When the second morning broke, both armies refreshed themselves briefly before marching back into the fury of war. The Iranians drew up their ranks in the magnificent, ordered custom of Kianyan kings, while across the plain, Afrasiab sounded the heavy bronze drums and marshaled his vast Turanian host. A towering dark cloud of horse-hoof dust choked the sky, veiling the very sun, while war-cries echoed so fiercely that the plains and mountains merged into a single blur of chaos.
The battle joined with apocalyptic fury, blood flowing down the arid terrain like surging rivers. Wherever the Iranian champion Qaran charged into the darkness, blood rained down; wherever the formidable Afrasiab rode, the desert became a scarlet sea. At last, King Nowzar rode forth from the heart of the Iranian center to challenge Afrasiab himself. Spear locked against spear and lance twisted with lance like raging serpents intertwined; never had kings fought in such terrifying direct combat. They clashed relentless until the dark mantle of night descended, whereupon the overwhelming force of Pashang's son pushed the Iranian lines to utter collapse. Wounded and exhausted, the Iranian warriors broke ranks in helpless despair, abandoning their dead upon the barren field.
King Nowzar's soul was wracked with agony, his royal crown covered in dust by the heavy turns of fate. As the thunder of war-drums died down across the field, he summoned his two sons, Tus and Gustahm. The young princes arrived with trembling lips and sorrowful hearts. Tears of blood filled Nowzar's eyes as he recalled the tragic prophecy of his wise father, King Manuchehr—who had warned that a boundless host from Turkestan and China would one day overrun Iran, inflicting endless suffering upon its throne.
Nowzar declared that the dark day foretold by his father had finally arrived. He commanded Tus and Gustahm to slip away silently into the night toward Spahan and Pars, gather the royal women and children from the harem, and spirit them away to the sanctuary of Zaveh Mountain and the heights of Mount Alborz, ensuring that the ancient lineage of Fereydun would not be extinguished from the earth. He warned them to conceal their departure from the army, lest the soldiers lose all remaining heart. Accepting the harsh decree of the high heavens, the King embraced his sons, weeping bitterly as he bade them what he knew would be their final farewell.