The Regular Who Doesn't Speak
The fourth night was when Lian finally asked.
"Do you always sit in the same spot?"
The goblin, already settled on his usual stool with a half-finished drink, looked up with a confused expression.
"What?"
Lian gestured with his chin toward the farthest corner of the bar, where the shadows were densest and the lamplight barely reached.
There, as on every previous night, was a figure.
Tall. Thin. Motionless.
Wrapped in gray rags that might once have been a robe or cloak. Its face—if it could be called a face—was a whitish skull with empty sockets that reflected no light. The bones of its hands protruded from the sleeves, resting on the table before it.
No drink.
No food.
Just... presence.
The goblin followed Lian's gaze and snorted.
"Ah. That one."
"You know them?"
"Everyone knows them," the goblin said, returning to his glass. "But nobody knows them, if you get what I mean."
Lian frowned.
"Not really."
The goblin shrugged.
"They've been coming... I dunno. Months? Years? Time's weird down here. Always sit there. Never order anything. Never speak."
"Never?"
"Never."
Lian looked toward the corner again. The figure hadn't moved a millimeter. Didn't even seem to be breathing, though it probably didn't need to.
"Are they dangerous?"
The goblin considered it.
"No more than the rest of us."
It wasn't exactly reassuring, but Lian let it go.
---
The fifth night, Lian decided to try something different.
When the figure appeared—always arriving second, after the goblin but before the slime—and headed for its usual corner, Lian already had something prepared.
A glass of water.
Simple. Clean. Fresh.
He carried it to the table and placed it before the figure without a word.
The empty sockets turned toward him.
Lian waited.
One.
Two.
Three seconds.
Then, slowly, the figure tilted its head. A small gesture. Almost imperceptible.
Lian nodded back and returned to the counter.
When he checked later, the glass was empty.
---
The sixth night, he tried tea.
An infusion of herbs that grew on the third floor, slightly bitter but with a calming aroma. He placed it on the table just as before.
This time, the figure lifted the glass.
Its bony hands held it carefully, as if it were something precious. It brought it to where its mouth should be and tilted it slightly.
The liquid vanished.
There was no visible throat. No physical way it could drink.
But the glass was empty anyway.
When Lian returned to collect it, the figure had moved one of its hands. It was extended on the table, palm up.
A universal gesture.
Thank you.
Lian felt something warm in his chest.
"You're welcome," he murmured.
---
The seventh night brought rain.
It wasn't common in the dungeon. Water usually dripped from cracks in the ceiling, constant and predictable. But tonight, something on the upper level had changed. Maybe a storm on the surface. Maybe uncontrolled magic.
The result was the same: water falling in curtains down the stairs, turning the hallways into small streams.
When the goblin arrived, he was soaked.
"Damned mages," he growled, shaking himself like a wet dog. "Why do they always have to experiment during raids?"
Lian handed him a dry cloth.
"Bad day?"
"Worse than usual. Three parties. Three. And they all wanted to 'practice combos.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Know what that means?"
"Being the practice dummy."
"Exactly."
The slime arrived shortly after, rolling across the floor with small internal waves. It seemed more diluted than normal. Lian prepared its food with an extra concentration of nutrients.
Then he waited.
The figure always arrived third.
But tonight, it didn't appear.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Lian looked toward the dark hallway, a strange unease growing in his chest.
"You think they're okay?" the goblin asked, following his gaze.
"I don't know."
The First Floor Boss arrived at his usual time, shaking water from his horns. He dropped onto his stool with a heavy sigh that made the bottles vibrate.
"The rain makes everything more complicated," he said. "The floors get slippery. Heroes get nervous. They start using more area magic."
Lian prepared his drink automatically, but his eyes kept returning to the hallway.
"Have you seen...?" He paused, realizing he didn't know how to refer to them.
"The silent one?" the Boss offered.
Lian nodded.
The Boss shook his head.
"Not tonight."
The slime pulsed twice. Negative as well.
The unease grew.
Lian looked at the clock on the wall. There was still time before closing, but...
He made a decision.
"Be right back," he said, removing his apron.
The goblin raised his eyebrows.
"You're going to look for them?"
"Just to check."
"It's the dungeon, human. Not safe at night."
"I know."
He took a small lantern from the shelf and headed toward the hallway.
"Lian," the Boss called.
He stopped.
"Be careful. Some of those who dwell in the lower floors aren't... like us."
Lian nodded and stepped into the darkness.
