The village of Pano Lefkara sat silent under the heavy cloak of night. Dimitrios, a young man of twenty-two with the salt-laced blood of Cypriots in his veins, hurried along the cobblestone streets. He was late, again.
The curfew, set by the Elder that spoke of a beast with infinite patience but limited tolerance for the people in the town, was absolute. It started at the last call of the muezzin for evening prayer. Miss it, and… well, nobody talked about what happened if you missed it. Not anymore.
He pushed through the heavy, carved doors of his family home, his heart slamming against his ribs. His grandmother, Yaya Irini, was waiting for him. Her face, a roadmap of wrinkles telling untold stories, was tight with worry.
"Dimitrios! Where were you? You know what time it is!"
"I know, Yaya, I know. I was at the taverna, lost track of the time," he mumbled, avoiding her look.
"Lost track? Boy, do you forget what the Elder said? We can't be messing with that time. It will take what's most precious to us," Irini hissed, her eyes darting to the icons hanging on the wall. "What is he to take from a poor, simple woman like me? Leave me alone." She spoke in hushed reverence at a framed picture.
Dimitrios knew that story all too well, but tried his best to forget it when it came up at parties.
He waved it off, "It's just stories, Yaya. Old wives' tales to scare us into behaving."
Irini grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for an old woman. "Don't say that! You'll summon it. You have to respect it, even if you don't believe in it."
He sighed. He loved his Yaya, but she was drowning in superstition. "Okay, okay. I respect it. Can I go to sleep now?"
Irini reluctantly released him. "Go. But be careful, Dimitrios. Be careful what you say, and be careful where you are."
Dimitrios went to his room. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed. Sleep tugged at him, but a restlessness kept him awake. The taverna's ouzo still coursed through his veins, chasing away the fear but bringing to life some thoughts he wished weren't his.
He hated this village, hated the curfew, hated the constant fear that choked the air. He wanted to leave, to go to the city, to live a life where ancient superstitions didn't dictate every moment. But he couldn't leave Yaya. Not yet.
A creak from downstairs pulled him from his thoughts. Irini was probably just checking the doors. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the nagging unease.
The next morning, Dimitrios woke late. Sunlight streamed through his window, casting long shadows across the room. Irini was already in the kitchen, preparing coffee.
"Good morning, lazybones," she said, a small smile gracing her lips.
"Morning, Yaya," he replied, stretching. He sat at the small wooden table and she handed him a cup of the thick, strong brew.
As he brought the cup to his lips, he noticed something. Irini's right hand was wrapped in a thick bandage.
"Yaya, what happened?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
Irini's smile faded. She looked down at her hand, her face etched with a deep sorrow. "I… I burned it, while I was making breakfast."
Dimitrios frowned. It didn't seem right. Irini had been cooking for decades; she never burned herself. "How? Was the pan very hot? Maybe it was too old? Should we have got you new one from our savings."
"It doesn't matter. It's just a little burn," she said quickly, avoiding his gaze.
The alarm bells in Dimitrios's head grew louder. "Show me," he insisted.
She hesitated, then slowly unwrapped the bandage. Dimitrios gasped. It wasn't a burn. Her little finger was gone, severed cleanly at the first knuckle.
"Yaya! What…?" He couldn't finish the question. The answer, the unspoken truth of their village, hung heavy in the air.
Irini started to cry, silent tears streaming down her face. "I… I must have broken the rules," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know how. But it took it. It took my finger."
Dimitrios held her, his mind racing. The Entity. It was real. And it had taken his Yaya's finger. Fury, hot and volatile, exploded within him.
"This isn't right. This isn't fair," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "We can't live like this, living in fear, giving up pieces of ourselves."
"We have to, Dimitrios. What choice do we have?" Irini sobbed.
"We have a choice! We fight it. We find out what it is, how it works, and we stop it. Once and for all," he declared, and he meant it, from the deep depths of his core.
Irini looked at him, fear clouding her eyes. "Don't, Dimitrios. It's stronger than us. Much stronger."
