On a scorching August afternoon, when the world was still taking shape, the sky over Mount Dhëmbel suddenly turned pitch black. The jagged peaks and dark clouds clashed violently. A massive surge of cold vapor from afar and a warm current rising from the valley swirled together, forming a vortex of supernatural power.
Terrible lightning flashed within its dark layers, descending like bright spears upon the crags. Then came a deafening thunder that echoed through the valleys like a deep cry of nature itself.
And then, the unthinkable happened. From one of the mountain cliffs, the vortex tore away a boulder of unprecedented proportions—15 meters long, 15 meters wide, and 25 meters high. It lifted it into the air as if it were a grain of sand and hurled it down the mountainside. The stone rolled furiously, shaking everything in its path. However, as it reached the foot of the mountain, it slowed down until it came to rest near the banks of the Vjosa River—known then as the Aous. This river had once carved a narrow rocky path, separating two mountains of the same range: Trebeshina and Dhëmbel.
Little by little, ancient settlements began to rise on both sides of the Vjosa. The river was a blessing, but also a barrier. In summer, people crossed it on foot or horseback, but in winter, the river grew wild and impassable, separating the two banks like two distant worlds.
Many began building their homes near the "Sacred Stone," believing it had been brought there by a divine power. The stone was seen as a bringer of good fortune. By the end of the 14th century, the settlement had grown to about forty houses.
This growth required leadership. Legend speaks of a ruler named Premt. Little is known of him, but his name carried a divine resonance, echoing the importance of Saint Friday (Shën Premtja) in local traditions. Premt was a wise leader who governed with justice and authority. He was loved by all, and eventually, the residents forgot the old name of their settlement, Trifilia, and began calling it Premt, then Përemt, until it became Përmet.
As the town grew, so did the need for security. Premt looked toward the Sacred Stone. One morning, he gathered master stonemasons and, placing his hand on the rock, declared that a castle must be built atop it. "As long as this rock stands, so shall our town," he vowed.
Day after day, walls rose from the flat surface of the rock. When finished, the castle looked as if it had sprouted naturally from the stone. From that day on, the rock was no longer just a boulder; it was the identity of a city.
Years passed, and Premt was succeeded by his son, and later by his grandson, Gjergj. Under Gjergj’s rule, the town flourished. The castle was often filled with the sounds of saze music and dancing, most notably during Gjergj’s wedding to a noblewoman from a distant province, where the path to the stone was carpeted with so many roses that the air was heavy with their scent.
Gjergj was eventually blessed with a daughter named Diestra. She grew up surrounded by love, eventually marrying and having a son of her own. It seemed as though peace would last forever, but history is rarely kind.
The Ottoman Empire was advancing. Janina had fallen, and the invaders were moving north. One day, Gjergj left the castle to meet other leaders and organize a defense. After his departure, an unusual silence fell over the City Stone—as if the rock itself felt the coming storm.
One dark night, the Ottoman forces surrounded the castle. The commander promised that if the keys were surrendered, no one would be harmed. No one believed him.
Inside, Diestra, with her infant son in her arms, gathered the faithful. "Honor is not for sale," she declared. She dressed in her finest clothes, took her son’s cradle, and climbed to the highest battlement. After cursing the invaders and looking at the starry sky one last time, she leapt from the heights to avoid falling into enemy hands.
Mother and son struck a smooth rock below. Their blood soaked the earth and, according to legend, turned into light for the city. A deep sigh echoed through the Vjosa valley, reaching the peaks of Mount Dhëmbel. Since that night, the City Stone has been more than a monument; it is the witness of a sacrifice that will never be forgotten.