The snow had just fallen. White flakes, like the ashes of a forgotten world, settled silently upon the vastness of the land. The earth had wrapped itself in a white shroud. But in the eyes of Koorosh, this whiteness was merely a canvas for the crimson stain of blood that shone shamelessly upon it. This was not just blood, but a signature.
The sharp tang of iron and the sweet, heavy scent of death coiled in his nostrils. The hilt of his sword, carved from the yellowed ivory of an unknown dragon, felt heavy in his grasp. Its ancient etchings were obscured beneath a fresh layer of blood.
Across from him, a half-dead figure lay slumped on the ground. His final breaths sounded like the rustling of old parchment. His eyes, however, were unexpectedly void of fear. They were fixed on Koorosh's face, filled with a bitter mockery and a hidden knowledge.
"You think… it's over?"
The figure's weak, muffled voice shattered the silence. His words were broken, but his tone was resolute.
Koorosh, his own face numb from the cold and crusted with dried blood, simply stared back.
The wounded man offered a bloody smirk. "You… you've only broken the seal… Jailer." Suddenly, with his last ounce of strength, he shot his hand forward and seized Koorosh's wrist. An unnatural, searing cold pierced Koorosh's skin. "Now… the cage has only… gotten bigger."
With a cold fury, Koorosh glanced down at the hand gripping his wrist. He tried to pull away, but the man's hold was stronger than it seemed.
The smile on the victim's lips widened. "Was this all you fought for? This… freedom?" He spat the word as if it were a curse. "You just opened the door for him."
Before Koorosh could ask, "Which door? Which him?" the life fled from the man's body. His eyes remained open, but they were now empty of that mocking knowledge. His hand fell limply onto the snow.
Koorosh looked down at his wrist. Where the man's fingers had touched him, a faint, spiraling pattern, like a tattoo made of shadow, was now etched onto his skin.
For long moments, Koorosh stood frozen. His breathing was ragged, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the moment. His gaze was fixed on the blood in the snow and the lifeless body. The feeling of freedom felt like a distant illusion, a whisper in his mind. To be free in this world of blood and betrayal, this world of captivity, seemed impossible. But he knew he would find a way. He was Koorosh, a name destined to bring fate to its knees.
Suddenly, Koorosh jolted awake. He was gasping for air as if he'd just been pulled from the depths of a frozen lake. A cold sweat slicked his forehead, and his heart hammered relentlessly against his ribs. He ran a hand over his face. There was no blood.
He looked at his wrist in terror.
His skin was clear. There was no sign of the icy mark.
He let out a breath of relief. It was just a nightmare. A vivid, unsettling nightmare.
Slowly, he rose. The horror and the chill of the dream still clung to him, a weight that had sunk deep into his bones. He was sixteen years old, and nightmares had become an inseparable part of his nights—sometimes vague and confusing, other times as vivid and bloody as this one. His broad, manly shoulders seemed to slump under the pressure of these sudden awakenings, but in the depths of his dark green eyes, now accustomed to the gloom, a flicker of stubborn will could still be seen.
He walked toward the flap of his felt tent. He had to get out, to escape this suffocating, dark space whose walls felt like his eternal prison. With steps he tried to keep steady, he pulled himself outside.
The twilight air of dawn was cold and pure. The sky had taken on a grayish-purple hue, and the fading stars made their last effort to shine. Koorosh took another deep breath, filling his lungs with the familiar, sharp scent of sheep's wool and the damp earth from last night's rain. He exhaled in relief when he saw the flock of sheep, scattered calmly and carelessly across the vast plain. The sound of the lead sheep's bell was the only thing that broke the heavy silence of the pre-dawn mountainscape, a faint but familiar melody against the encroaching silence. The relative peace of the flock began to wash away the lingering dread of the nightmare, but the foul, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth.
He glanced up at the sky, woven with gray clouds. A vague, familiar feeling, like an old sorrow, twisted in his chest. This sky, these clouds, they always spoke to him, but not in the language of words. Sometimes he felt they were calling to him:
"Come, sit and listen to my sorrows." But that was just a childish fantasy. Or perhaps not. His father, Mehrdad, always said, "The sky has a heart, Koorosh. It gets heavy, it gets happy, it weeps, just like us."
He walked toward the fire his father had lit beside an ancient tree, of which only embers now remained. The ground beneath his feet was cold and damp. The chill seeped through his worn leather shoes—a memento from his grandfather's long journey from the northern lands—and a merciless wind made his lean body shiver. The memory of the nightmare brought a bitter smile to his lips. "Freedom…"
In that bloody dream, he had spoken so easily of freedom, but here, in this vast plain, he sometimes felt like a prisoner to this very flock and this simple life. A life where every day was like the last, and tomorrow seemed already written.