---
The dungeon at night was different.
By day, it was full of sounds: hurried footsteps, shouts, the clash of steel, magical explosions. It was chaotic, alive, violent.
By night, it was silent.
But not a dead silence.
An attentive silence.
As if thousands of invisible eyes were watching from the cracks and shadows.
Lian walked slowly, raising the lantern. The light cast dancing shadows on the damp walls. Water still dripped from the ceiling, forming puddles that reflected the light like broken mirrors.
"Hello?" he called softly.
His voice sounded strangely flat, absorbed by the stone.
No response.
He went deeper, passing rooms he vaguely recognized from his daytime rounds. The trap room. The bat hallway. The chamber of the broken columns.
And then he saw her.
In a small alcove, almost hidden behind a fallen pillar, was the figure.
But not sitting.
She was on the ground, leaning against the wall. Her rags were more torn than usual. There were burn marks on the edges of the fabric, still smoking.
Her hands rested in her lap, motionless.
Lian approached slowly.
"Hey," he said softly. "Are you...?"
He stopped. How do you ask if an undead skeleton is "okay"?
The empty sockets turned toward him.
Lian knelt, placing the lantern on the ground between them.
"What happened?"
The figure didn't respond. Of course not.
But she slowly raised a hand and pointed toward her chest.
Lian looked closer. There was a dark mark there, like a soot stain. No, not soot. Something deeper. As if the light itself had been burned out of that place.
"Holy magic," Lian murmured, recognizing the signature.
Clerics used it against undead. It was especially effective.
And especially painful.
The figure slowly nodded.
"Can you move?"
Another pause. Then, a small head shake. No.
Lian took a deep breath.
"It's okay. Wait here."
He stood and looked around. He needed something to transport her. He couldn't carry her; though she seemed thin, he didn't know how much she actually weighed.
His eyes fell on an old, half-rotted wooden door leaning against the wall. Not ideal, but it would serve.
---
Ten minutes later, Lian was dragging the makeshift stretcher back to the bar, with the figure lying on it.
When they entered, everyone present looked up.
"Damn," the goblin muttered.
The Boss stood immediately.
"What do you need?"
"Help getting her onto the counter," Lian said, slightly panting.
Between the Boss and Lian, they carefully lifted the figure and laid her on the wooden surface. The slime bounced closer, pulsing with concerned curiosity.
Lian ran to the back room and returned with a small glass vial filled with a silvery liquid.
"This is going to hurt," he warned, though he wasn't sure if she could feel pain.
He poured the liquid over the dark mark on the figure's chest.
There was a hiss. Steam. An acrid smell like burnt metal.
The figure tensed, her hands gripping the edges of the counter hard enough to make the wood creak.
But she made no sound.
Of course not.
Lian kept pouring until the mark began to fade, changing from deep black to gray, and then to a dull tone that almost matched the rest of her bones.
"It's done," he said softly. "The worst is over."
The figure slowly relaxed. Her hands released the counter.
She lay there for a long moment, the empty sockets fixed on the ceiling.
Then, slowly, she raised a hand.
Not toward Lian.
Toward her own throat.
She touched the place where her larynx should have been. Where her voice once was.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
The goblin watched in silence, his expression unusually serious.
The Boss had returned to his seat, but hadn't touched his drink.
The slime pulsed softly, a slow, steady rhythm. Almost like a heartbeat.
Lian understood then.
"You want to try to speak?"
The figure was still. Then she nodded. Once. Firmly.
"It's okay," Lian said. "Take your time."
The figure slowly sat up. She brought both hands to her throat, touching the bare bone.
She opened her jaw.
Nothing came out.
Not a whisper. Not a crackle. Nothing.
The figure tried again.
Nothing.
Her shoulders fell.
Lian saw the defeat in her body language, in the way her hands dropped back to her lap.
"Hey," he said, his voice firmer. "You don't need to speak to be here."
The figure turned toward him.
"Really," Lian continued. "You know how many conversations I've had in this bar that meant nothing? Empty words. Fake compliments. Polite lies."
He leaned slightly forward.
"But you... you listen. Observe. You're present. That's worth more than a thousand words."
The goblin grunted in agreement.
"The human's right. Some adventurers don't shut up even when they should."
"Most communication is non-verbal anyway," the Boss added, his deep voice resonating in the space. "Posture. Intention. Presence."
The slime pulsed three times.
Affirmative. Emphatic.
