After a three-month march, the imperial army finally reached the outskirts of Ecbatana.
As they ascended the last hill, a view was revealed before them that took their breath away.
Before them, the magnificent capital of Media with its seven colored walls rested in the heart of the mountains like a mythical jewel.
This city, which for centuries had been the heart of a powerful kingdom, was now, in a silence full of anticipation, ready to welcome its new destiny.
The concentric walls of the city, each a different color, rose from the heart of the plain like a stone rainbow.
The first wall, white, a symbol of peace.
The second, black, a symbol of the earth.
The third, purple, a symbol of kingship.
The fourth, lapis lazuli blue, a symbol of the sky.
And the fifth, orange, a symbol of fire.
Finally, the two inner walls of the royal citadel, one covered with sheets of silver and the other with gold, shone like the sun and a brilliant fish in the center of this architectural constellation.
This splendor and magnificence displayed not only the military power but also the rich wealth and culture of the Median civilization.
For a moment, even the victorious Persian soldiers felt small in the face of this majesty.
The imperial army encamped with flawless order on the plain opposite the city.
The new flags with the emblem of the Shahbaz waved against the colored walls of Ecbatana; a symbolic confrontation of two powers.
Kourosh had commanded that no move be made towards the city.
He was waiting.
He knew that the final battle would be fought not with the sword, but with politics.
Finally, the wait was over.
Before the sun had completely set, the main gates of the city, which were made of gleaming bronze, slowly opened.
A delegation of the city's elders, in fine white and purple robes, emerged from the gate.
They carried no weapons and held the white flag of peace in their hands.
This was a clear message.
Ecbatana did not intend to resist.
At the head of the delegation, Atropates, the chief of the Magi, walked with a pale face but with his usual pride.
Beside him, a group of reformist Magi who were dissatisfied with the policies of recent years stood with hopeful faces.
They had come to welcome Kourosh.
Not as a foreign conqueror, but as their rightful king.
As the delegation neared the command tent, Kourosh, along with Cambyses and Azhidahak, exited the tent.
This was a historic confrontation.
Atropates, who had once looked upon this "Persian child" with contempt, was now standing before him.
He glanced for a moment at Azhidahak, his former king.
And in that glance, he saw all his lost glory.
He spoke with a voice that he tried to keep from trembling.
"Prince Kourosh, we, the elders and Magi of Ecbatana, have come to welcome you."
But before he could continue his words, one of the reformist Magi stepped forward with a firm stride.
He bowed before Kourosh and shouted with a clear voice full of emotion:
"We have not come to welcome our conqueror!"
"We have come to welcome our rightful king, the son of Mandane, the grandson of Azhidahak!"
"We have come to welcome a savior who has brought hope back to this land!"
"The gates of Ecbatana are open to you, my king!"
These words, this heartfelt covenant, paved the way for a victorious and peaceful entry into the heart of the Median kingdom.