Last King of Kings

Jalinus was overseeing the battlefield. Well, at least what remained from it. He saw both Persian and Arab soldiers, lying dead in the sand, each seemingly the same. He also saw several dead elephants – such magnificent animals, one would think it's impossible for them to die. And yet, here they lied, dead, same as soldiers, horses and camels around them. It was strange, to think that so much death and destruction happened daily around the world. How have humans not gone extinct yet, wondered Jalinus.

"It looks like a scene from a nightmare, doesn't it?"

Jalinus heard Bahman's voice behind him. Calm and even cold. But strangely soothing.

"I don't know. I never had nightmares like this."

"Then prepare yourself."

Jalinus looked perplexed, but didn't pay it much attention.

"So what now? What happens now?"

"We make proper sky burial for our dead and burn the enemy. Then we scrap the encampment, take the prisoners and we march back to Ctesiphon. Oh, and we send a report ahead of us, to our Shahanshah, may he be immortal."

"Do you think they'll come back? Arabs, I mean."

"I don't think so. This defeat should cripple them for good. But I don't have clairvoyance, you know."

Jalinus just smiled at that. They weren't even aware, but today, they made history. And, to Jalinus's surprise, he coped with the after-battle stress much better than he thought he would. That is, until he went to sleep. Then he truly understood what Bahman meant when he said he should prepare himself.

--

"A message from you, my Shahanshah, may he be immortal."

A messenger entered the throne room bearing an urgent message from general Jaduya. Yazdegerd was pessimistic about it from the beginning and didn't even want to read it at first. The fear of reading about another brutal defeat was something he didn't want to experience again. He thought he steeled himself enough and that a message of loss wouldn't sadden him much. But this wasn't about saddening – he knew that wasn't the emotion he felt. It wasn't sadness but feeling of incompetence. He was just tired of failing all the time. As he was opening the message, he was tempted to just throwing it away. But what kind of ruler would he be if he didn't face his own failures?

And, to his surprise, this time it wasn't failure.

As he read the lines that stood in the message, he started to get overjoyed, and it showed on his face. His guards took notice of that, and so did several courtiers in the court room. At the age of 12, Yazdegerd III. has finally won a battle against the Arabs.

One of the guards couldn't bear it anymore and asked. Seeing someone suddenly become happy beyond measure was strange and he wanted to make sure everything was all right.

"Is something the matter, my Shahanshah, may he be immortal?"

Yazdegerd looked at him with his beaming smile and simply said "They won."

It wasn't sure whether the soldier understood what he meant, but Yazdegerd couldn't care less. He got up from his throne room, let his servants take his crown off of him and made his way towards the guestrooms, where Usama was housed under a strict oversight. This just showed that deep, in the core, Yazdegerd was just an abandoned child forced to wear the mask of an adult.

Yazdegerd arrived to the room, where he met Rostam, who was also here for some reason. But it didn't matter, as Yazdegerd wanted to call him too, so he just got two birds with one stone.

"My Shahanshah, may he be immortal."

"Good morning, general Rostam." said Yazdegerd and started to open the doors to the room where Usama was supposed to be. Rostam noticed that and thought he'll only get in the way, so he turned around and started leaving.

"Don't leave, general. I wish to speak with you too. It's an important matter."

Rostam turned around once more, this time to face Yazdegerd. Then he followed him.

"Does this matter somehow concern that Arab too?"

"It does."

They entered the room where Usama was already sitting on the upholstered chair, as if waiting for them. But that was obviously not true, as he looked as if he had just woken up.

"Enjoying your stay, Usama?" asked Yazdegerd.

"Why, yes, I am, my Shahanshah, may he be immortal."

"That's good to hear. May we sit down with you? Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"I haven't, my Shahanshah."

Yazdegerd then turned on Rostam as if wanting to ask the same thing.

"No, I didn't, my Shahanshah."

"Good! Neither have I!"

As both Rostam and Usama wondered how is their breakfast relevant to what they're going to discuss. But Yazdegerd didn't seem to have the same wonders as he ordered a servant to bring them a breakfast. They waited all about 30 minutes for the breakfast, all while talking about irrelevant things, such as favourite food, drink and other meaningless stuff. After they finished their breakfast, Yazdegerd took out the message.

"Gentlemen, this is the reason I wanted to talk with you. And, also, I wanted to celebrate a bit, thus the breakfast."

He gave the message first to Rostam, who then passed it to Usama. Rostam kept his iron expression, while Usama smirked.

"This proves that Usama is someone we can trust. And it also proves, that our Empire is not yet lost. We can still fight!"

"My Shahanshah, not to be pessimistic, but I would still wait for general Jaduya to arrive and give a full report before planning any next moves."

Yazdegerd nodded. He was happy he could share his happiness with someone. All this time on throne, he was search for something that would affirm him, something that would assure him that he's doing great and that he's worthy of the throne. Was this battle it? Was this his Magnus Opum, something that would put him on a path of a worthy ruler? He though it was, but history would have it other way.