He was still a few paces from his father when Mehrdad's calm, raspy voice broke the pre-dawn silence. "Up with the dawn again, Koorosh-khan? Did you dream of wolves, or did the thought of these sheep keep you from closing your eyes?"
Mehrdad was sitting cross-legged by the dying embers, adjusting a black kettle over them. Despite the wrinkles etched onto his sun-beaten face by a hard life and his salt-and-pepper hair hidden beneath a felt cap, his gaze held its usual warmth and kindness—a gaze in which Koorosh often found a lost sense of peace. He had a round face and weathered skin, but his hazel eyes, even in the faint light of dawn, held a spark of wisdom and alertness.
Koorosh sat down beside his father, stretching his hands toward the faint warmth of the fire.
"Hello, Baba. No, no dream of wolves… I just… my heart felt a little heavy."
He tried to keep his tone casual, but he knew his father had a perceptive gaze that could read a person's soul through any mask.
Mehrdad, without looking up from his task, tossed a few more dry twigs onto the fire. Small, flickering flames came to life, casting dancing shadows on their faces.
"A heavy heart first thing in the morning? And in a young man like you? Don't tell me you've been staring at the sky again, letting strange ideas spin in your head." He threw his son a sidelong glance, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Koorosh stared at the sky above, which was slowly shedding the black of night for a lighter shade of blue. "Baba…"
The words swirled in his mouth. He wanted to tell him about the weight inside him, about the nameless sorrow he sometimes felt in the silence of the sky—a sorrow that had taken the form of endless crimson blood in his nightmare. But how could he put these formless feelings into words?
"Do you think… do you think these clouds, this sky… do they understand what we endure?" His voice was quiet as if sharing a secret with his father. "Sometimes I think this cold, this cruel wind… it's not just because of the changing seasons. It's as if… as if there's something, a sorrow, up there that no one sees, that no one understands… like…" He paused, remembering the white snow and red blood from his dream. "Like the cold of the snow. Everyone sees that it's cold, but no one thinks about the sorrow that might be hidden behind that cold."
Mehrdad stopped stirring the fire. He looked into his son's eyes, a long, deep look. The faint smile was gone from his lips. His expression was serious now, but still kind. "My son…"
His voice was quiet, but it had a resonance that echoed in the dawn's stillness. "I'm a simple shepherd, Koorosh. I haven't read any books or studied in any school to speak lofty words." He placed a hand on Koorosh's shoulder. "But I know this much: sorrow can have many reasons. It can come like a dark cloud and cast a shadow over a man's heart, even if he doesn't know why."
He looked at the burning wood and continued, "Maybe the sorrow you see in the sky is the sorrow of this very wood, giving its life so we can be warm. Maybe it's the sorrow of the lamb the wolf took last night, whose mother is still bleating for it. Or maybe…" His voice caught slightly. "Maybe it's the sorrow of those who are no longer among us, but whose memory is still alive in the heart of the sky and in our hearts."
Koorosh listened intently to his father's words. Mehrdad's simple speech was like a balm on his inner turmoil. His father might not know how to read or write, but he possessed a wisdom born from nature and a lifetime of experience on these vast plains.
Mehrdad put a hand on Koorosh's shoulder. "You have special eyes, my son. You see and feel things that others might simply pass by. This is both a gift and a burden. A gift, because your world is larger than anyone else's. A burden, because… because its sorrows will also be more visible to you."
Koorosh stared into the flickering flames for a moment. His father's words, simple yet profound, had cast a light on another corner of his restless soul. Perhaps these nightmares, these vague feelings, were all part of being special.
He took a fresh breath, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But at the same time, the curiosity that always smoldered within him like embers under ash was rekindled. His gaze was drawn toward the dense oak forest that rose on the other side of the plain like a mysterious green wall—a forest that had always been full of secrets and enchantment for him.
"dad…" His voice was hesitant. "I was thinking… since it's still early and the flock is calm, could I go check something out at the edge of the forest? Over where the old oak trees are? I want to check on something." He tried to make his request sound casual, but the glint of curiosity in his eyes could not be hidden.
Mehrdad rose from the fire, stretching his back as he cast a long look toward the horizon. The dawn was slowly pulling back the curtain of night, and the first weak rays of sun were trying to push their way over the distant mountains. "Over there? What have you found in that daunting forest now that's stolen your sleep, son?" His tone wasn't scolding; it was more of a father's curiosity mixed with a hint of concern. He knew his son's inquisitiveness, an inquisitiveness that sometimes led him to the brink of danger.
