<Prologue>
In the heart of grandeur and shadows of the Achaemenid Empire,
Between the northern mountains and the southern plains of Iran,
A story begins woven with love, power, and sovereignty.
A young Aryan king from the land of white wolves;
A clever ruler, a fierce commander,
Whose heart trembled with a single glance.
"Who is that girl in the bath?"
"Her frightened eyes and wet hair have driven me mad."
"In all the battlefields I've fought, my heart has never trembled like this..."
---
In the folds of history, a northern king
Fell in love with a glance and a dream.
Not in war did his hardened heart quake,
Nor before the bitter blade of steel.
But when he saw the trembling gaze of a fairy,
He turned away from sword and battle's sting.
{by Atena motlagh}
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