In the mountains of Albania where the peaks meet the sky like ancient stone guardians, there lived a spirit known as the Bolla. It was said to be a serpent so massive that its coiled body could wrap around cliffs and sink into caverns without leaving a trace. Its scales shimmered with the faint glow of moonlit stone, and at the center of its head burned a single eye that saw into the hidden places of the world.
But the Bolla was not a creature that wandered freely. Each year it fell into a slumber so deep that the earth settled around it. During its long sleep the forests grew untouched, the fields ripened, and the sky settled into silence. Only once a year, on the dawn of Saint George’s Day, the Bolla stirred.
Legends said that the spirit would open its single eye to scan the world. If the land was still and no living creature crossed its gaze, the Bolla returned to sleep without waking fully. But if anything moved within its sight, the serpent would rise, hungry and furious, and bring destruction upon the living.
People across the countryside honored this day with silence. Shepherds kept their flocks hidden. Farmers stayed indoors. Even birds seemed to understand, for their morning songs softened as if they too respected the ancient spirit.
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In a small mountain village lived a young shepherd named Arben. He had grown up hearing the stories from his grandmother who spoke of the Bolla with a mixture of fear and reverence. She told him that the spirit was older than the mountains themselves and that its single eye judged not only the living but also their intentions. Arben always listened with fascination, though he had never seen any sign of the serpent’s existence.
One spring Arben decided he would prove the tale was only a story meant to frighten children. As Saint George’s Day approached he grew restless. He watched as villagers shut their doors and carried their animals into sheltered barns. The air felt heavier and the sky seemed unnaturally still. Yet Arben convinced himself that nothing slept beneath the mountains.
On the morning of the sacred day he slipped away from the village just before sunrise. He wanted to climb the ridge above the valley to see the world in the quietest moment of the year. He believed that if he witnessed the peaceful dawn untouched by any giant serpent, he could finally stop fearing a creature he had never seen.
Arben climbed until he reached a flat rock overlooking the valley. The sky was pale and waiting for the sun. A faint breeze stirred the pines. He felt proud of his courage. But then the earth beneath him moved.
A low rumbling sound spread through the stones as if the mountain itself exhaled. Birds scattered from the trees, their wings beating in frantic rhythm. The ground cracked slightly near the ridge. Arben stared, his confidence melting into dread.
From the darkness of a nearby cavern a single line of light appeared. It was not sunlight. It was an eye opening.
The Bolla stirred.
The serpent’s massive head emerged from the shadows, its single eye glowing with a fire that belonged to neither earth nor sky. Its breath shimmered like heat rising from a forge. It lifted itself slowly, scanning the valley with an ancient gaze that carried the weight of centuries.
Arben froze. He understood his mistake too late. He had moved within the spirit’s sight. He had woken it.
The Bolla’s eye locked onto him, and for a moment he felt its power pierce through his thoughts. But instead of striking, the serpent paused. It seemed to sense not defiance in him but fear and regret. The ground trembled as the spirit raised its head higher, tasting the air with a tongue shaped like curling smoke.
Arben knelt and lowered his gaze. He whispered a plea that his grandmother had once taught him. It was a prayer older than the church bells that rang through the valley. It asked for forgiveness and acknowledged the dominion of the ancient spirits over land and sky.
The Bolla listened.
The mountains grew still. The breath of the serpent softened. Then slowly the great spirit turned its eye away from him and toward the horizon where the first beam of sunlight broke across the peaks. With a sound like stone grinding against stone the Bolla lowered its head and slid back toward the cavern.
The glow of its eye dimmed. Its scales disappeared into the earth. And the mountains grew silent once more.
Arben remained kneeling long after the serpent vanished. He returned to the village with his heart trembling. When he told his grandmother she looked at him with a knowing sadness. You were shown mercy because you acknowledged your smallness before the ancient forces, she said. Remember that this land is older than any of us. Walk it with humility.
For the rest of his life Arben honored Saint George’s Day with deep respect. And whenever the mountains grew quiet he felt grateful that the Bolla slept peacefully beneath them, guarding the balance between the living world and the ancient sky.
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Author’s Note
The Bolla represents the awe humans feel toward natural and cosmic forces beyond their understanding. It teaches that some powers must be respected even when unseen.
Knowledge Check
1. When does the Bolla awaken?
Only on the dawn of Saint George’s Day.
2. What does the Bolla do when it sees a living creature?
It rises and unleashes destruction.
3. Why did Arben go to the ridge?
To prove the Bolla was only a story.
4. What made the Bolla pause instead of attacking?
Arben showed fear, humility, and a sincere plea for forgiveness.
5. What lesson did Arben learn?
To respect ancient forces and honor sacred traditions.
6. Where does the Bolla return after awakening?
To its cavern beneath the mountains.
