My life wasn’t anything extraordinary. I was your typical salaryman— gray suit, dull office job, and the constant hum of the city around me. My days blurred together in a monotonous cycle of emails, meetings, and endless paperwork. But there was always one thing that kept me going: the bar.

  It wasn’t much—just a small, tucked-away spot I’d discovered one evening after a particularly brutal day at the office. The bartender was a gruff old man, and the drinks were simple, but that was exactly what I wanted. A cold glass of anything and a few hours to myself.

  I went there nearly every night to unwind, to forget about the world for a while. No pressure, no demands—just the bar’s dim amber lights washing over me, and the comfort of a drink in my hand.

  On this particular night, after another grueling workday, things seemed to go awry.

  I shuffled into the bar as usual. The familiar smell of aged wood and liquor hit me immediately. The bartender nodded at me, already grabbing a glass. I gave him a tired smile and slid into my usual seat at the counter.

  I didn’t have to order—he already knew: a whiskey sour. What you drink should mirror your moment. If the world turns tart and sour, then something equally sharp, equally biting, feels right. A match in bitterness. A toast to the taste of the times.

  It’s no wonder people in the grittiest jobs take their coffee black. No cream, no sugar—just the sting. A bitter fix for a bitter life.

  I drank. And I drank. The burn of the alcohol was comforting, a reminder that the day was finally over. The world outside could keep spinning, but inside this bar, it was just me and the buzz.

  By the time I finished my third glass, I was feeling a little more… relaxed. Maybe a little too relaxed as I contemplated how I would get home in this state. The bar had grown quieter. The usual patrons had trickled out, and the ones left sat in solitude, staring solemnly into their glasses. I was no different.

  The bartender set another glass in front of me. “Long day, huh?” he asked, his voice smooth like he’d asked the same thing a hundred times.

  “Same old, same old,” I muttered, staring into the amber liquid.

  He leaned against the counter, cleaning a glass as he eyed me. “I’ve heard that one before. But it’s been a while since I’ve seen you this quiet. Everything alright?”

  I glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Just tired. Being allergic to work doesn’t help either.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, I know the type. You’d think someone would’ve invented a cure for work by now.”

  I chuckled lightly. “Wouldn’t that be something? No more emails, no more meetings. Just a quiet life... and maybe some decent drinks.”

  The bartender grinned. “Now, that, I can get behind. You’ve been coming here long enough, I’m sure you’ve got enough stories to fill a book.”

  “Maybe,” I muttered, taking another sip. "But who'd want to read a book about a guy who spends his nights here instead of... doing something with his life?"

  He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “I’ve heard worse. You’d be surprised what people say after a bottle or two. Some drink to forget, others drink to remember. But everyone’s got something. Even if they don’t talk about it.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess I’m somewhere in between.”

  The bartender nodded, refilling my glass without me asking. “I figured. Well, as long as you’re not doing anything reckless tonight.”

  I nodded gratefully, still lost in my thoughts. When I was finally done, I paid my tab and slid off the stool, wobbling slightly as I headed toward the door. The night air hit me as I stepped outside, but my legs felt unsteady, like the ground wasn’t quite as solid as it should be.

  I tried to steady myself, but when I took a step forward, I lost my balance.

  I stumbled, and my arms flailed in a desperate attempt to catch myself. But instead of falling towards the pavement, my trajectory was towards something... much softer.

  Her.

  Time slowed to a crawl. Her image sharpened in front of me, like some perfect vision too beautiful for reality.

  She stood frozen, her hands raised in a reflexive attempt to brace me. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but there was something else in them—amusement, maybe even curiosity. Our gazes locked as I fell toward her, and I saw her clearly, like the world had chosen to highlight every detail of her.

  Her hair, a cascade of golden silk, shimmered in the dim light. It tumbled over her shoulders, catching the moonlight in a dance of color. The way her dress clung to her figure—sleek, purple, and perfect—seemed to frame her curves as if the night itself had painted her image.

