Prabh slowly woke to the sound of his own laboured breathing, the steady rhythm interrupted only by the sharp, throbbing pain that radiated through his skull like a stake driven through it. As he tried to open his eyes, a sudden flare of hot pain shot through his temples, causing him to wince and clench his jaw. The pressure intensified, a relentless drummer in his head, while an ominous ringing echoed in his ears.
He lay there for what felt like an eternity, struggling to gather his thoughts. 'Where am I?' he wondered, his mind a swirling haze. Slowly, fragmented memories began to resurface: the hike through the woods, the shimmering lake reflecting the sun, and most importantly! drinking vape liquid. A groan escaped his lips as he rolled over, feeling the cold, hard stone beneath him.
'Rescue'—that was the only explanation for his survival. But this wasn't a hospital, neither it war lakeshore. 'So where am I?'
With a steely determination, Prabh forced his eyelids open again. The pain was still there, but manageable, like a distant thunderstorm on the horizon. As his vision cleared, he realized he was facing a rough stone wall. A voice echoed from behind, low and gravelly, as though it had emerged from the very depths of the earth.
"You are finally awake. Now, get up," rasped a strange voice, resonating through the dark room.
Prabh turned slowly, bracing himself against the wall for support. As he sat up, he took in his surroundings: a completely bare room made of dark grey stones, where flickering flame torches, encased in rusty iron cages, lined the left and right walls. The light they cast created long, flickering shadows that danced and twisted like phantoms, making the air thick with an eerie tension.
The room was small, almost cell-like, with no windows and no doors. The atmosphere was dense and cool, carrying a faint metallic tang that sent shivers racing down his spine. Across the chamber stood a dark silhouette, the likely owner of the ominous voice.
"I said get up," the figure demanded, his voice filling the room like thunder amidst the otherwise complete silence.
Prabh opened his mouth to respond, but only incoherent sounds escaped. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Who are you?" he managed to whisper, his throat dry as sandpaper, his mind still reeling.
"I am Onwenhka, the Arendiwane of the Attignawantan tribe," the man replied, stepping forward into the flickering light.
As he moved closer, Prabh's breath caught in his throat. This was no man.
Onwenhka stepped fully into the light, revealing a creature of nightmarish proportions. His head was that of a crow, covered in sleek, black feathers that shone with an oily sheen, glistening like wet obsidian. His eyes were small and beady, glowing with a sinister pale blue glint that seemed to pierce through Prabh's very soul. Where a mouth should have been, there was a long, sharp beak that looked as if it could easily tear flesh from bone.
Prabh stared in shock, his mind racing to comprehend the impossible sight before him. How could such a creature exist?
As he continued to gawk, the rest of Onwenhka's body came into focus. His torso and limbs were humanoid but covered in a patchwork of feathers and rough, weathered skin that told a story of centuries spent in darkness. His hands and feet were claw-like, ending in sharp, curved nails that looked deadly enough to rip through flesh and bone.
But it was the wings that truly left Prabh breathless. Sprouting from Onwenhka's back were two large, powerful wings, each feather perfectly aligned. They rustled slightly as he moved, producing a sound that sent chills racing down Prabh's spine.
Onwenhka tilted his head, regarding Prabh with those unnerving eyes. Despite his bird-like features, there was an intelligence there, coupled with a barely hidden madness—an unsettling knowing that was both fascinating and horrifying.
Prabh finally overcame his shock and stammered, "What are you? Where is this? Why am I here?"
Onwenhka opened his beak, his voice slithering out like a dark fog. "As I said, I am, or was, an Arendiwane. I consulted with Oki in dreams before I was imprisoned by those Gichi-mookomaan." His voice dripped poison as he named his captors, and a gleeful tone crept into his words. "And this is my humble prison. As for why you are here, it is to help me escape, of course."
Prabh suppressed a shiver at the prisoner's words, delivered with an expressionless face that felt more animal than human. "How did I get here, and why should I help you? For all I know, you could be a mass murderer caged for your crimes!"
Onwenhka leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he whispered with malice, "I was an Arendiwane. All I did was talk to Oki to find cures and treat my tribesmen. But then the Iroquois attacked, and as they slaughtered my people, I tried asking Oki for help. But THEY found me first. I fought, but oh, they were strong—invincible. They named me a heretic because I used their birthright. Their birthright! Can you imagine? One day, suddenly, strangers come and imprison you for what you and your people have been doing for generations? Can you fathom that?"
He was practically shouting by the end, his voice echoing off the stone walls. As his chest heaved from his outburst, he cleared his throat, speaking now with a hoarse, raspy voice. "As for why you should help me, once I am free, I will give you whatever you want. Name your price, and you shall have it."
At this offer, Prabh felt a surge of anger boiling within him. He sprang to his feet, shouting, "You took from me the one thing I wanted! After all the planning, finally having the courage to end my life, you dragged me into this cage. I want death! Can you give me that?"
Onwenhka seemed taken aback by the outburst, his expression darkening as he replied, "Why would you want to die when you could have power, riches that you never dared to dream of? Can you grasp the torment I have endured in this room? I have been imprisoned here for more than three hundred years. Three hundred years of this cage, with no food, no one to talk to, nothing to do, not even a ray of sun."
"I do not care! Send me back! I will not help you!" Prabh shouted defiantly, his voice strong despite the fear curling in his gut.
His eyes flashed with predatory hunger as he vanished from view and reappeared mere inches from Prabh, the air crackling with tension. Prabh tried to back away, panic flooding his system, but Onwenhka's hand shot forward, closing around Prabh's throat. He struggled to free himself, but the grip was like iron; no matter how he thrashed, bit, or spat, it refused to loosen, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs.
"You will help me, because you have no choice," Onwenhka declared.
Onwenhka lifted his other hand and it slowly closed over Prabh's face. As his claw covered Prabh's vision, the world faded to darkness. Prabh lost consciousness but not before hearing Onwenhka's sinister whisper.
"You are mine now, my knife, my key."