When Keykhosrow's envoy returned from the King of Makran, a tempest of war noise enveloped that realm. The forces of Makran spread from mountain to mountain, deploying two hundred armored war-elephants that shook the earth. Dust rose so thick it blotted out the sun, turning midday into murky twilight. Vanguard scouts rushed to King Keykhosrow, warning that the horizon was dark with banners and beasts of war.
Keykhosrow ordered the Iranian ranks to form. Takhar, the fearless vanguard chieftain of Iran, charged straight into the enemy's front lines, slaying their commander like a raging lion and striking terror into the King of Makran's heart. The two armies crashed together like opposing mountain ranges. Tus, the supreme commander, raised the battle horns at the center, with the glorious Drafsh-e Kaviani unfurling before the brave warriors in golden footwear. Arrows darkened the air until the sky resembled a sea of pitch. In the heat of the clash, the King of Makran was struck down at the center of his host and perished.
When Iranian warriors sought to sever the fallen king's head, Keykhosrow stopped them, decreeing that the heads of monarchs must never be desecrated nor their corpses left bare. He commanded his men to build a grand tomb perfumed with musk and rosewater, draping the dead king's armor in Chinese silk. Though ten thousand fighters of Makran had fallen and many were captured, the cries of weeping women and children pierced Keykhosrow's noble heart. Enraged by the excess of war, he halted all looting, accepted the pleas of Makran's righteous elders, and threatened to slice in two any soldier who committed injustice. He then appointed the astute commander Ashkash as governor of Makran to maintain righteousness.
Keykhosrow then led his vast army through the desert toward the shores of the Sea of Zareh. By divine grace, the harsh desert transformed before them into lush green pastures filled with blossoms and sweet water. Upon reaching the great waters, expert mariners from China and Makran prepared a fleet, loading provisions for a year-long voyage. Keykhosrow prostrated himself on the sand, praying to Yazdan to guide his host safely across the treacherous deep.
For seven months, the vessels traversed the open sea, where warriors marveled at terrifying oceanic wonders: sea-bulls locking horns with aquatic lions, woolly humanoids with hair like ropes, and strange chimera beasts with heads of fish and bodies of leopards. By Yazdan's mercy, the winds remained favorable, bringing the fleet safely to land. Overjoyed, Keykhosrow fell to the earth in thanksgiving. He entrusted governance of the new territories to Giv, instructing him to rule with clemency, and sent envoys to local monarchs who promptly offered submission.
The army then pressed on toward Gangdez—the legendary citadel raised from the earth by Siyavash through divine farr. When Keykhosrow's eyes caught the towering ramparts built by his father, he dismounted, pressed his face into the dust, and wept bitterly for the innocent prince slain by treachery. Moved by his grief, the entire Iranian host joined their King, weeping hot tears over the memory of the pure-hearted Siyavash.