But Dimitrios wouldn't listen. The sight of his Yaya's missing finger had lit a fire in him, a fire that burned hotter than fear. He was going to challenge the entity, even if it meant risking everything.
He began asking questions, talking to the other villagers. They were reluctant to speak, fear locking their tongues, but he persisted. Slowly, pieces of the story emerged.
The Entity had been around for generations, since before anyone could even remember a time without the curfew and the stories, they would be told to you right before bedtime to haunt your nightmares. It fed on disobedience, on breaches of the unspoken rules that governed their lives. The rules were not written anywhere; no one had seen anything that told them all. And for any reason, people ended up doing what would trigger it.
Some said it was a demon, a creature from the underworld, or even something older, something tied to the very land itself. It was unclear and vague. Some told the events so long ago, that even he forgot.
All Dimitrios knew, the one true aspect everyone would speak about in town, was that they must remain careful. Remain vigilant. Remain… good, whatever the hell that meant to most of these twisted individuals who feared for nothing more than their lives.
The Elder held the most knowledge. But that knowledge held little value if all he did was cower and wait for things to become right. And that wasn't going to be his reality.
The turning point happened three days after Irini's incident.
Dimitrios saw a group of children playing past curfew. Fear coiled in his stomach. He ran toward them, shouting, "Go home! Go home now!"
They scattered, giggling, and a bit annoyed. He made the mistake to feel relief instead of regret. As the last child vanished through a doorway, a cold hand clamped down on Dimitrios's shoulder.
He spun around. Standing behind him was a tall, gaunt man. His face was hidden in shadow, but Dimitrios could feel his cold gaze. It sent chills up and down Dimitrios' spine.
"You broke the rule," the man said, his breath smelling of dirt and something acrid and ancient.
"What? What rule?" Dimitrios stammered, his bravado melting away.
"You interfered," the man hissed, his grip tightening. "You stopped them. The children get to pick their doom."
Panic seized Dimitrios. He tried to pull away, but the man's grip was like iron. The world started to tilt, the air growing thick and heavy.
He understood then. It wasn't just about breaking curfew. It was about not interfering with the natural order. Let the beast get to who it gets to; it was the twisted law they all must follow and submit to with a smile and nod, lest you face similar consequences, or maybe something worse. But did he want to adhere to this? Absolutely not. That's why they have never found salvation or peace since then, all these centuries!
The man raised a hand, and a searing pain shot through Dimitrios's left eye. He screamed, clawing at his face. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were slick with blood, and the pain left with the entirety of his left eye.
He crumpled to the ground, blinded in one eye, the world spinning. He'd become one of the cursed now, touched by the Entity. No. Not the victim, but the victor! He made a mistake, now it must suffer the ramifications!
He awoke in his bed, Irini tending to his eye socket. Her face was drawn with grief.
"I'm so sorry, Dimitrios," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I tried to warn you."
He didn't respond. He couldn't. The pain was immense, but it was nothing compared to the burning sense of loss, the profound sadness that settled over him like a shroud.
He had tried to fight, to protect his village. He knew she'd tried. He had been naive. She, too, had been as young as him, with all the youthful wonder and hopes she used to embrace as a teenager and young adult.
And what did they get in return for that good, hopeful, energetic nature of youth? All that has amounted to here and now, nothing! His mind started racing.
He was alone now. His dream of escaping this place was gone. Who would want a one-eyed peasant? The city life? Forget about it. But still. Even without anything to look forward to anymore, or people he could admire or trust, why would he stop trying now? If anything, this made it worse. All the more for his need to solve this puzzle! This wasn't right. No one should be okay with this situation.
He won't ever agree with this. And hopefully, those who will be there for that change will have the stamina to reach that peak alongside him. Or else, they could die off with the people who would only offer their prayers to deaf ears! He will remain unbothered as the strong march off to war alone; it matters little who stands besides you, or the company you make.
What does truly matter is that change needs to arrive here one way or another! Or else, he would have failed not only himself, but his people, too. So many wasted souls from what the others fear in the shadows.
