In ancient times, by the shimmering shores of the Persian Sea in the city of Kajaran, life moved to the relentless rhythm of toil. It was a narrow, teeming town where every soul earned their daily bread through hard labor. Every morning, groups of maidens departed through the city gates, carrying weighed bags of raw cotton and distaff boxes carved of hard populus wood. They walked gracefully to the foot of the nearby mountain, sharing their modest provisions without complaint, competing only in the speed and quality of their spinning. Among the city's humble dwellers lived a man of modest means named Haftvad—so called because he was blessed with seven sons. Yet held dearest to his heart was his single, fair-faced daughter.
On one auspicious afternoon, as the maidens sat working beneath the mountain's shade, a sudden gust of wind dislodged a ripe apple from a branch, sending it tumbling to the path. Haftvad's fortunate daughter retrieved the fruit, but as her teeth bit into its flesh, she discovered a small worm nestling within its core. Gently lifting the creature with her finger, she placed it softly inside her spindle-box. Turning to her companions, she swore by the star of this apple worm that she would astonish them all with her productivity. Invoking the name of the peerless Lord, she began to spin; by sunset, her thread was double its usual count. Returning home like swift smoke, she presented the mountain of fine yarn to her mother, who showered her with loving blessings.
Every morning thereafter, the maiden fed a slice of fresh apple to the worm. In turn, her spinning prowess multiplied miraculously, filling her home with wealthy yarn and joy like a radiant paradise. Astonished by her supernatural output, her parents inquired if she had forged a pact with a Peri. The maiden revealed the secret of the apple worm and showed them the creature. Haftvad seized upon this as a sacred sign of destiny, devoting himself entirely to the creature's care. As time passed, the worm grew vast and formidable; its body widened, its skin transformed into a sleek, musk-black mantle adorned with intricate saffron patterns across its back. When it outgrew the wooden spindle-box, Haftvad fashioned a noble black chest to serve as its sanctuary.
Through the mysterious blessing of the worm, poverty vanished from Haftvad's house, replaced by immense prosperity and influence. His seven sons flourished into mighty figures. However, the proud local ruler—the Mir of Kajaran—beheld Haftvad's rising wealth with envy and sought pretexts to extort gold from him. Enraged by this tyranny, Haftvad withdrew from the city alongside his seven bold sons, his eyes burning with defiance. Raising a loud battle cry, he distributed vast gold among the regional warriors, assembling a powerful host of renowned swordsmen ready to challenge the governor's rule.