Everywhere Xin looked, his eyes were lost in some breathtaking detail. The beauty of such an unfamiliar city seemed all the more astonishing when he considered that, had it not been for the strange dreams of Arash, whose calls he had been hearing even more since he had stepped off the plane, he would never have visited the city.

It was definitely him, Arash, strange as it sounded, that he had been hearing in his head, and it was only now when he was under the blue skies of Tehran that he could confirm it. It was only his second day in Iran and, for Xin, everything he was experiencing was somehow magical, even if he couldn't explain it to himself. But however, he wasn't scared.

Unlike his father, who had always been a cold, pragmatic and calculating man, his mother had always been a woman with a very strong spirit. Religious traditions and social norms were never enough to stop her from telling her son about the power of feelings, and how magical could be something as simple as the passing of the seasons.

«Beyond cold, the snow is alive too, Xin. Touch it...» he reminded her.

Longing struck him just as he was walking along the Laleh-Zar, intoxicated perhaps by the nostalgic, old-fashioned air of the buildings' facades, and her gaze, at those times of the past, when his mother would see him with a smile in her deep black eyes, invaded his mind. Xin kept walking and taking taxis back and forth, and, unable to help remembering Dishi every now and then, (hearing from the driver that such-and-such building facade belonged to the city's first cinema, for example) it wasn't, however, until Xin fixed his gaze far beyond the city, on the slightly white tips of the Alborz mountain range surrounding Tehran, that a heavy sigh escaped his lips, and his mother, as well as Arash and Shirin, regained the open spaces of his head.

If inside his dreams Xin could feel the place calling out to him, then now that he was there, amidst its stone streets and tiled buildings that looked like works of art amidst the heat, the bustle of walkers and the bustling motorbikes, now, he'd also feel a terrible melancholy filling his eyes with tears and his heart with sadness. And the fact that he felt at home so far from home only made the situation worse.

He couldn't help visualizing his mother as a little inhabitant of some old photograph, with the smile of a dreamy child, enjoying all that scenery. And he could see her laughing with him and holding his hand as they strolled through the corridors of the Golestan Palace on their way to the bazaar, as if the roles of mother and son had been exchanged over the years.

«It's like being part of the 'One Thousand and One Nights' that you read to me as a child...».

When he entered the great bazaar of the city, which was bright, colourful and fragrant, Xin felt like he was travelling back in time through the silk road or the very cave of Ali Baba and the forty thieves. There seemed to be everything in the place, and the further Xin walked, the more things he saw and found. From the most modern to the most ancient things, such as chandeliers, huge paintings, furniture, fabrics, Persian carpets with beautiful embroidery, spices, incense, musical instruments...

"This way, boy, this way," shouted a man nearby, snapping Xin out of his trance. "We have many nice things. Lots of things."

"Thank you, but don't worry..."

"Special offer, special offer. We have many offers, many," the man continued as if nothing as he tossed silk scarves and necklaces at Xin. "All very nice, on sale."

The fellow smiled, parading a row of incomplete but very enthusiastic teeth, as he laid a hat on Xin's head.

"Aaahhh, very nice, see," he exclaimed at last. "It's on sale."

Xin couldn't help but smile a little, infected by the man's enthusiasm. His dark eyes were unknowable to him, but his ruddy skin reminded him of Arash's.

"Alright," Xin commented as he moved closer to the merchant's table.

"Offers, lots of offers."

Xin ran his eyes over all the items the man had to offer, and then, of all the things, between necklaces, bracelets, mobile phones and used and new magazines alike, it was a pin that captured his attention the most.

The figure had two pairs of wings joined by a golden circle in the middle. Its wings appeared to be made of small tiles, while the ring in the centre glittered golden, like made from gold. From its old appearance, it was evident that it would cost quite a lot.

"How much for this?"

"Aaahhh, good eye, good eye," muttered the vendor, retrieving the pin carefully from Xin's hands. "Sandaramet's wings. Very nice."

"Sandaramet," muttered Xin without recognizing the name, but feeling some tingle.

"Fifty dollars."

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Xin.

"Fifty dollars for the amulet," said the bazaar vendor. "Special offer."

Xin stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Special offer," repeated the vendor holding up the pin with insistent eyes, shaking it a little.

"Whatever," Xin sighed as he pulled the money out of his wallet.

"Good idea, very good idea," the man said as he took the money from Xin's hand, and then, before moving very quickly, he threw the pin up into the air, and "Wooop," he exclaimed, as the pin seemed to come plummeting to the ground.

"What's wrong with you!"

Xin let out an exclamation of fear as in his mind's eye he saw the pin shatter into hundreds of pieces.

But then, mere seconds later, the vendor caught the object with precision as it was still falling through the air.