The figure looked around the bar. At each of them. Her empty sockets somehow conveyed something Lian couldn't quite name.
Surprise, perhaps.
Or gratitude.
Slowly, she raised both hands.
And began to move them.
Her fingers bent and extended in deliberate patterns. A sign language Lian didn't recognize, but that clearly had meaning.
"Anyone understand that?" he asked.
The goblin shook his head.
The Boss frowned, concentrating.
"It's ancient. From before the guild. But I recognize some gestures."
The figure stopped. Then, more slowly, she repeated the movements.
The Boss watched carefully.
"I think... I think she's saying 'thank you.'"
The figure nodded vigorously.
Then she made another gesture. This one was simpler. One hand on her chest, then extended toward Lian.
"That one's universal," the goblin said. "Debt. Or... promise."
Lian shook his head.
"You don't owe me anything."
The figure insisted with the gesture.
"Seriously," Lian said. "I just did what anyone would have done."
The goblin snorted.
"That's a lie and you know it. Most would've kept drinking and pretended not to notice."
Lian had no answer for that.
The figure lowered her hands slowly. Then, with careful movements, she slid off the counter and stood.
She wobbled slightly. The Boss extended a hand to steady her.
"Easy," he warned.
The figure nodded in thanks. Then, step by step, she walked back to her corner.
She sat in her usual chair.
Lian felt a pang of concern.
"Sure you're okay there? You can stay closer if..."
The figure raised a hand. A clear gesture.
Here is fine.
Lian understood. That was her place. Her corner. Her space.
Changing it because she was injured would be admitting weakness.
And clearly, she wasn't ready for that.
"It's okay," he said. "But let me know if you need anything, alright?"
The figure tilted her head.
Lian went back behind the counter and prepared a new drink. Something stronger this time. With restorative properties.
He carried it to the corner and placed it before her.
This time, when her empty sockets met his eyes, Lian felt something.
Connection.
Understanding.
No words were needed.
---
The rest of the night passed in a quieter silence than usual.
The goblin drank thoughtfully, occasionally glancing toward the corner.
The Boss remained seated in his place, but his posture was less tense than usual.
The slime had rolled closer to the dark corner, pulsing softly. A small comfort.
And the figure...
The figure simply was.
Watching. Listening. Present.
When closing time finally came, everyone rose more slowly than usual.
The goblin was the first to leave.
He stopped near the corner and looked at the figure for a long moment.
Then he nodded. Once.
She nodded back.
The slime rolled close and stayed still before her for a few seconds before moving away.
The Boss was last.
He approached the corner and leaned down slightly, bringing his enormous face closer to her level.
"Your silence doesn't make you less," he said quietly. "Some of us shout our whole lives and never say anything that matters."
The figure was very still.
Then she raised a hand and placed it on the Boss's arm. Barely a touch.
He nodded, understanding.
When everyone had gone, Lian began to clean.
The figure remained seated in her corner, watching him work.
Lian didn't try to fill the silence with useless conversation.
He just worked. Wiping glasses. Drying the counter. Rearranging bottles.
When he finally finished, he approached the corner with a clean cloth.
"Mind?" he asked, gesturing at the table.
The figure shook her head and moved her glass aside.
Lian cleaned the surface carefully.
"You know?" he said as he worked. "In my previous life, I used to think silence was awkward. That you had to fill it. Always with music, or TV, or... anything."
He paused, looking at the cloth in his hands.
"But here I've learned that silence can be... good. Comfortable. Meaningful."
He looked up at her.
"So thank you. For teaching me that."
The empty sockets regarded him.
Then, slowly, the figure raised both hands.
She brought her palms together.
And tilted her head.
Namaste.
Or something very close.
Lian smiled.
"Goodnight."
The figure rose and walked into the darkness.
But this time, before disappearing completely, she turned.
And raised a hand in farewell.
Lian raised his in response.
Then the bar was empty.
But it didn't feel alone.
---
The next night, when the figure arrived, Lian already had something prepared.
A small chalkboard and a piece of chalk.
He placed them on her table without a word.
The figure looked at them for a long moment.
Then she took the chalk with careful fingers.
And wrote, in surprisingly elegant script:
Thank you.
Below, after a pause:
My name is Lyra.
Lian smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Lyra."
She wrote again:
The pleasure is mine, bartender.
And for the first time since she'd started coming, Lian saw her do something new.
She tilted her head back slightly.
Her jaw opened a little.
No sound came out.
But Lian could have sworn she was laughing.