When a single watch of the dark night had passed, a terrifying and agonizing cry echoed from the royal pavilion of Afrasiab, shaking the King of Turan from his slumber in absolute terror. His attendants and guards rushed to his side as turmoil filled the encampment. When news reached Garsivaz that the monarch's crown had fallen into gloom, he hurried to his brother's chamber and found him collapsed upon the dust. Garsivaz took him into his arms, begging him to reveal the source of his horror. Afrasiab, his soul distraught, asked for a moment to regain his senses and to be held firmly until his mind cleared.
When consciousness returned, candles were lit and Afrasiab ascended his throne, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Garsivaz again pressed for answers, and Afrasiab unveiled the horrific nightmare: he had seen a desert teeming with venomous serpents, an earth engulfed in dust, and a sky darkened by swirling eagles. His royal pavilion stood on a parched wasteland when suddenly a dust-laden gale roared through, toppling his royal banner. Rivers of blood flowed from every direction, and over a thousand of Turan's greatest champions lay decapitated upon the ground. Then, an Iranian host advanced swift as a raging wind; a hundred thousand black-clad horsemen charged his throne, bound Afrasiab's hands, and dragged him before King Kay Kavus. Upon a glittering throne sat a young prince—Kavus's son—who, seeing the bound King of Turan, roared like a thundercloud and cleaved Afrasiab in two with his sword!
Deeply unsettled, Garsivaz advised the king to assemble the wisest mobads, astrologers, and scholars of the realm to interpret the dream. The wise men gathered at the palace gates. Afrasiab first demanded absolute secrecy, threatening death to anyone who breathed a word of the nightmare, yet lavishing gold and silver upon them to allay their fear. Once the dream was recounted, dread seized the seers. A brilliant and eloquent mobad asked for the king's royal pledge of immunity before uttering the truth. Afrasiab granted him safe passage.
The mobad spoke boldly: the dream portended an immense army marching in reality. If Afrasiab chose to wage war against Prince Siyavash, the earth would be drenched in blood and Turan would fall into ruin. Should Siyavash be slain by Afrasiab's hand, endless vengeance and chaos would engulf the realm, stripping Turan of its crown and throne. Hearing this terrifying prophecy, Afrasiab abandoned all thoughts of war.
He summoned his chieftains, reflecting profoundly on how royal tyranny drains the blessings of the earth—causing springs to dry, game to lose their milk, and truth to flee from falsehood. He declared that the era of bloodshed must end. He commanded Garsivaz to prepare an embassy to Siyavash and Rostam, bearing Arabian steeds with golden bridles, Indian swords in gilded scabbards, a jewel-laden crown, a hundred camel-loads of luxurious fabrics, and two hundred servants. Garsivaz was tasked with delivering a message of peace: that Turan sought no war, and wished to restore the ancient borders established in the era of King Fereydun, establishing lasting harmony between Iran and Turan.