Beating iron into the heart of iron has hardened me.

I’ve been turned into a rock that only beats for freedom; a rock that as far back as it remembers has only known itself to be in the heart of battle or one that has had its core that was once softened by the breath of its children beaten into a rock.
Oh my sons… my sons, memories of my life, I gave you up as prey to the fangs of Zahhak that today Rouzbeh, the youngest of your brothers, may be a reminder of you.
And yet I live and will not believe that my sons are no longer alive! These are my sons, these youths whose ears have been filled with the murmur of despair. Once did the light of Jamshid shine upon their faces and today it is the darkness of death that has swallowed them whole. Thus, I, Kaveh the Ironsmith, am the master of the battle field of Partouka, for iron softens as dough upon my touch. Thus will I grasp the sledge and with the permission of my elders will I call out to my sons that they might rise, that the sons of Jamshid might rise, that the brothers of Rouzbeh might rise! I will build an army with the men of Jamkard that they might destroy the henchmen of Ahriman, those who have made life so dark for the people of Jamkard. Oh that I will destroy Zahhak!