Before the imperial army could reach the first major city of Media, the echo of Kourosh's victory had spread faster than the wind.
This echo was not just the story of a military victory; it was the narrative of a new and unprecedented character.
They heard stories of a young conqueror who, instead of slaughtering, forgives, and instead of plundering, builds.
And most importantly, they heard that Azhidahak, their former king, was alive and respected, moving alongside his grandson.
The leaders of the Median tribes, who were watching cautiously, were now faced with a fateful choice.
Resistance, or acceptance of the new power.
The news that was arriving made the choice easy for them.
During one of the nightly stops, the first delegation arrived.
The leaders of the powerful tribes of the northern mountains; fierce and proud men who had never bowed their heads easily.
Upon seeing the order and silence of the camp, they felt the majesty of this new power for the first time.
They were guided to the grand council tent.
Where Kourosh, along with Cambyses, Azhidahak, Arash, and Harpak, was waiting for them.
The leader of the delegation, a man named "Fravartish," stepped forward with a steady stride.
He and his companions bowed and presented their gifts.
Then Fravartish raised his head.
"Young Shahanshah, we, the leaders of the northern tribes, have come to declare our loyalty to you."
Then, with a boldness expected of a tribal leader, he continued:
"We have heard the stories of your magnanimity. But we want to see with our own eyes."
"The fate of our people depends on your decisions."
"Will you, too, like the kings before you, oppress us with heavy taxes?"
"Will you forcibly send our young men to wars that do not belong to us?"
This was not a blind oath.
It was a test.
Kourosh looked at him calmly.
"Rise, noble sirs."
He waited for them to rise.
"I have come to rule based on 'Justice' (Dād), not on oppression."
"The taxes will be fair and will be spent on the prosperity of your own land."
"And my army will only draw its sword to defend this empire and all its peoples."
These words were promising, but not enough.
They looked at the face of Azhidahak, their former king.
This was the final moment of the test.
Azhidahak, who had been sitting in silence until that moment, slowly rose.
All eyes turned towards him.
He was no longer that proud king.
He turned to Fravartish and the other leaders.
His voice trembled with remorse and a newfound wisdom.
"I ruled over you for many years. With fear, with distrust."
"And I saw its result on the plain of Pasargadae."
He pointed to Kourosh.
"This young man is my grandson. The blood of Media is in his veins."
"But his wisdom has surpassed that of mine and my ancestors."
"He showed mercy to me, his greatest enemy. He rewarded my soldiers."
"He seeks to build, not to destroy."
"Trust him."
"I, Azhidahak, the last king of Media, ask you to make a covenant with him."
"The future of Media was safer in his hands than it was in mine."
These words, this confirmation from the lips of Azhidahak himself, broke down the last walls of doubt.
Fravartish and the other leaders bowed before Kourosh again.
This time, not out of fear, but out of a deep respect and a heartfelt belief.
"We make a covenant with you, Shahanshah."
"Our swords and our lives are in your service."
Kourosh, before reaching the capital, had conquered the northern tribes of the land of Media in peace and tranquility.