I’m thinking of staying still on my spot and continuing to count the imaginary stars. I don’t want to get up from the ground. My whole body aches, covered in bruises. In my hands, I hold a wooden sword—or rather, it’s tied to my hand because my fingers are bruised and won’t close properly. I can’t even feel if I’m gripping anything.

  “Get up,” Petros shouts at me. “Get up, or I’ll start beating you on the ground. Get up, idiot, get up, asshole, get up.”

  He insults me and speaks harshly in general. He doesn’t let me rest for a moment. The complete opposite of the man who saved and hosts me in his home. For eight hours every day, I train relentlessly with tremendous intensity. And as soon as I return home, I rub my body with the drops falling from the deer’s antlers.

  When the antlers extend and pass through the entire forest, they also cross the lake and reach the island. The residents collect the drops in buckets and use them as medicine against any physical wound or illness.

  So, every time I returned home, my body’s wounds and cramps healed, but the psychological toll I endured daily did not. Being treated like an animal.

  I also learned they measure days and hours with hourglasses. They have seven in a row, emptying one by one. When one empties, the next starts pouring sand, while the previous flips and waits its turn. On the hourglasses, they write each day’s name. And unfortunately, I was still on the Wednesday of the second week.

  My trainers were sure it would take considerable time to learn what I needed, likely making it impossible to complete my training in the remaining time. I didn’t need to push myself; others did that for me.

  Every so often, I vomited from the pressure. But we didn’t stop. The sight was disgusting; I was pitiful. I don’t recall ever training systematically in my life. But even for someone fit, I think this exceeds exaggeration.

  My trainers changed roughly every hour, mainly the council members who gathered at Petros’s house, but sometimes others came. It seemed incredible how well-trained the island’s men were. All warriors, yet capable of holding a conversation. Their words refined and careful always. I couldn’t help but admire that quality.

  I had a break only half an hour after the first four hours of training. I rested again upon returning home. I washed, ate, and lay down without thinking. I couldn’t speak or engage with anyone or anything. None of the other three in the house spoke to me. They knew the difficulty and pressure I faced.

  Often, various island residents passed by the training. Usually, the girls with Kalli lingered longer, commenting, while Stas with his friends watched, preparing for his turn. He’d observe a bit, then leave, likely to toughen his body.

  At home, neither child tried starting a conversation after our market trip. It wasn’t something I did or said, but time didn’t pause for me to catch my breath and listen to the world around. Perhaps they spoke sometimes—I’m not sure—but my ears gave no signal.

  Thus passed over a month. Though I began adapting to the training, my mind felt foggy, unable to think. Each time I fell, I wished never to rise again. I preferred staring at the sky’s darkness over the training’s pain. Again and again, I felt no progress. Psychologically, I’d given up, but it was too late to back out. Even if I did, nothing would change—likely worsen.

  “Stay here,” I told myself. “Try harder, because back on the road, nothing and no one can help you.”

  After a month of training, they decided to give me a rest day. When announced, I couldn’t believe my ears. Though I woke habitually at the usual time, I stayed in bed longer. I saw the notebook Stas gave me on the nightstand and opened it. I’d written nothing except my birthday date.

  Still in bed, I sat up, back against the headboard, lifted my legs, placed the notebook on them, opened it, and began writing what I remembered from this place. I wrote and wrote and wrote, disbelieving it all. I lived a unique nightmare.

  I don’t know how much time passed since starting, but eventually I tired. I left the notebook aside and descended to the kitchen for breakfast. No one else was home. I opened the fridge, took five eggs, cheese, and tomato, made an omelet to eat. Drank some milk, put on clean clothes and shoes, and went out.

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  Without a schedule or guide, I decided to wander the island’s uninhabited parts. Residents still avoided me; even my trainers seemed uninterested in much interaction. I chose to circle the island along the shore, though I’d likely tire before completing and return.

  I exited the front door, walked a few steps to the nearest beach. Stones and mud. I tried avoiding mud, hopping from stone to stone. I enjoyed the game. Sometimes I met another resident, but they avoided and didn’t greet me. Others watched intently from houses. I made no move to greet or show courtesy, only turning my head away. I didn’t care to prove anything beyond their beliefs.

