The dimly lit room was enveloped in deep silence and subtle echoes. The wooden walls bore rough cracks in places, and the only sound cutting through the space was the occasional creak of aged timber. Winds brushing past the cave's entrance would sporadically send ripples of air into the room.
Somewhere in the room, a slow dripping of water resonated with a gentle splash. It was likely the sound carrying over from a nearby lake. Occasionally, the faint ripples created by fish leaping and falling back into the water's surface echoed softly into the room, adding an eerie tension.
It was dark—pitch black. Dallen immediately sensed that his vision was obstructed. A cool fabric, like a cloth or handkerchief, covered his eyes, and with every slight movement of his body, he felt thick, coarse ropes tautly binding him, holding him down.
The ropes cinching his wings, legs, and even his waist made a noise with the slightest shift. A strangely lukewarm sensation of being submerged in liquid grew increasingly vivid. Soft, warm water slowly seeped into his clothes, and Dallen felt his unease mounting as he realized he was trapped somewhere.
At that moment, a voice quietly filled the room.
"Have you awakened? I'm warming some distilled spirits to the perfect temperature... How is it? If it's too hot, do let me know."
The voice reaching Dallen's ears was familiar. In that instant, all the anxiety he had been feeling seemed to crystallize before him. It was the strange man he had encountered in the alley just moments ago—Muidoc.
Dallen steadied his breath and calmly opened his mouth.
"Where is this place? Why have you bound me like this?"
Muidoc's sinister chuckle echoed low through the room.
"So many questions. I suspected you were the curious type... No need to be so frightened. This is nothing special—just a suitable spot for a brief conversation."
"Even so... there's no need to tie me up like this, is there?"
Dallen continued speaking calmly, but a tremor began to creep into his voice.
"Why... why have you bound me here... What exactly is your intention?"
Muidoc listened to Dallen's words, paused in silence for a moment, then spoke in a low, deliberate tone with a twisted smile.
"To make it easy to understand... you are now in the preparation phase for a moment of sublime perfection."
Dallen felt a chill run through his body. Muidoc's words sounded courteous on the surface, but they carried an underlying horror.
Muidoc dipped his fingertip into what resembled a massive tub-like vat to check the warming liquor, then withdrew it, wiping it with a handkerchief. He gazed at Dallen for a moment before continuing.
"By any chance, have you ever heard of the 'gray-headed ortolan' bird?"
Dallen could have shaken his head, but he hesitated in responding, halting the motion he had begun. Muidoc, as if anticipating this reaction, smiled leisurely and said,
"The gray-headed ortolan... Truly, it's a bizarre yet captivating bird used in an exquisite dish."
Muidoc proceeded to explain the dish slowly and obsessively, knowing full well that Dallen would not want to hear it.
"First, these ortolans embark on a long journey to survive the winter. It happens around this time of year, actually... From the northeastern part of the continent in Kirvia, passing through Ixtarn, they traverse an endless path toward Kisha. Along the way, as they pass familiar grounds, some get caught in nets, and the truly unlucky ones end up trapped in dark boxes."
Dallen felt a cold dread in Muidoc's words. Yet, he had no choice but to listen in his current state.
"These birds are placed in specially prepared small boxes, completely deprived of light and confined. Why? Because, just like you... when their eyes are covered and light is blocked, a very unique reaction occurs. They lose awareness of the world and, to survive, can do nothing but eat and eat endlessly. It's akin to the helplessness you're feeling right now. Trapped, unable to do anything, forced to accept the given circumstances..."
Muidoc's voice flowed low and slow, each word piercing Dallen's heart like a dagger.
"And so, forgotten in the box from the outside world, these birds gradually fatten up. Millet, sorghum, grapes, figs... The food provided to them is endless, without limit. Thus, after a certain period, these ortolans become plump and ready to eat."
In that moment, Dallen felt an inexplicable terror. Muidoc's description was so vivid, his voice laced with cold detachment.
"And what happens to the fully fattened ortolan, you ask? Well... an even more intriguing stage follows. Try to imagine it. In its final moment, the bird is plunged alive into a tulip-shaped glass filled with distilled spirits, drowning. Filling its body with the liquor, drawing its last breath... Its tiny wings flap desperately, gradually slowing as it dies—that's the essence of this dish."
As Muidoc's words continued, Dallen's body grew increasingly cold. He felt waves of fear and revulsion overlapping within him, but Muidoc's voice pressed on without hesitation.
"And after that process ends? The bird is plucked clean of all feathers and roasted in the oven for precisely six to eight minutes. Being so small, it doesn't take long to cook just right. Thus, it emerges tender and moist, ready to be served. The aroma and flavor are truly... beyond mere words."
