On the seventh day of the month of Aban, in the year 570 BCE, the great hall of the Ecbatana palace witnessed a moment that was destined to be etched in history forever.
Massive stone columns, with reliefs of the blazing sun and lotus flowers, rose to the high, gilded ceiling of the hall.
Purple and gold-brocaded curtains filtered the morning light into a warm, royal color.
The air was filled with the heavy scent of frankincense and the calm, imposing melody of harps and hymns that narrated the story of union and a new birth.
In the center of the hall, on a high platform, stood the throne of the Median kingdom.
A massive throne of ebony wood, decorated with gold and ivory, its arms formed by two roaring lions.
But this throne, for the first time in history, was empty.
At its foot, an eleven-year-old Kourosh stood in a simple purple linen robe.
Beside him, Cambyses, Mandane, Azhidahak, Arash, and Harpak were gathered like stars around a nascent sun.
Their faces were a mixture of excitement, pride, and a heavy anticipation for the appointed moment.
The ceremony began with the prayers of the Magi.
Atropates, with a face that still showed the bitterness of defeat, along with the reformist Magi, chanted the ancient hymns.
The sacred fire was kindled.
This was a precise display of religious unity; a union in which ancient traditions were respected alongside new reforms.
With the end of the prayers, a deep and respectful silence fell over the hall.
Everyone knew that the main moment had arrived.
At the climax of the ceremony, Azhidahak himself came forward.
This was a symbolic move that had been pre-arranged by Kourosh.
He was no longer that defeated king; rather, he was a vital part of this transfer of power.
He walked towards the stand where the heavy, golden crown of the Median kingdom rested on a pillow of purple velvet.
This crown had sat on the heads of his ancestors for generations and was the symbol of the undisputed power of the Medes.
Azhidahak picked up the crown with both his hands.
Its weight held not only the weight of gold, but the weight of a history full of war, resistance, and glory.
He slowly turned towards his grandson.
All gazes, all breaths, were held in this moment.
He stood before Kourosh and looked into his eyes.
In that gaze, there was no longer any sign of fear or resentment; only submission to the will of history and perhaps, a glimmer of new hope.
He said, with a voice that trembled with emotion but still held the firmness of a king:
"I, Azhidahak, the last king of Media, entrust this crown, which is the legacy of my ancestors, to you, Kourosh, son of Mandane."
"May you rule in a way that I never could."
Then, with hands that trembled slightly, he placed the heavy, golden crown on his eleven-year-old grandson's head.
This act was not only a transfer of power, but the transfer of the legitimacy and history of a nation to the new king.
As the crown was placed on Kourosh's head, a murmur of admiration and astonishment spread through the hall.
The Median nobles, seeing their former king hand over power to the new king with his own hands, accepted this union with their entire being.
Kourosh felt the weight of the crown on his head.
This weight was beyond the weight of gold and jewels.
This was the weight of the responsibility of an empire.
He rose and looked at the nobles of Media and Pars who stood before him.
He was no longer a child.
He was a king.
A king who had ascended the throne not by the force of the sword, but by the power of wisdom and forgiveness.