Volume 1: Rebirth, Cyrus's Childhood
Chapter 1: The Battle of Iran and Israel
The Tehran sky, on the evening of that hot summer day, was tinged with a haze of dust and a crimson cloud, as if hinting at a hidden wrath. In the small, old lecture hall of the history department at the University of Tehran, Professor Kourosh paced between the blackboard and the wooden benches with calm yet determined steps. The dim light of the fluorescent lamps cast long shadows of him on the cracked walls. His voice, filled with a deep passion as he spoke of the greatness of the Achaemenids and the wisdom of Cyrus the Great, filled the hall. But a hidden worry lurked deep in his eyes; a worry rooted in the horrific news of recent days: Israel's repeated attacks on Iran, missiles that had torn through the sky, and the shadow of a war that grew heavier with each passing moment.
He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words with greater care. With a piercing gaze at his students, who stared back at him with eyes full of questions, he said, "The Achaemenids, with their wisdom and justice, built a world that endured for centuries. But you must know, history is not just the past; it is a mirror for our present day. If we do not unite today, if we do not employ the courage and wisdom of our ancestors, this land will once again bend under the weight of oppression and devastation." His voice, a blend of authority and compassion, echoed in the hall. One of the students, a young woman with black hair and a face full of anxiety, raised her hand and asked in a trembling voice, "Professor, we... the younger generation... how can we stand against this war? The news gets worse every day. The missiles, the sanctions, the internet blackouts... It feels like everything is against us!"
Kourosh looked at her for a moment, as if seeing all the hopes and fears of the youth in her eyes. With a gentle smile that tried to conceal his own inner fear, he replied, "Ms. Mahdavi, history teaches us that no darkness is eternal. We don't just study history; we learn from it. History has shown us that nations have passed through darkness with unity and courage. This time, too, the only path to salvation is to help one another and stand together." He paused, then added in a firmer voice, "You, my students, are the future of this land. If you stand together today, tomorrow you can build a world worthy of the name of Iran."
The class ended in a heavy silence. The students, their faces a mixture of hope and doubt, left the hall. Kourosh picked up his worn leather briefcase and walked with heavy steps toward the exit. In his mind, Ms. Mahdavi's words repeated: "How can we stand?". He whispered to himself, "I wish I could have given them more than just history lessons. I wish I could have..." His sentence remained unfinished, as if he had no answer to the question.
As he left the university, a cool breeze caressed his face, but the Tehran sky, now covered in dusty and red shadows of dusk, had an eerie feel. Kourosh was passing by Tajrish Square, where the hum of the crowd, the honking of cars, and the calls of street vendors played the music of daily life. But this music was suddenly shattered by a deafening roar. An F-35 fighter jet, like a deadly specter, tore through the sky. Kourosh's heart pounded with terror. Before he could react, missiles struck the square with lethal precision. A massive explosion shook the ground. Flames shot into the sky, and black smoke, like a shroud of death, engulfed everything.
The horrified screams of the people echoed in Kourosh's ears. An inner instinct pulled him toward the square. With every step, the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning filled his nostrils. The dust stung his eyes, but he pushed forward. In his mind, images from his lectures came to life: ancient battles, the heroic resistance of the Persians, and Cyrus the Great who conquered the world with his wisdom. He whispered to himself, "If he were here, what would he do?". This question, like a flame in his heart, drove him forward.
Amidst the ruins, a heart-wrenching cry caught his attention. He rushed toward the sound and reached a house whose walls were engulfed in flames. Among the rubble, he saw a young woman, her face covered in ash, her eyes filled with terror. Half of her body was trapped under the debris, and with trembling hands, she clutched her small daughter. Kourosh, without a moment's hesitation, entered through the broken window. The sound of cracking wood and falling debris made his heart pound. The woman pleaded with a desperate cry, "Sir... please... save my daughter! I... I can't..." Her eyes, full of tears, were fixed on Kourosh.
Kourosh, with all his strength, moved toward the little girl. His heart was beating with fear and determination. Carefully, he separated the child from her mother's embrace. The girl, her eyes wide with terror, clung to him. Kourosh said in a calm but firm voice, "Don't worry, little one. I'm getting you to safety." With the girl in his arms, he ran toward the exit. The sound of collapsing walls grew louder with each moment. With every step, the heat of the fire burned his face and the smoke constricted his breath. At the last moment, with a cry from the depths of his soul, he managed to pull the girl out from under the wreckage and said with a trembling voice, "Get away, call for help!"
As help moved away, before he could catch his breath, a massive explosion demolished the house. Heavy debris collapsed on him, and a searing pain shot through his entire body. His breath grew shallow, and the world before his eyes went dark. In that dark moment, his mind flew to his life: to his students who were his hope, to his beloved Iran which he loved with all his being, and to his final, unfulfilled dream of rebuilding the greatness of the Persians. He whispered to himself, "If only... if only I could change history..."
Darkness enveloped him, but within that blackness, a point of light appeared in the distance. It was as if an invisible force was pulling him toward it. With his last breath, his eyes fixed on that light, and a question sparked in his mind: "Is this the end... or the beginning?". The light, like a silent answer, consumed him.