On a pitch-black night, while the moon remained veiled behind dark clouds and all creatures slept, Piran Viseh, the wise commander of Turan, beheld a portentous dream. Before him stood the spirit of the slain prince Siyavash holding a gleaming sword beside a candle lit from the sun itself, declaring that sweet slumber must end, for the noble child Kai Khosrow was born this very night. Trembling with emotion, Piran awakened his sun-faced wife, Golshahr, and bade her hurry to the quarters of Farangis. There, Golshahr discovered the newborn infant—radiant with divine royal glory, possessing a majesty fit for emperors.
Upon learning of the birth, Piran rushed to the infant, weeping for Siyavash and swearing an oath that no harm should befall this royal child. He then sought an audience with King Afrasiab. Torn between remorse for murdering Siyavash and fear of ancient prophecies detailing his own downfall at the hands of Siyavash's line, Afrasiab commanded that the infant be banished to the rugged Mount Qala, entrusted to humble shepherds so he would grow up ignorant of his royal heritage and past blood feuds.
Yet, divine lineage cannot be suppressed. By seven years of age, Kai Khosrow fashioned a bow from wood and hunted the wild plains; by ten, he fearlessly wrestled bears, wolves, and panthers. Awestruck and worried for the boy's safety, the head shepherd sought Piran, revealing how the young prince possessed the heart of a lion. Moved to tears, Piran brought Kai Khosrow back to his estate, dressing him in royal garments, and set out to secure Afrasiab’s mercy. Through solemn oaths sworn by the Creator, Piran bound Afrasiab to harm the child no more.
To ensure the youth's total safety before the suspicious tyrant, Piran instructed Kai Khosrow to feign madness in the royal court. When brought before Afrasiab, the young prince answered every inquiry with nonsensical, mismatched responses, convincing the monarch that he was broken in mind and posed no threat. Satisfied, Afrasiab ordered Kai Khosrow and Farangis to be sent to Siyavashgird, accompanied by vast treasures. As they arrived, the land blossomed anew, and from the very soil that drank Siyavash's innocent blood, a miraculous plant sprouted. Ferdowsi concludes this chapter with profound reflections on the transience of mortal existence, the onset of his own fifty-eighth year, and his unwavering devotion to the Prophet's house and Lord Ali.