brought the scent of war again.
From the western highlands, he cameâMalik ibn Tahr, known in whispered tales as the Warlord of the Heights. Clad in wolf fur, bearing a scar down one cheek, and eyes colder than the peaks he ruled, Malik had not forgotten the gold Nurhal once paid his mercenaries.
Now Nurhal was free. But Malik saw that freedom as weakness.
"A city without a crown is a city ready to fall,"
he said to his men,
"and I will be the one to claim it."
News of his march reached Nurhal by dusk.
Two hundred cavalry. Fierce and fast. Their arrivalâonly days away.
The council gathered in silence. The air was heavy with dread.
Idris stood at the center, hands behind his back, eyes on the map laid before them.
"No walls will stop him," Zayd muttered.
"No army to meet him," Bahir added.
"No one to kneel," Idris finished.
They all turned to him.
"We Have Nothing Left to Give"
"We spent everything to win back our dignity," Idris said quietly.
"We will not sell it again in the name of survival."
Zaynab's voice trembled. "But we have no swords."
Idris looked at her, calm but resolute.
"Then we will face him with light."
The Message
A young riderâAmr, brave and swiftâwas sent toward Malik's encampment with a sealed scroll.
Its contents were simple:
"We have no throne, no gold, and no fear.
If you seek conquest, you will find only people who will not bow.
The light of Nurhal does not extinguish by wind or threat."
â Idris ibn Zubair, AmÄŤn of Nurhal
Malik read the message under torchlight, tore it in half, and spat.
"Then let's see how bright this 'light' truly is."
Preparing Without Weapons
The city had no military might. But it had hearts. And hearts, Idris believed, could stand taller than towers.
He ordered no walls raised.
No gates closed.
No blades drawn.
Instead, he called the people.
In the central square, beneath the same minaret where Nurhal had once wept under the Emir's rule, Idris addressed the city.
"They come with swords," he said,
"but we will not fight like tyrants.
We will face them as one bodyâunarmed, unshaken, unbroken."
He organized the youth into messengers. The elders into caretakers. The able into human chains that would standânot in defiance, but in unity.
No blood would be spilled in Nurhal⌠unless it flowed from every home together.
The Morning of Reckoning
Malik's riders approached with the rising sun.
The plains outside Nurhal were golden with dry grass.
But instead of archers on walls or warriors at gates⌠they saw a sea of people.
Men. Women. Children.
Each holding nothing but a white clothâsome with verses, some with prayers, all with resolve.
At the front stood Idris, in a simple robe, holding only the lamp of Nurhalânow the symbol of their freedom.
Malik slowed his horse.
"You mock me?" he growled.
Idris stepped forward. Calm. Barefoot. Dust on his hem.
"No. I invite you," he said.
"To see what true strength looks like."
Malik drew his sword.
"You think I won't cut through children?"
"No," Idris replied.
"I think your men will not let you."
He looked past Malik⌠to the riders behind him. Many of them veterans. Fathers. Sons.
They saw a city of peace. A people of courage. Not cowardsâbut those who had already won.
And one by oneâŚ
Swords lowered.
Horses backed away.
Until Malik alone sat, sword trembling in his grip.
He cursed. Turned his steed. Spat into the dirt.
"This is not a victory," he barked.
"It's weakness wrapped in faith."
But Nurhal knew what it was.
It was mercy triumphant.
Light, unbroken.
A war won without a single wound.
That night, Idris prayed in the same mosque that once echoed with the Emir's soldiers' boots.
Now it echoed with peace.
"O Allah," he whispered,
"let our strength always be in our restraint."
End of Chapter 25