The man with the briefcase stepped out of the ruined bar with a silence that felt more deliberate than calm. His boots pressed into the dust as if the ground were soft enough to swallow him whole. The storm rolling across the open plains moved like a living creature. Its dark belly churned, swallowing the horizon in a wall of brown and gray. Despite the chaos around him, the man's posture remained straight and composed. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, as though the storm recognized him and paused before allowing the closest winds to touch him.
He glanced down at the briefcase in his hand. Its polished metal reflected the distorted sky. After a moment of thought, he slipped it back into the satchel hidden beneath his layered clothing. The clasps disappeared beneath worn fabric, protected from the dust that swirled at his feet.
He turned toward the storm. The wind carried his voice away almost as soon as he spoke.
"Which way was the capital again"
The question was not meant for anyone in particular. He reached into his coat and withdrew a small transceiver. The surface was chipped and dented, bearing the evidence of long use. He tapped it lightly. A weak electronic chirp answered him. He rotated his body in a slow circle. When the chirps quickened into a sharp alert, he stopped.
"So that direction must be north."
North was where the storm had come from. It expanded outward like an ocean of dust, too thick to see through. The man attempted to peer into it but could only make out faint movements. The shapes inside were not people. The storm carried creatures in its wake, shadows with too many limbs, and eyes that did not blink. This was no day to test the fate of the northern roads.
His lips tightened. He turned back to the bar.
The walls groaned as he pushed the door open. The wind followed him in as a final gust, flinging grit across the floor. The breathing of the storm outside muffled the sound of the door closing behind him.
Inside, the bar seemed even smaller than before. The flickering light overhead hummed with a tired rhythm and swayed gently. Dust drifted down.
He returned to the stool he had sat in earlier, his movements slow and purposeful. As he sat, he reached beneath his layers and retrieved the small briefcase again. The golden clasps gleamed in the dim room, looking almost out of place against the dullness of everything else.
He pressed the clasps open. A soft click. Then another.
The lid lifted.
A subtle wind rippled outward from the briefcase. It moved in a gentle wave that pushed at the air surrounding him. The atmosphere sharpened as if fresh oxygen had been poured into the stale room. Even the dust in the air paused, suspended for a moment before drifting again.
A shape condensed from the space above the case. A woman appeared in the air and landed quietly on her feet. Her movement had an unnatural grace, as if she had stepped through a different world entirely and only now aligned with this one.
Her eyes locked onto his. They were a deep violet, brightened by something primal lurking behind them. She studied him with a fear that did not reach her expression, as though she was afraid but refused to show it.
Her voice broke the silence.
"Where is he? What happened to him"
The man did not react at first. He simply watched her with an expression she could not read.
"You mean the bartender" His voice was quiet and held the slightest trace of amusement. "Do not worry. He will be joining you very soon."
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened, not in fear but in something sharper. Regret.
She stepped closer. "You should have left him alone. I should never have told you about him."
The emotion in her voice dimmed as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a stillness that settled over her like a veil.
A long moment passed.
Outside, the storm finally reached the building. Its winds pounded against the walls. Dust seeped beneath the door and dragged coldness with it. The structure groaned under the strain of the storm's weight, yet neither of them hurried. There was nowhere to go.
The man recognized the truth first.
"We will be here for a while. The trip back will be worse. Since we cannot leave yet, we might as well try to get along."
She recoiled at the suggestion but did not refuse. She needed information as much as he did. They had been forced into proximity and she understood that knowledge could be a weapon. Hesitation faded from her expression.
He reached behind the bar counter, collecting the remnants of what had survived the earlier destruction. He found a glass stained faintly with a dried red residue. Next to it was a cracked one with a single intact side. He took that one for himself. After standing up, he grabbed a bottle of liquor that had miraculously avoided being shattered.
He set the bottle on the counter.
"It has been a while since I had a drink. Will you join me?"
She did not answer aloud but lifted a glass in silent acceptance.
He uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. He poured more into hers, the liquid rising past the rim until a thin shimmering line of wine spilled over the side. He lifted his glass. She mirrored his movement.
Their glasses clinked softly.
The first sip tasted calm, almost soothing compared to the storm roaring outside. The next sip was deeper. The man took a greedy breath and drank the rest in one long swallow. He exhaled with satisfaction and set the glass down with a gentle thud.
The relief vanished instantly.
A twisting sensation shot through his chest. His stomach clenched. His vision blurred. He staggered, one hand gripping the edge of the counter to keep himself upright.
"Help. Lilian. Something is wrong."
His words were strained. His voice cracked. The feeling inside him grew sharper. He gasped as the pressure in his chest intensified until something gave way. A moist tearing sound cut through the silence.
His hand moved instinctively to his chest, but what he grasped was not flesh. A cold emptiness stretched where his heart should have been.
A thick, dark liquid slid from the wound. It resembled blood at first glance, but the smell was wrong. The texture was wrong. Something in the room seemed to recoil from it.
The man looked up at Lilian's face, searching for an explanation.
"Why are you not…" His voice faded to a whisper.
Her smile answered him. That smile was wrong. It was too calm and too controlled. It did not warm her expression. It felt painted on like a mask she had put on for the moment.
Her glass sat untouched on the counter. She rose from her seat and stepped toward him without hesitation. Her hand reached into the cavity of his chest with quiet precision. She removed the very glass he had used moments earlier, pulling it free as though retrieving an item from a drawer.
Her other hand released him. He collapsed to the ground. The fall was surprisingly soft, as if the room itself cushioned him out of pity.
His last sight was the gleam of the stained glass in her hand. Then his vision faded to black.
Lilian stared down at the body. The thick pool around him slowly expanded across the wooden floor, spreading like spilled ink. It had no resemblance to ordinary blood anymore. Even the shadows avoided touching it.
She knelt beside the corpse with emotion hidden behind a calm mask. Carefully she reached beneath his shirt and retrieved the briefcase he had used to summon her. The clasps clicked open again. A soft wind rolled across the room. Dust danced in slow spirals as if waiting for something to emerge.
A small figure tumbled out and landed beside the dead man.
Lilian looked down at him. The figure was slender and pale. His clothes were soaked in the scent of old blood, though some of it looked fresh. She recognized him instantly.
The bartender.
She retrieved a lantern from the dead man's satchel. She pulled the lever. A warm glow spread through the room like a rising sun. The light revealed the truth about the pool around the dead man's body. It was not blood at all. It was something thicker, something alive, something that moved ever so slightly on its own.
Her gaze shifted to the bartender lying beside her. His body was limp but not cold. His chest rose in slow, unsteady breaths. His face was peaceful in a way that should not have been possible in this place.
"Sleeping at a time like this?" she whispered to herself.
She paused.
After all, she had never seen him sleep in the past.
She lifted her eyes to the open briefcase. A faint whisper of wind stirred inside. She shut it quickly, unwilling to gaze further into the darkness beyond that small metal frame. A thought surfaced in her mind, sharp and unsettling.
Then it vanished as quickly as it had come.
She blinked and shook her head slightly.
"What was I going to do"
A quiet sound drew her attention. She turned.
The bartender's breath shifted. His fingers twitched. The pale figure began to stir for the first time.
The bartender had awakened from his slumber.