In those fate-laden days, while the realms of Iran and Turan trembled with the fire of vengeance, Afrasiab, the warlord of Turan, rested upon his ivory throne in Beykand—known of old in the Pahlavi tongue as Kunduz. It was an ancient land where King Fereydun had once built a sacred fire-temple and inscribed the holy scriptures of the Zand and Avesta in golden script. The sheer magnitude of the Turanian host—warriors gathered from Khallakh, Chin, and Machin—covered the lands of Korushan so densely that no green leaf nor blade of grass remained, and the plains groaned under the weight of countless pavilions. Afrasiab's royal pavilion was draped in Chinese silk, enclosing inner tents of leopard-skin fashioned after the custom of his father Pashang, centered around a golden throne encrusted with luminous gems.
Afrasiab waited eagerly for word from Piran and his rear force to join the main army. But as dawn broke, a lone rider engulfed in dust rode into the camp, followed by a tragic procession of wounded, weeping survivors from the battle of Kanabad. They bore catastrophic news: Piran the great commander, the hero Ruyin, and the fierce brothers Lahhak and Farshidvard were all slain by Iranian blades, and the shattered host of Turan was fleeing like a shepherdless flock before the advance of King Kay Khosrow.
Upon hearing these words, darkness seized Afrasiab's vision. A bitter cry tore from his chest; he cast himself down from his ivory throne and threw his imperial crown to the dust before his nobles. He tore his robes and plucked his hair in agonizing grief, weeping for his lost sons, brothers, and closest kin. There, in his fury and despair, he swore a solemn oath by Yazdan the Almighty: that he would never again wear a crown or sit upon a tranquil throne, nor enjoy food or rest, until he had avenged his fallen champions upon Kay Khosrow and erased the lineage of Siyavash from the earth. Armored mail would be his robe, and the spear his tree of shade.
When intelligence arrived that Kay Khosrow's army had reached the banks of the Jayhun River, Afrasiab ignited the flame of vengeance among his remaining chieftains. The Turanian lords pledged their absolute loyalty, swearing to turn the mountains and rivers red with blood. Afrasiab unlocked his ancient treasuries, distributing endless gold and vast herds to his warriors. He dispatched thirty thousand sword-masters toward Balkh to check the Iranian champion Gustaham son of Nowzar, and launched thirty thousand chosen horsemen across the Jayhun aboard a fleet of a thousand ships to secure the Amuy desert.
Afrasiab himself marched to the riverbank and arrayed his colossal army. He placed his formidable son Pashang—whom he named Shideh, meaning the radiant sun, a prince possessing the strength of a sea-monster and the fury of a leopard—at the center of the host with a hundred thousand elite warriors. The left wing was entrusted to Jahan, supported by Kohayla and the swift Ilay. The right wing was placed under his fourth son, Qarakhan, leading thirty thousand armored riders of Chegil, Taraz, and Ghuzz. His fifth son, the mountain-shattering hero Gergir, marched alongside Damur and Jaranjash with another thirty thousand blade-wielders. The battle-tested Nastuh and the elephant-bodied Garshivaz commanded the formidable reserve and elephant corps. Ten thousand elite skirmishers were stationed between the lines to break the morale of the Iranian forces. Thus, on the banks of the Jayhun, Afrasiab stood ready for the ultimate, apocalyptic clash of empires.