"Ahhh, a joke," he exclaimed as he caught the pin at the last moment. People gathered around to watch the juggling. Finally he dropped the pin into a delicate silk pouch before handing it to Xin amidst a shower of applause and compliments. Xin also applauded, albeit somewhat indignantly, and once he had the pin in his hands, he rested his gaze.

Away from the crowd, he checked the pin again, and this time he found it even more beautiful than before. After that, he wandered aimlessly through the city until his feet carried him back to his hotel as if pulled by invisible threads. That night, thanks to the fatigue accumulated during the day, his mind flew quickly in search of Arash once his eyes had closed.

「 心 」

Passing through the great stone gates of the city, Arash was enveloped by the magnificence of the snow-capped mountain paradise. Dozens of pillars greeted him and crossed his path with every step he took through the green, wooded vegetation. For a moment of awe, the hunter thought that even the leaves of the trees in this city were made of emeralds. It was not the first time he had set foot on the soil of Yerevan, but even so, the surprise never left him.

"Arash, the Hunter," a voice pronounced solemnly. "So you've really made it."

Above the temple, in the middle of the great city, the sun shone, illuminating the decorated walls and carved columns with a skill unbefitting any human. Indeed, the voice of that hostess was by no means human.

Her blue wings protruded from her back with softness and elegance, as part of a remoteness unfitting the sky and firmament; it framed a delicate and feminine goddess face on a chest as flat and strong as that of men, and a voice that seemed a cross between the roar of the storm and the song of the wind.

"If I have succeeded, it has been thanks to your clemency, Oh great Sandaramet," pronounced Arash as he bowed to kiss the ground before the golden-eyed goddess.

"You know very well, son of the light, that of all the virtues, clemency is not one of my attributes," pronounced the angel. "Let me see your eyes."

Arash raised his head to comply with the goddess's request. His orange eyes glowed with intensity, as they met with the golden ones that seemed about to weep a sea of gold.

Between the two there arose a subtle fire, one that seemed more like wind than anything else, or a poetry that emerged from their gaze, and communicated a desire for loyalty and ecstasy, earthly of feet and heavenly of wings, that loved selflessly, bodiless, formless, and that was nothing but pure magic.

"Ahhh, how pleased you make me feel," Sandaramet murmured before turning her back to her favourite son so she could hide the pain in her divine eyes, "Now show me what you brought to me, dear Arash..."

Arash looked at the golden ring on the angel's back, glittering amidst her wings with overwhelming beauty, before following her footsteps through the temple. The goddess stepped into the water of an oasis that rested at the centre of the compound, and then, beckoned Arash to do the same.

"A black obsidian arrow born of the fire that burns for four seasons, as the sun draws its ring across the sky," Arash narrated as he took the items from his leather pouch: "And the divine magic of the Kurdalægon, bound in the blood and clamour of my people, as a gift from the gods."

The angel took both objects between her hands and her wings unfurled as she felt the magic in them.

"What a beautiful sound... so full of love..."

"The will of all my people, as well as their tears and their blood. All is in there," the hunter mused, moved by the magical aura of the goddess, which seemed to bring back the chants of his people in the middle of the temple.

"You have carved it with desires for peace and freedom," sighed the goddess: "and with the urgency for this war to end once and for all..."

The goddess came closer and moved her hands around the objects, and then the chanting became more intense, louder, deeper. Then the blue-winged divine woman smiled bitterly, and tears finally flowed from her eyes.

"Now all you need is this...," she said, depositing the items back into Arash's hands before reaching out with one of her hands to pluck a blue feather from her wings.

Arash, in disbelief, almost fainted as he felt the enormous weight of the feather between his fingers. Everything was so heavy that he almost dropped the whole batch of items into the water due to fatigue. So it was to hold that pressure, and such was the weight, that from his throat came a deafening and savage growl, crying out for more strength.

"Do not let go of any of the elements, Arash, my Hunter. Do not drop them, or they will be lost forever at the bottom of the oasis..."

The goddess's warning shook his body, and Arash, once again, cried out as he tried to close his fingers tightly around the arrow, the Kurdalægon, and the feather. The magic was so potent that the man could feel his own body seem to become one with those elements.

"If you do not hasten to speak the incantation, your body will be lost forever, Arash, and the sacrifice of your people will be in vain..."

The wings and eyes of the goddess shone with such intensity that they extinguished the fire lights around her. Arash could only feel the throbbing of magic between his hands, and when he thought life was leaving his body forever, as he rested his eyes on a mountain born of his memories, and Shirin, and his people, and all that he loved and fought for, the desire for infinite strength imbued him from within, and a last cry tore from his throat:

"XIIIIIIIIN...!"

«Xin...» echoed within him.

Bathed in a cold sweat and his body hot with fever, Xin woke up startled in his hotel bed.