As dark shadows enveloped the blood-soaked battlefield, Zal and Rostam, burdened by dire wounds and impending ruin, agreed upon a desperate course. Zal ascended a high crest, accompanied by three wise retainers carrying three braziers of blazing fire. Atop the peak, the white-haired sage drew forth the sacred Simorgh feather wrapped in silk and burned a piece of it over the flames. Ere long, the murky night turned as black as iron, and the Simorgh, catching the glint of the fire from the high heavens, descended on swift wings. Seeing Zal weeping with blood-stained cheeks, the mythic bird alighted, and Zal bowed low, offering precious incense and sweet scents.
When the Simorgh inquired why she had been summoned by fire and smoke, Zal lamented that the lion-hearted Rostam was mortally wounded, Rakhsh lay dying from deeply embedded arrows, and the relentless Esfandiyar sought to tear up the roots of SAM's lineage and lay waste to Sistan. The Simorgh offered words of comfort and bade Zal bring Rostam and Rakhsh before her. Rostam climbed the steep hill with great suffering. The enlightened Simorgh drew four jagged arrowheads from his body with her beak and stroked his wounds with her divine plumage; instantly, the wounds healed, and Rostam recovered his immense strength and majestic splendor. Turning her gaze to Rakhsh, the Simorgh extracted six arrowheads from the steed's neck and rubbed her feathers over the torn flesh, prompting Rakhsh to let out a triumphant whinny of joy.
Yet the Simorgh issued a grave warning: Esfandiyar was invulnerable, and fighting him carried a devastating curse, for whoever shed Esfandiyar's blood would be pursued by a bitter fate, finding neither peace nor salvation in this world or the next. When Rostam affirmed that dying in battle was far sweeter than accepting the disgrace of Esfandiyar's chains, the Simorgh flew with Rostam to the shores of a mysterious sea. There she revealed a wild tamarisk tree growing upon the desolate earth. She commanded Rostam to cut a straight branch, straighten it over fire, fit it with feathers and an ancient arrowhead, and aim it precisely at Esfandiyar's eyes—the only mortal flaw in his bronze-armored body. Advising Rostam to offer soft words and peace one last time before unleashing the fatal shaft, the Simorgh took flight back into the clouds, leaving Rostam to craft the tamarisk arrow that would seal the destiny of Kings.