Muidoc smacked his lips, seeming to relish Dallen's reaction. The madness etched on his face was fully conveyed through his words.
Dallen, listening to this tale, felt his own existence growing ever more precarious.
"Dallen, the true specialty of this ortolan dish isn't just in its 'rare flavor.'"
Muidoc slowly raised one hand, wearing a sinister smile. His voice resonated softly, filling the room, and Dallen could feel the hidden madness in that tone.
"To elaborate on one more intricate detail in the process before this bird ascends to a large plate disproportionate to its size—the cooking truly begins from the moment of drowning. Its lungs and stomach, swollen to the size of small peas with the distilled spirits... When you pop it into your mouth, the sweet fruity aroma of the liquor bursts forth. That's why those who first taste it often declare they've experienced divine cuisine."
Dallen felt the ropes binding him growing heavier by the moment. As Muidoc's explanation unfolded, he realized with mounting dread that he was in a position no different from the 'ortolan' being described, his heart pounding faster.
"This ortolan..."
Muidoc's voice stimulated Dallen's eardrums slowly, echoing low.
"In the darkness, unable to see anything, without even spreading its wings once, it merely accepts the merciless deluge of food. Unable to fly, it develops no muscle—only moist, fattened flesh. Ah, did I already mention this?"
Muidoc tilted his head, gazing at Dallen's face.
"Thus, the fully fattened ortolan... is as soft as freshly baked bread, with a subtle sweet aroma rising from its flesh. Having drowned in fruit spirits... that sweetness and richness permeate deep within, making every bit of flesh fragrant and delectable."
Dallen wished for Muidoc's voice to fade away, but instead, the explanation seemed to draw closer, infiltrating his very breath. Throughout it all, he couldn't shake the chilling premonition that he was being regarded as no different from that bird.
Muidoc drew a slow breath and continued.
"Ah, and... people who partake in this ortolan dish pay no mind to how hot it is. In fact, they pop it straight into their mouths, so scorching that they can't swallow immediately... Placing it on the tongue to endure the heat and slowly cool it—that's the truly enjoyable part. Only then... does the bird's fat trickle down the throat, spreading its flavor throughout the body in genuine ecstasy."
Dallen felt the nape of his neck grow cold just from hearing the description. Muidoc continued relentlessly, his madness increasingly laid bare. He now spoke as if in a trance, adding words slowly.
"The allure of this dish lies... in slowly deconstructing the ortolan in your mouth, chewing it bit by bit. The flesh, along with the tender bones and the innards infused with the spirits' aroma... each element enhances the taste. In the end, only the larger bones remain, and when the bones and flesh melt softly in the mouth, only those who can endure that moment can truly savor this divine food... Ah...? Have I been too talkative? Forgive me; I find the greatest joy in speaking of beautiful cuisine rather than other matters."
Muidoc stared intently at Dallen's face for a while before continuing.
"Do you understand, Dallen? Because this ortolan drowns alive in distilled spirits, even its flesh is imbued with sweetness and fragrance. That moistness is something rarely found in any other meat. The flavor of flesh steeped in liquor, the crispness when biting into the bones... the perfect harmony they create. From head to toe, you must place it wholly in your mouth and chew slowly to appreciate the dish's true value."
Dallen felt his breath constricting, the thought that he might share the same fate as that bird suffocating him. Muidoc, as if savoring his fear, kept his gaze fixed and continued the explanation endlessly.
"Hmm... What else shall I say...? Another delicate aspect of this ortolan dish—I mentioned it before, didn't I? It's served piping hot on purpose, so you can't swallow it in one go. That heat, which forces the eater to hold it in the mouth... holds great significance. In that moment, as the fat melts in the mouth and flows down the throat, the tender meat chewed softly, the sweet and aromatic flavor sliding down... only then is the dish truly complete."
With a trembling voice, Dallen barely managed to speak.
"Muidoc, what... what are you thinking? Why... have you imprisoned me here? Why are you telling me this story?"
Muidoc savored Dallen's reaction slowly for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh and continued.
"Dallen... Perhaps you are already no different from being in the ortolan's position? Unaware of your own circumstances, in this endlessly solitary, lightless state of powerlessness... couldn't you guess what I desire?"
It was then that Dallen fully grasped the horror of his predicament with his entire being.
"However..."
Muidoc squinted his eyes, wearing a melancholic expression.
"No matter how close to perfection the dish may be... it's too small. Do you understand what I mean? Even after fattening it to the utmost, it still doesn't fill a single palm—that's the problem."
Spreading his palm, Muidoc approached the bound Dallen, gazing at the imaginary small bird dish visible only to his eyes.