The Stone Shepherds of Istria

The Call of the Hills

The village of Grožnjan perched like a bird on a rocky outcrop, its stone houses glowing gold in the late afternoon sun. Narrow cobbled streets wound through the village like veins, carrying life to its quiet corners. For Luka, the village was his entire world. At twenty-two, he was like the hills themselves—stubborn, unyielding, and deeply tied to the land.

That summer, the vineyards were thriving, and the olive trees promised a good harvest. Luka had spent the day pruning vines alongside his father, though his heart wasn’t in the work. The stories his grandmother used to tell him—the ones about the Stone Shepherds—were on his mind again.

“Stop daydreaming, boy!” his father barked as Luka let the pruning shears dangle in his hand. “The vines won’t wait for your imagination.”

But Luka couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about this summer. That evening, as the sky blushed pink and the Adriatic shimmered like molten gold, it happened. The hum. It was faint at first, like the vibration of a distant bell, but it grew stronger, resonating in Luka’s chest. He set down his tools and turned toward the hills, where the silhouette of an ancient chapel loomed against the dusk.

He had heard of the old chapel, abandoned for centuries and avoided by locals. They called it cursed, a place where only fools and foreigners dared to tread. Yet tonight, something about it seemed alive, beckoning him.

The Hidden Door

The chapel was even more desolate than Luka had imagined. Its roof had caved in long ago, and ivy crept along the crumbling walls. Yet the carvings inside were intact, their intricate designs untouched by time. As Luka’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed a circular stone embedded in the floor. It was unlike the others—smooth, polished, and etched with symbols that seemed to glow faintly.

He hesitated. Was this foolishness? Perhaps. But something deeper than curiosity tugged at him. Luka crouched and pressed his palm to the stone. The hum he had felt earlier surged through him, vibrating up his arm. With a grinding noise that echoed through the chapel, the stone shifted, revealing a dark passageway beneath.

The air in the passage was damp and cool, heavy with the smell of ancient earth. Luka descended carefully, his lantern casting flickering shadows on the rough-hewn walls. The tunnel opened into a cavern, and what he saw there stole the breath from his lungs.

Statues filled the chamber, their lifelike detail eerie in the dim light. Men and women frozen in stone stood in poses of strength and grace—farmers, warriors, healers. At the center of the room, on a pedestal, lay a stone staff. Its carvings matched those on the chapel floor, but these were even more intricate, spiraling upward like vines climbing a tree.

When Luka’s fingers closed around the staff, the hum ceased, replaced by a deafening silence. Then, one by one, the statues began to glow. The cavern filled with light, and the silence was broken by a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

“You have awakened the Stone Shepherds.”

The Shepherd’s Burden

The voice belonged to Arko, the first of the statues to step forward. His weathered face and piercing eyes gave him an air of authority, but there was kindness in his expression. He explained that the Stone Shepherds were protectors of Istria, guardians of its harmony and spirit. Centuries ago, they had faced an enemy so powerful that they had been forced to turn themselves to stone, entrusting their mission to the land itself.

“The staff you hold is the heart of the land,” Arko said, his voice steady. “Through it, you are tied to Istria as we were. You feel its pain, its joy, its life.”

Luka listened, his head spinning. He had never felt particularly special. He was a farmer’s son, destined for a quiet life in Grožnjan. But now, with the staff in his hands, he could feel what Arko meant. The land pulsed beneath his feet like a living thing, and he was part of it.

An Ancient Enemy Returns

Luka spent the following weeks training with the Shepherds. Though they were bound to their stone forms, their knowledge was intact. They taught him to channel the staff’s power—to summon vines to bind enemies, to calm stormy skies, to heal ailing crops. It was exhausting, but Luka felt a growing connection to the land. For the first time, he understood why his ancestors had worshipped the earth.

But peace was fleeting. Strange reports trickled in from nearby villages. Livestock had disappeared, and forests that had stood for centuries were dying overnight. At first, Luka thought it was natural—disease or predators. But then the lights began.

On the night the Shepherds camped by the Dragonja River, Luka saw one of the lights up close. It floated above the treetops like a will-o’-the-wisp, then descended into the woods. When Luka followed it, he found himself face to face with a creature out of nightmare—a Morana, a twisted being of shadow with glowing eyes.

The fight was brutal. The Morana seemed to feed on Luka’s fear, growing stronger as he hesitated. But when he planted the staff in the ground, he felt the earth rise to meet him. Roots and vines erupted from the soil, binding the creature and tearing it apart.

It was the first time Luka understood the cost of being a Shepherd. The land had helped him, but it had drained him in return. He staggered back to the camp, his hands trembling.

The Heart of the Land

The Morana was only the beginning. Over the next few months, Luka and the Shepherds uncovered the truth: the ancient enemy that had once plagued Istria was returning. At the heart of the hills, in a network of caves hidden beneath dense forest, they found the remnants of the enemy’s power—a fractured stone portal. It pulsed with an unnatural energy, and Luka could feel it calling to him.

“This is what they’re after,” Arko said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “If they open this portal, it will be the end.”

The final battle was unlike anything Luka had imagined. The enemy came in waves—shadows that moved like liquid, creatures with jagged forms and hollow eyes. But Luka wasn’t alone. The Shepherds fought beside him, their stone forms imbued with a strange, ethereal light.

In the end, it came down to Luka. The staff, now glowing with a fierce energy, was the only thing that could seal the portal. As the enemy closed in, Luka planted the staff in the ground and poured every ounce of his will into it. The land responded, its power surging through him. The portal collapsed in a blinding burst of light, and the enemy was gone.

A Legacy Restored

When the dust settled, Luka stood alone. The Shepherds had returned to their stone forms, their mission complete. The staff, now a simple rod of unadorned stone, lay at his feet. He picked it up, knowing he could never wield it again.

Back in Grožnjan, Luka was no longer the same. He became the village storyteller, passing down the tale of the Stone Shepherds to anyone who would listen. He planted trees where forests had been lost, tended the land with a reverence he had never known, and taught others to do the same.

The Shepherds’ legacy lived on—not just in the land, but in the hearts of those who loved it.