The film is based on a legend about dragons who, since the creation of the world, have chosen special places for people to gather. The dragon in this story is not a monster — it is a symbol of Time and its treasures, the treasures of history. But when people act out of greed and try to keep these treasures only for themselves, they begin to accumulate underground and press upon the dragon. Then the dragon awakens, breathes fire — and wars begin.
The cobblestone streets of old cities are like the dragon's back.
This film tells the story of the dragon that sleeps beneath Kamianets.
Scene 1 tells the legend of how Kamianets-Podilskyi was founded by the Lithuanian princes Koriatovych. While hunting a deer, they stumbled upon a rocky island. Seeing its strategic location at the crossroads of trade routes, they decided to build a fortress. The city was later granted a coat of arms with Saint George, invited craftsmen from Europe, received Magdeburg Law, and grew into a major fairground center.
The city prospered, minted its own coins, established customs offices, and enjoyed a thriving trade. It was home to three major communities — Polish, Ukrainian, and Armenian — and many Jews lived nearby. In times of danger, all of them united to defend the city. Each community had its own magistrate, court, and school by the church. The first rector of the Ostroh Academy was invited from Kamianets. This was the city's golden age.
The Dniester River marked the border with the Ottoman Empire. Kamianets, being a wealthy fortified city, became a target. The Ottomans besieged it with a large army, and the city capitulated. Residents were allowed to leave. For 27 years, the city was under Ottoman rule. Churches were turned into mosques, new fortifications were built — but many homes were destroyed, leaving behind ruins.
When the city returned to the Polish Kingdom, it was rebuilt. Jan de Witte, as city elder and architect, redesigned the baroque center. It was here that the first hot air balloon was launched.
However, new wealth and peace again led to conquest — this time by the Russian Empire. The castle was turned into a prison, where folk hero Ustym Karmeliuk was held. The city still used Polish currency and spoke multiple languages; the spirit of freedom lived on. But the Russians changed the city’s coat of arms to that of Podillia — the sun. A bridge was built across the canyon, expanding the city. The market, schools, and hospitals were moved across.
Taras Shevchenko visited Kamianets. So did Franz Liszt. Lesya Ukrainka dreamed about it. Composer Mykola Leontovych studied in the seminary here and later created the melody of “Shchedryk.” In the early 20th century, a touring choir from Kamianets brought this melody to the world.
During the First World War, the front line passed through the city. Austrian troops bombed it. Every house became a hospital.
Then the communists came. People, in their fear and greed, forgot the commandments. They turned against the church and destroyed temples — and thus lost life itself. Strangers settled in their homes. Children lived in basements. Many Ukrainians, Poles, and Jews were executed. Then came World War II, and again — death ruled over the city.
After the war, the city was rebuilt. New factories opened. But life was limited to communist holidays and ideology. The government not only controlled people's money, but also suppressed their dreams. People were restricted not only in finances but in aspirations. Faith vanished — in God, and in dragons.
With Ukraine’s independence, cities began to breathe freely again. Churches were rebuilt. Hot air balloons rose over Kamianets — a symbol of peace. But alongside those who dreamed of freedom were others who kept hoarding gold underground, pressing once more on the dragon. And so, war returned.
The dragon dreams of peace. Time is wiser than the old, and children are sometimes stronger than wisdom, because they are sincere and know how to dream. That’s why they don’t fear Time or dragons.
Life always prevails. Despite everything.
TEXT of the film
"Legends of the City on Stone"
Once long ago, in a world just begun,
Dragons lived under cliffs, away from the sun.
They breathed their fire, warmed future lands —
And gathered treasures with burning hands.
But treasure meant memory, and dragons — Time,
Marking the ages in rhythm and rhyme.
They breathed once more — and war would rise,
Till rains would fall and calm the skies.
Grass grew again where fire had burned —
For life, no matter what, returned.
Then princes came and took a glance,
They spoke, and gave the town a chance:
“A market here shall now appear,
Where merchants cross from far and near.
Let George Victorious guard this place —
And dragons learn to know their place!”
To make the city grow with grace,
They freed it from the taxman's chase.
They called on craftsmen far and wide,
From distant lands, with skill and pride.
From China, India, islands far,
Came silks and spices, tea in jars.
The Dragon Wind would guide their way,
To seek their fortune, day by day.
Armenians brought fine silk to sell,
Poles built a fortress, strong and well.
Ruthenians tilled the soil with care,
While markets bloomed in open air.
From nearby towns came craftsmen, traders —
And gold flowed into local purses.
Monks taught the letters in the churches,
Law spoke in Latin, Cyrillic verses.
With Armenian script and Yiddish lines,
Each group had rules of their own kind.
But all stood strong when danger came —
Catholics, Orthodox, all the same.
Armenians, Jews, Jehovah’s kin —
All rose together, to defend.