  Eventually, I faced a hill blocking further shoreline walking; I’d climb and view the water from above. Due to my fear of heights, I wouldn’t sit at the edge, so I foolishly grabbed rocks to continue—or create—a shoreline path.

  It wasn’t easy, but it seemed a path already existed, though not distinct. A few steps later, I didn’t need hands on the rock, continuing only with feet.

  I felt discovering something new and strange, perhaps unknown to others on the island. The more I followed, the greater my excitement grew to see where it led.

  I proceeded but found nothing. Only the island’s civilized image vanished behind. For noise, only leaf rustle and lake water melody. Until something entered the water—not falling, but entering. I froze, disturbed. It didn’t enter instantly but took time, large in size, causing lake disturbance. Ripples came to my direction.

  I waited in place. Took a deep breath, looked back. Considered returning back to the safety of the unwelcoming civilization. But the ripple stopped and the sound vanished. I decided to continue a bit—perhaps no real danger would make its appearance. And I wanted to proceed, I didn’t wish to stop here. My curiosity got the best of me.

  And indeed, soon I saw light from a cave in my direction. No voices or other kinds, only torchlight flickering and a shadow moving back and forth calmly, unhurried. It seemed doing work, occasionally a simple rhythm—like a song, a lament—escaping. It sounded like a woman’s voice, and the figure suggested the same.

  I armed myself with courage and approached the cave entrance. I peeked in and, to my surprise, saw Kalli barefoot, cleaning oddly shaped skulls—not human—lighting a candle before each and leaving a small bowl with grain. She tended them with great respect and care.

  At some point, she turned back and moved to step into the water. Her foot touched the surface, and instinctively I reacted but held back noise and myself. But Kalli didn’t sink in the water. She took one step, a second, a third—all on the lake’s surface.

  Until the water receded, and the wolf’s head emerged from within, ugly and fearful. She had walked on it all this time. She lay on its head between its ears, spreading her arms as if embracing it. She smiled with comfort. Neither of them said a word. Unmoving and unbothered, both stayed at the company of each other and seemed to enjoy it.

  Until suddenly, the wolf’s nose twitched, turning lightning-fast toward me and growling.

  “What do you want here? Who brought you?” it said angrily.

  I emerged quickly from hiding. I didn’t want to anger or oppose him.

  “No one brought me, and no one told me anything. I found the place alone. I don’t know what it is or where I am. I just wondered where the path leads,” I answered immediately.

  Kalli’s face showed sadness, as if she didn’t want me here. She didn’t look at me. Disappointed, disgusted—or at least that’s the feeling she gave me. She still lay on the wolf’s head, silent.

  “Leave here, vanish. Stay in the fields shown to you, or you’ll easily suffer something irreparable,” the wolf said threateningly again.

  “Okay, okay, I’m leaving. I won’t come again, I promise,” I replied.

  As I turned and took the first step to leave, Kalli said:

  “Don’t go, stay. Come near us; I want to tell you something. I want to narrate why we ended up on this island and why we all guard ourselves against Eftis and his doings, even if we cooperate now with him, hoping to see light after so many years.”

  She calmly descended from the wolf’s head, touching her feet to the island again.

  “I find it wrong for you not to know the whole truth. We learn it as children, live with these stories, hate you from these stories,” she said calmly but inhospitably.

  “To avoid resembling you, everyone swore to always tell the truth at any cost, or we’re the same as you and deserve what we endure all these years. But even if I lied, my grandpa here would punish me. See, the wolf loathes lies more than anything—he told them, believed them, and wore them as his skin.”

  Her voice steady, her eyes passing over me momentarily, her body airy, as if moving freely and by choice following natural laws, not imposed. Like a lake nymph, a sky spirit. The whole space belonged to her; I existed and breathed by her will.

  Carefully, I advanced with my hand on the cave wall. I exchanged glances with the wolf watching my every step. The cave’s depth immense, its end invisible. As far as the eye reached, no end, but if I discerned correctly, it descended downward. And along the path, strange skulls on stone shelves.

  She indicated to sit on the floor, and she did the same. The wolf placed its head between us, and Kalli began stroking it with her hand. She smiled at it, then turned to me and began telling me a story that gave meaning and perspective to everything that was happening to me and beyond....