Bahman (بهمن)

After Rostam mortally wounds Esfandiyar in their very avoidable “fate made me do it” duel, the dying prince makes one last request: take care of my son, Bahman. Raise him. Guide him. Maybe don’t let this turn into another generational disaster.

Rostam agrees. Because despite everything, he still believes mentorship can fix what violence breaks.

So Bahman grows up in Zabulistan under the care of the man who killed his father. Which is either a bold attempt at reconciliation or the setup for something that should’ve been flagged early as “this will not end well.”

For years, it works. Or at least it looks like it does. Bahman learns, trains, lives under Rostam’s protection. Respect is there. But underneath it, something else is growing quietly: blood vengeance and ambition. Two things this story has never successfully contained.

Bahman does nothing while Rostam is alive. Which is interesting. He waits.

Then Shaghad does what Shaghad does best and kills Rostam through betrayal. And suddenly, the one person Bahman couldn’t confront directly is gone.

Opportunity arrives, and restraint leaves.

As the new King of Kings, Bahman invades Zabulistan. Not just to punish. To erase. Rostam’s legacy, his family, his entire presence in the world.

Faramarz, Rostam’s son, steps up to defend it. He fights. Hard. Against overwhelming forces. Against inevitability, really. He also protects Zal, Rostam’s father, who is now around 300 years old and in no condition to deal with yet another catastrophic chapter in this family history.

Faramarz loses.

And Bahman doesn’t even grant him a clean death. No battlefield honor. No warrior’s end. Instead, he orders a public execution. Faramarz is hanged and filled with arrows. Not just killed. Displayed.

Because at this point, it’s not about justice. It’s about sending a message.

Bahman loots the family treasures and imprisons Zal. A man who has already outlived almost everyone he loved, now sitting in captivity at the end of a life defined by loss.

It’s excessive. Even by this story’s standards.

Eventually, Bahman’s uncle steps in and calls it out. Not diplomatically. Just plainly: this is cruelty. Pointless, ugly, beneath what a king should be.

Bahman relents. Zal is released. Not because Bahman realizes he’s wrong, but because someone forces him to see it.

Then, in a move that somehow still manages to stand out in this narrative, Bahman marries his own daughter, Homay. Which adds another layer of “this family really needs boundaries” to an already complicated situation.

As he nears death, with Homay six months pregnant, he names her as his successor until their child, Darab, is born. Power passes forward, as it always does, regardless of how much damage it carries with it.

Bahman dies of illness.

No battlefield. No dramatic final stand. Just the quiet end of someone who spent his life holding onto vengeance until it defined him more than anything Rostam ever taught him.

Turns out being raised by a legend doesn’t guarantee you learn the right lessons.