Koorosh shrugged. "It's nothing specific. It's just… for a while now, I've been hearing a sound from that direction. It sounds like… I don't know, like the breathing of a very large creature. Or maybe it's just the wind in the branches."
He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the whole truth, either. In his other dreams—not the bloody nightmares like tonight's, but different ones that came to him—he had seen the mouth of a dark cave nestled among those same ancient trees, a cave that seemed to be calling to him.
Mehrdad raised an eyebrow. "The breathing of a large creature?" A smile touched his lips, but his eyes rippled with concern. "That forest is no place for games, Koorosh. It's full of wild boars and hungry wolves. Especially this time of year when the snow is just starting to melt and the animals are searching for food."
Koorosh met his gaze with confidence, trying to ease his father's worry. "I know, Baba. I'll be careful. I promise I won't go too far, and I'll be back with the flock before the sun is fully up."
Mehrdad looked at his son's determined face for a few moments in silence. He knew that once Koorosh set his mind on something, it was difficult to change it. He sighed. "Alright, go. But keep the man's promise you just made. We'll be waiting for you, your mother and I." Then, in a tone that tried to be firm but was threaded with affection, he added, "But remember, my son, curiosity is a good thing, but if it goes too far, it can be dangerous. I don't want this curiosity of yours to end up as a sorrow in your mother's heart."
Koorosh smiled, warmed by his father's trust. "I will, Baba! Don't worry. I'll be back soon."
He got to his feet and picked up the tall, sturdy staff that was always with him.
Mehrdad stood up as well and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. "Go in peace. May the gods watch over you, son."
Koorosh nodded, and after a brief farewell, he set off toward the forest with quick, light steps. The thrill of discovering the unknown had reawakened within him. The morning chill and the exhaustion from his nightmare faded against this burning desire. As he drew closer to the forest, the silence of the plain gave way to the mysterious whispers of the trees. The entangled branches of the ancient oaks reached toward the sky like giant hands, and the light that filtered through them created an atmosphere that was both eerie and magical.
He took a deep breath. The forest air was cool and moist, infused with the sharp smell of damp earth, decaying leaves, and a vague, unknown scent that piqued his curiosity even more. The sound of the sheep's bell no longer reached him; the only sounds that broke the silence were the rustle of dry leaves under his feet and, occasionally, the sudden cry of a distant bird or the snap of a dry branch deep within the woods.
The ground beneath him was soft, covered in autumn leaves that had not yet succumbed to the winter snow. With every step, he felt as if he were treading on the ancient secrets of the forest. The faint morning light struggled to find its way through the dense canopy, casting long, trembling shadows on the tree trunks and moss-covered stones. These shadows sometimes took on strange and unsettling shapes—at times like the outstretched claws of a hidden creature, and at others like silent faces from history staring out at him.
Despite a strange sense of dread that pricked at his heart, Koorosh pressed forward with determination. He gripped his staff tightly, his eyes scanning his surroundings with utmost care. He knew that this forest, for all its deceptive beauty, could also be dangerous. The stories he had heard from the village elders about the strange creatures of the woods ran through his mind, but fear was no match for his blazing curiosity.
By the time he reached the heart of the forest, there was less snow on the ground. Here, the thick, towering branches of the oak trees spread out like a canopy, preventing much of the snow from reaching the forest floor. To his astonishment, he saw that some of the oaks, despite the winter cold, still bore vibrant green leaves on their branches, as if spring had never ended in this part of the forest. This startling contrast—winter on the plain and a hidden spring in the heart of the woods—only added to the place's mystery.
As he continued, he searched for any sign of the mysterious cave from his dreams. Suddenly, a sound caught his attention. It was like something hard scraping against stone, and it came from behind a thicket of wild bushes and large boulders. Koorosh froze, listening intently. The sound repeated, closer and clearer this time. His heart began to beat faster. Instinct told him to be cautious. He held his staff defensively in front of him and moved slowly toward the source of the sound.
Pushing aside the thorny branches of a bush, he saw a sight that made him stop dead in his tracks. A massive stag with magnificent, spiraling antlers stood beside a large rock, furiously digging at the ground with its front hoof. But what stunned Koorosh was not the stag's size, but the patterns that adorned its dark coat. They were patterns of bright blue, like veins of the night sky etched onto the animal's body, and in the dim forest light, they glowed with an ethereal light.
e stag looked as if it had stepped out of another world.