The Persian army was lined up a league away from the border fortress, in the silence of the dawn.
The morning mist, like a silver veil, covered the plain, and only the cast-iron tips of the spears and the raised banners of the Persian lion emerged from it.
Thirty thousand soldiers, in three ten-thousand-man corps, stood with an order that was unprecedented in the history of Iran until that day.
Their silence was the silence before the storm; heavy, imposing, and deadly.
In the heart of the army, Cambyses, mounted on his warhorse, stood like a mountain of steel in his gleaming armor.
Beside him, Arash and Bagpat were ready to issue commands.
As the sun rose and the mist cleared, what was revealed before them took their breath away.
The horizon had turned black.
Not with clouds, but with a sea of men and horses.
The Median army was advancing with all its glory and might.
Their numbers seemed countless; seventy thousand fighting men, infantry, cavalry, and war chariots that made the earth tremble.
Their traditional leather, bronze, and brass armors glinted under the sunlight, and a forest of spears rose towards the sky.
From the Persians' perspective, this was not an army; it was a natural disaster coming towards them.
The Median army looked like a canvas of earthy and dark colors (olive green, brick red, and brown), adorned with a multitude of colorful tribal flags.
Their soldiers wore pointed Median hats (tiaras) on their heads, and their large, rectangular leather shields created a moving wall of terror.
In contrast, the smaller Persian army, with its brighter purple and lapis lazuli blue clothes and uniform round shields, stood like a sharp blade ready to pierce the heart of this giant beast.
Their silence and order were in complete contrast to the clamor and apparent disorder of the Median army.
In the center of this giant beast was Azhidahak's command post.
He stood on a royal chariot decorated with gold and reliefs.
His dark red robe waved in the wind, and a crown of pure gold was on his head.
Beside him, his generals stood in gleaming bronze armor, looking down on the small Persian army with contempt.
The banner of the Medes, bearing the emblem of the Ahuric sun, was also firmly planted beside him.
Cambyses slowly drew his sword from its sheath.
The reflection of the sun on the blade momentarily dazzled his eyes.
He looked at their own flag; a roaring golden lion on a red field. A symbol of dominance and warfare.
He turned to Arash and said, with a voice that was barely audible over the distant roar of the enemy army:
"Today is the day that the Persian lions will hunt the Median horsemen."
Arash nodded and took his horn in his hand.
On the other side of the field, the Median war drums began to beat with a heavy, terrifying rhythm.
A sound that had emptied the hearts of enemies with fear for generations.
But this time, it received a different response.
From the Persian side, not one, but dozens of horns sounded with a coordinated, sharp, and penetrating tune.
A tune that spoke not of fear, but of order, discipline, and a steel-like will.
Azhidahak, upon hearing this coordinated sound, frowned for a moment.
This sound was different from anything he had ever heard before.
But his pride did not allow him to hesitate.
He raised his sword towards the Persians and let out a cry that was lost in the clamor of his army.
This was the command to attack.
The great forest of Median spears began to move.
The earth trembled under the feet of seventy thousand men.
The roar of the drums and horns of both armies mingled.
The battle that was to decide the fate of two nations had begun.