A few weeks after his injury, Dimitrios did something that shocked the village. He went to the Elder. The town all heard that discussion, for better or worse.
"I want to know everything," he told the old man, his voice firm, despite the tremor in his body.
The Elder sighed, his eyes filled with centuries of grief. He started to talk.
He spoke of the ancient pact, of the blood sacrifice, of the entity's insatiable hunger. The old man told it to him point by point. It needed those offerings of the flesh to feed its ego and vanity, if one could so dare assume such assumptions to the great ancient Evil in their presence.
All had always led back to what was supposed to be "correct." Dimitrios wasn't too sure what that really meant anymore, so his only job here was to uncover exactly what everyone thought was good versus evil, and hopefully come to his own conclusion from that.
To find salvation for these lost peoples and return what rightfully belonged to them to them in exchange.
Dimitrios listened, his mind reeling. This thing had kept them captive in the chains that they forced themselves to lock together over time. All he had to do now was force open that lock. It would be the most excruciating of tasks that mankind would embark to undertake! It would test even the strongest!
When the Elder was finished, Dimitrios stood and said, "There has to be a way to stop it."
The Elder shook his head. "There isn't. We've tried. Generations have tried. It always comes back, even when things are solved and handled away. The way it arrives after our failed attempts… it always comes back stronger than ever. And all are met to only submit again and face whatever the consequence is."
"Then we haven't tried hard enough," Dimitrios countered.
That night, Dimitrios left Pano Lefkara. He left Irini, left his home, left everything he knew. But how cruel was that? He knows nothing! Absolutely no valuable knowledge to help solve all of this!
He walked into the dark hills surrounding the village. It took all of the next few days to collect the things to plan. Each hour brought forth an adventure for something even he knew nothing of. At times, the challenges and tests were near insanity and brought the highest levels of madness, a battle for sanity and will over anything! But alas, the most simple conclusion to that was his absolute passion.
He didn't know where he was going, or what he would find. All he knew was that he couldn't stay there, living a life of fear and sacrifice. And this whole search just added an increase to his stamina to embark on this quest. There had to be more than cowering with a pitiful prayer or ritual. This thing they had was sick, and twisted.
He reached the crest of the hill, where he stumbled forward for one single breath. The stars were not to admire, though as magnificent as all those who've given life and sacrificed themselves and are resting right under it. No. Instead, each glimmer in his vision symbolized something he hated so desperately.
The very cause for why he could admire none of this or feel joy for the life his ancestors had fought so vehemently for. Each star only shined bright to be taunting him for it, an obnoxious sight that one had to always gaze towards when pondering to pray to the divine and superior up there.
As he looked back at Pano Lefkara, nestled in the valley below, he saw it not as the home he was losing, but the life he might win, if he would just be relentless enough to fight with it and for it. And he refused to quit here.
This time. With the rage filling his eyes, now replaced with some stone-cold fury he has come to familiarize himself with over this short venture alone with little to nothing… This was the starting phase for his war.
But only death waited for Dimitrios up in those mountains of no man's land that brought absolute solitude to both good and foul entities.
Nothing other than himself, a mountain cat, a lonely howl of something he cannot put his finger on, as if being summoned by a far more gruesome and powerful being in need of the company that was being rejected; there was nothing up there to bring Dimitrios to salvation.
There will only be despair awaiting to hold out its palm that reeks of rotten flesh, offering for Dimitrios to become part of it all in such vast beauty to make even the Gods feel such guilt in its presence for abandoning even such a single soul who needs more protection, love, and support for an endless lifetime of all possible generations and existence… Even those with everything can still fall short… what truly would make that poor lad get through all this?
The world he was living was now more cruel, dark, and twisted than anything a single eye or his pair of orbs can withstand any longer. It's okay if you're too late to do anything.
But to refuse action at all costs is when it all falls off... It ends with everything coming crashing. That will all fall at Dimitrios at the top of that mountain, one dark, quiet, solemn evening.