For a full month, Sikandar and his weary host endured grueling travel across desolate reaches until they arrived at a realm devoid of all beasts and living things. There loomed a majestic mountain topped with lapis lazuli, crowned by a radiant palace fashioned from yellow ruby. Inside suspended crystal lamps shed light over a salty spring flowing at the center. Beside this spring stood two golden thrones; upon one lay the corpse of a tragic figure with a human body and the head of a wild boar, rested upon camphor beneath a canopy of silk. A single fiery red gem illuminated the hall like a subterranean sun. Yet, a deadly aura guarded the sanctuary—anyone who dared step onto its sacred soil or reach for its treasures was seized by violent tremors until their very essence crumbled. Suddenly, a thunderous voice echoed from the salty spring, warning Sikandar to halt his endless conquests. The voice proclaimed that his allotted days were spent, his reign drew to its end, and the throne would soon stand empty. Terrified by the omen, Sikandar fled like smoke back to his main camp, calling desperately upon Yazdan. Overcome with grief and tears, he turned his army toward the desert, haunted by the shadow of his impending mortality.