They faced the fires, they braved the floods,
They fought as one — united, strong.
Together strong, they stood as one — And thus great Kamianets begun. Three magistrates to rule and bind, The clerk was summoned, learned and kind, Invited to Ostroh’s noble door To take the first rector’s post and more.
And treasures of the town were stored, Its growing wealth by all adored.
Famous architects from Europe came, To raise the fortress, earn its name. The Eastern Shield against the horde, Rebuilt with aid from king and lord. Their wealth was given for its might, The Sultan watched with jealous sight.
The gates were opened to the foe,
Three days the Sultan let them go.
With carts and tears and strings of pearls,
They fled — perhaps to yet return.
And Kamianets became a town
Of refugees who wandered down.
Now minarets began to rise,
As dragon treasures reached the skies —
With scents of cardamom and spice,
And sweets, like dreams from paradise.
For twenty-eight brief years they reigned,
Then packed their flags and left again.
“Leave us our minbar, leave our dome,”
The people asked. “We’ll call it home.”
“Alright,” they said — the cross returned,
The Virgin to the hill was turned.
A better wall is prayer and faith —
To guard the town through war or wraith.
Half a century passed in dust,
Until a boy — with dreams and trust —
An artilleryman, with humble grace,
Began to build and heal this place.
The Lord had given hands of gold,
A mind both gentle, fierce and bold.
And so he rose — Jan de Witte, named,
The city’s guardian, wise and famed.
He built the walls, the churches tall,
For nobles’ homes and triumph’s hall.
He built the arc to greet the king,
And dreamed that he himself had wings.
He did not fly — but raised a sphere,
A balloon that floated through the air.
His dream came true — yet peace did not.
The 18th century turned to rot.
Corruption, luxury, and pride —
Led once again to war outside.
Then Russia’s rule came to Podillia’s door,
The castle changed — a jail in war.
The fortress walls grew grass and dust,
The nobles silenced, crushed, and hushed.
Chains rattled loud for rebel souls —
Karmaliuk shook the prison’s hold.
The city's crest, where dragon died,
Was quickly changed — the sun now shined.
And Kamianets, a central seat,
Became a bureaucratic beat.
But still, it kept its spirit free —
Its fire, its song, its memory.
The city bridged to be close to the stream,
fewer folks on the rocky isle did live.
The market moved to New Square’s scheme.
Schools, banks, and hospitals arrived.
Shevchenko drank his coffee here,
Great Liszt performed with wondrous ease,
And Lesya, beneath the willows’ shade,
drew inspiration, as the bridge recalls.
At the seminary, young minds grew,
Podolian children, in churches to praise.
Music soared like a bird in flight,
a swallow’s song at the window’s edge.
Leontovych heard it soaring high,
transcribed the world’s most lovely song
from a heart full of warmth and love,
from swallows’ chirps and sunlight’s play
on water’s glistening surface.
And music soared across the world,
touched bells, stirred life within –
and those bells still ring to this day
in undefeated Christmas cheer.
The song flew through the wars… Like fiery threads of the front lines that crossed the city maps. The capital passed from hand to hand; The city learned to live under shelling and bombs from Austrian planes. Hospitals filled every window frame…
Red-hot with greed’s golden fire,
chasing fat and heavy fortunes,
humankind crossed a sacred line,
where God’s own watchful eyes once gazed.
“No God!” – they cried in every square.
They tore the bells from churches high,
and silenced every sacred chime.
With no God, there was no life...
Strangers filled the abandoned homes,
and children crawled out from cellars.
They barely raised their heads again,
to speak in life’s own living tongue...
A rebirth shot down in mid-air
by strings that trembled, half-broken,
the unspoken music of poems rose,
souls lifted like birds to the sky.
And now, in dreams alone, we hear
their words, their notes, their echoing song.
Only flowers remain—this city of flowers.
And peace returned—to mend each wound,
to rise from ruins and rebuild anew.
From villages, settlers came to town,
and went to cities for learning’s gift.
New factories cast smoke in the sky,
and young folks laughed in peaceful times.
Each year was filled with loud parades –
November’s marches, May’s too,
and New Year’s Day, to start again.
But everything had its final limit. Even dreams must have their limits... "Nobody believes in dragons!"
Till voices shook: “Independence!”
O people cherished, today you’re free! And once more you build what’s beautiful.
Grand lights shimmer above the town,
the shadows of forebears rising strong.
It seems peace here will last for long...
Some call for freedom, joy, and dreams,
others hoard gold in greedy heaps,
stashing wealth beneath the ground...
and a burdened dragon growls deep.
He has no sleep; his fiery breath carries life and death in equal parts.
He makes a path with his own bones of the past and dreams of an unblemished future, bright, for Time is wiser than old men.
However, childish innocence and flight can be stronger than the power of wisdom. They fear neither time nor the breath of the dragon. Life triumphs, despite everything.