The Price of Greed"

In the heart of an old village nestled between mountains and rivers lived a man named Gafur. He was once a kind-hearted cobbler, known for his warm smile and generous hands. Though he had little, he shared whatever he had. But time, loneliness, and hardship turned his heart cold—and his soul restless.

One stormy evening, a mysterious traveler limped into Gafur's small shop. He wore a dark cloak soaked with rain, and his voice was raspy from the wind. The man placed a torn boot on the counter and whispered, “Fix it well, and I’ll pay you in gold—more gold than you’ve ever seen.”Gafur laughed. “Gold? For this old boot?”

But the traveler wasn’t joking. He dropped a single coin onto the table. It gleamed brighter than any metal Gafur had seen. Not gold from the king’s mint—something far rarer. It shimmered with a strange warmth. Gafur's hands trembled as he touched it.

He fixed the boot perfectly, and the traveler left—vanishing into the night without a sound. The next day, Gafur rushed to the market to trade the coin. A jeweler, wide-eyed, offered a fortune for it. Gafur refused. If one boot gave me this, he thought, how many more can I earn?

That night, he stayed up waiting, but the traveler never returned. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Gafur stopped working, consumed by the memory of the coin. He sold everything he owned just to keep the shop open—hoping, praying the traveler would return.

Then, one moonless night, Gafur heard a whisper.

Do you want more?” It came from the darkness.

“Yes,” Gafur breathed, heart pounding.

A shadow emerged, not the traveler, but something else. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and its hand reached out with another coin.

“There is a cave in the Blackwood Forest,” it said. “Follow the river, take nothing but hunger with you. Inside, you will find what you seek.”

Gafur, without hesitation, packed a sack and left. He walked for days, growing weak and mad with obsession. Finally, he found the cave. It was hidden behind a waterfall, black as night. Inside was silence—cold and deep.

At the heart of the cave, a pile of coins glowed like fireflies. Gold beyond measure. Jewels that sparkled with impossible colors. Gafur fell to his knees and laughed—mad, greedy laughter. He began to fill his sack, his coat, even his boots.

But as he touched the last coin, a gust of wind roared through the cave, slamming the entrance shut.

The walls whispered.

“Greed has a price.”

The gold turned hot. His skin burned. The more he tried to escape, the heavier the coins became. The sack tore. His boots burst. The cave floor cracked, and from the cracks came hands—dark, shadowy hands—grabbing his ankles, his arms, pulling him downward.

Gafur screamed, but no one heard. The cave swallowed his cries. The treasure turned to ash.

Years passed. The villagers told tales of the cobbler who vanished in search of gold. Some said he ran mad, others claimed he found a fortune and lived like a king in the city. But old men by the fire knew the truth.

They said, “Greed took him. The cave gave him gold, but it took his soul.”

One winter, a boy named Ilyas heard the legend and followed the path. He found the cave, now crumbling and overgrown. Curiosity led him inside, where nothing remained but a skeleton hunched over a pile of dust. Fingers curled around a single coin.

Ilyas bent to take it.

Suddenly, the air grew thick. A whisper filled the cave.

“What is it you truly seek?”

Ilyas froze, his hand inches from the coin. He remembered the stories. He stood up, looked around the empty cave, and whispered, “Not this.”

He turned and walked away, leaving the coin behind.

The wind sighed. Somewhere, deep beneath the cave, the ghost of Gafur watched—and wept.

He had learned too late that riches bought with greed offer no comfort, enojoy. Only hunger for more. The cave had taken many before him and would take many more, unless someone broke the chain.

And so it waited.

For the next greedy soul.