The night was heavy with silence, save for the uneasy breaths of Zahhak as he lay beside his wives, Arnavaz and Shahrnaz. In the depths of his slumber, a dream took hold, painting vivid images of a young warrior and two companions approaching with intent. The young man wielded a mace, raising it high before striking Zahhak with force. Tied and helpless, Zahhak was dragged to the rugged peaks of Alborz, where his cries echoed off the ancient stones. Startled awake, he let out a terrible cry that pierced the stillness.
"What has troubled you so, my lord?" Arnavaz whispered, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. Shahrnaz joined her, eyes wide with concern.
"Tell us, what fearsome vision has stolen your peace?"
Zahhak struggled to find his breath, the weight of the nightmare pressing upon him like a mountain.
As dawn's light crept into the room, Zahhak summoned the astrologers and astronomers, seeking answers to the prophecy that haunted his dreams. The gathered wise men exchanged uneasy glances, the air thick with anticipation. Finally, it was Zirak, their leader, who stepped forward, his voice steady yet filled with foreboding.
"A child named Fereydoon will rise, nurtured by the mountains and destined to challenge your reign," Zirak declared, his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
"What grudge does this child bear against me?" Zahhak demanded, his eyes narrowing with a mix of fear and anger.
"You have condemned him to death to feed the serpents upon your shoulders, and he shall seek vengeance," Zirak replied, his tone unwavering.
Zahhak paced the halls of his palace, the prophecy a relentless drumbeat in his mind. Outside, storm clouds gathered, mirroring the tempest within. Arnavaz and Shahrnaz watched him with a mixture of concern and fear, knowing that his wrath could be as unpredictable as the weather.
"Surely, with your power, you can change the course of fate," Arnavaz suggested, her voice soothing.
"Yes, my lord, take action before this Fereydoon can grow into a threat," Shahrnaz urged, desperation creeping into her tone.
Determined to thwart the prophecy, Zahhak journeyed to the base of Mount Damavand, where he sought counsel from the ancient spirits believed to dwell there. The winds howled around him, carrying whispers of forgotten legends.
"Grant me strength, O spirits of the mountain, to crush those who would defy my rule," he pleaded, his voice lost amidst the swirling gusts.
But the mountain offered no reply, its silence as daunting as the prophecy itself.
As time passed, the shadow of Fereydoon loomed larger. The young warrior, now grown and fierce, gathered allies for the impending conflict. The skies above Mount Damavand rumbled with anticipation, a celestial prelude to the inevitable clash.
"We fight not only for vengeance but for the freedom of our people," Fereydoon declared, his voice carrying the promise of a new dawn.
The final confrontation unfolded amidst the towering peaks, where the prophecy's threads wove a tapestry of fate. As the sun rose, casting golden light over the rugged landscape, Zahhak's reign met its end, and the prophecy found its fulfillment.
In the stillness that followed, the mountain stood eternal, a silent witness to the cycles of power and destiny, its secrets once more hidden within the mists.
