It’s a dark afternoon. It’s always a dark afternoon in the dungeon, my personal prison, where I’ve been convicted for committing the worst crime against humanity—being authentic. No one is ever ready to face their true selves. Yet they’re willing to crucify anyone who tries to force them to see past the delusions. And that’s where I come in.

Regardless of what is said in Etori legends, I am more than a mere nightmare demon. I am very much a man like yourself. The only distinction lies in my ability to resonate on a higher frequency than the egocentric men of your age.

The darkness has long melted my pride, or what little of it is left since my exile. Driven down south by the townsfolk, I now spend my days in solitude, attended to by the Ezori priests of the ancient Ori temple whose failed attempts to “heal” me have landed me in chains, locked up in one of their reinforced steel chambers originally designed to contain violent victims of demonic possession.

They couldn’t find a demon in me, so they projected their fears onto me and called me Adahwahyi—their harbinger of fear. Something to be shunned, bound, and concealed from the world. An infernal menace. What an honor!

I’ve been here for what could arguably be said to be centuries, seen the rise and decline of youthfulness in the priests of this monastery, the senseless touch of senility. Yet to them, I was brought in only about a few decades ago. Every priest who resides here and their fathers before them are of the impression that they were present when the Elder of their time delivered me here, and I allow them to believe that notion because of the fragile nature of the human mind.

If I wanted to leave the Ori Monastery, all I have to do is open their eyes to the truth. A few words, some questions are enough to send them into a downward spiral. I have a flair for existential crises after all—I used to anyway.

Having answered every philosophical query I’ve conjured, I’m currently in a position where I project those doubts onto others, ignite the flames of curiosity in their minds, and watch them unravel. Yet I don’t think I’m ready for the world that awaits me outside these walls, or to better phrase it, I’m not sure that world is ready for me. But I believe my freedom will commence once I’ve served my purpose here, which, just like every other day since my imprisonment, is to be interviewed by powerful minds who believe themselves immune to mental manipulations of any sort. Buddhists, mystics, philosophers, great thinkers from all around the world have visited my dungeon with their questions.

I make sure they leave with introspective ones beyond what their baseless research limits them to.

The warmth of the oil lamp burns from the hallway, casting away the shadows I’ve come to know and trust. Its warmth is foreign to me. I almost can’t stand it. Comfort is a poison I’ve come to avoid. Enesi, the newest Ori monk, stands outside my door, opening the shaft. He blinds me with the lamplight, his own eyes burning through the amber luminance as he addresses me curtly, as if speaking too much would cost him his mind—which is a valid precaution, as I can’t help who I open up to.

“You have a guest. I’m coming in. Stand down or get burnt,” he threatens as usual, weaponizing my fear of fire against me. I oblige, keep my musings to myself, and close my eyes, averting my gaze from the blinding light as he unlocks the door and walks in. He reaches out and drags me to my feet.

“You better behave out there or—” “I’ll taste your fire?” I cut in, saving him the trouble. A smirk crosses my lips as I submit myself to him, hearing his frustrated groan. Relieved temporarily of the iron shackles, I feel naked, exposed. Freedom shouldn’t feel so overwhelming. Yet this isn’t real freedom, is it? I’m being paraded as a tourist attraction in a temple once preserved for divine purposes.

“Who is it this time? A sheikh? A pastor? An atheist? Oh, I love the atheists—” “Shut up, Adahwahyi!” he snaps, bringing the lamp dangerously close to my face. I flinch from the scathing heat and back away from him, shutting my mouth at once. He pulls me closer as we enter the hallway and drags me past the other empty chambers to the stairs leading out of the basement.

I don’t get visitors during the day, as the sunlight outside my dungeon overstimulates me, making it impossible to engage with the guests.

Agidi, the Ezori Elder in the monastery, does not like his esteemed guests leaving without that wholesome Adahwahyi experience. So he’s regulated the visits to nighttime now. Every tourist who comes to visit must spend the night in Etori just to meet me. Again, I feel very much honored, except for the part where I have to restrain myself from crossing the “line.”

The Ezori Elder is over seventy. He dresses in a striped black-and-white robe like everyone else, but his beard and dreadlocks are adorned with cowrie shells, while the younger Ezori decorate with dove feathers—an ancient custom that has been practiced for generations. Agidi looks me in the eyes the second I peek out from behind my hands. I meet his rigid gaze, squinting from Eiza’s oil lamp burning closely to my face.

“It’s okay,” Agidi gestures for him to lower the lamp, and he does. I notice then that we’re outside his personal chambers, where his most esteemed guests are invited to meet me. “Old friend.” I smile at the white-haired man who still has that entitled look in his eyes from the first day he walked into this monastery behind his late father, Inda. I remember that day like it was yesterday. A smug, yet curious teenager he was then. “I’m neither your friend nor your acquaintance, you vile, mind wizard!” he snaps with the usual bitterness and then waves toward the entrance, where the tense figure of a pale woman in red stands eagerly inside the large living space, awaiting me.

The priest’s eyes soften and he steps closer to me. “You are not to speak unless spoken to. You won’t make eye contact with the guest while speaking. No mystical hypnosis from you and you won’t break her mind with your devilish questions. Entertain her curiosity and let her leave with enough story to keep the guests coming.” “How much do these foreigners pay for this?” I let the question slip, feeling a more relevant one bubbling to the surface. But I can’t risk getting burned yet, not until I’ve had my fun with the curious little thing awaiting me.

“That’s none of your business,” he mutters, his eyebrows creasing. “You should be thankful your ominous existence generates revenue for the poor and homeless who look to the Ori Temple for support.” “As you wish, old friend.” My smile doesn’t falter, even as he groans furiously and smacks me hard across the face. “You’ll do well to know your place, Adahwahyi!” he says, leaning closer to me. “One wrong move and I’ll roast you myself.” I glance at Eiza, whose passive face shows a hint of inclination that forces me to concede and proceed into Agidi’s chamber with one hand tied behind my back, giving the self-centered monks their much-needed illusion of control.

It won’t be long now. My time in Ori draws to an end. I dread my liberation for the same reason I ended up here in the first place, which is a story for another day.

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