  And then, as if it were my destiny, I was about to fall face-first into her breasts. Those perfect, soft, pillowy marshmallows that looked so inviting, so defyingly perfect.

  If every dog had its day, this was mine.

  Just as I was about to make contact, everything froze and became silent. The rush of cars, the hum of the city—everything. Then a voice rang out

  “Barrett Walker, I need you.”

  The world had vanished. The pavement, the woman, the city—gone. In its place was an endless expanse of nothingness, a vast void stretching infinitely in every direction. It wasn’t black, nor white, nor anything in between. Just... emptiness.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  I blinked. My mind swam, struggling to process the sheer nothingness surrounding me. The last thing I remembered was falling—falling towards the warmest, softest embrace destiny had ever lined up for me. And now? Now I was floating in a space that shouldn’t exist.

  “What is this place?” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

  A soft, almost melodic sigh echoed through the void. “I suppose introductions are in order.”

  I turned toward the voice. Before me stood a woman—no, something more than a woman. She radiated a presence that was almost tangible, as if the very air around her shimmered with unseen power. Ethereal snow white hair flowed behind her, shifting like waves of liquid light. She was dressed in robes of pure white, embroidered with golden symbols that glowed faintly, their meaning beyond my comprehension. And then there were her wings—massive, feathered, and glowing with a soft brilliance, as if spun from divine light itself.

  “Barrett Walker,” she spoke my name as though it carried weight. “I am Rumiel, an angel of the Celestial Watch. Angel of Wishes”

  I held up a hand. “Yeah, that’s great and all, but I was kind of in the middle of something important.”

  Rumiel arched a delicate brow. “You were about to fall face-first into an unsuspecting woman…”

  I crossed my arms. “Exactly. And I think we can both agree that interrupting that is a crime against fate itself.”

  A sigh. “I don’t think you understand—”

  “No, I don’t think you understand.” I gestured wildly. “You plucked me out of reality at the single greatest moment of my life. Do you know how rare a moment like that is? Do you? I had achieved perfect alignment! Body, gravity, and circumstance were in perfect harmony! And then, poof—” I waved my hands around. “You abduct me into some celestial waiting room?”

  Rumiel pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Barrett Walker, listen to me—”

  “Send me back!” I demanded, pointing at the empty void as if that would make reality reappear. “Right now. No delays, no divine speeches, just drop me right back where I was!”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Rumiel straightened, her wings stretching outward. “Because I have summoned you here for a purpose.”

  I scoffed. “What, to rip me away from the best moment of my life?”

  She shook her head. “To save my world.”

  I blinked. “I don’t want to save your world. I want breasts!”

  Rumiel lifted a hand, and the void around us shimmered. Suddenly, images formed in the nothingness—glimpses of a world unlike my own. Towering spires of glass and stone stretched toward the heavens, cities bustling with life, yet something felt... off. People moved like shadows, their faces etched with a weariness I couldn’t quite place. Soldiers patrolled the streets, confiscating bottles of ale and smashing them to the ground. Tavern doors were boarded up, signs stripped away.

  Rumiel’s voice was solemn. “This is the kingdom of Distilly. Once, it thrived. Its people celebrated life, love, and camaraderie. But that was before the Holy Prohibition.”

  I watched as more images flickered by—citizens whispering in dark alleyways, trading bottles in secrecy like criminals. A man caught with a single flask was dragged away in chains. A tavern, once full of laughter and song, now sat abandoned and rotting.

  “They outlawed alcohol?” I asked, my voice flat with disbelief.

  Rumiel nodded gravely. “The Council of Purity declared all forms of spirits and brews to be a corrupting influence. They imposed strict laws, claiming it would purify society. But instead, it has crushed the spirit of the people. Crime has risen. Desperation grows. And worst of all, the very heart of our culture is fading.”

  I rubbed my chin. “And how does this concern me?.”

  Rumiel’s gaze softened. “This world needs champions. People who understand the importance of what has been lost.”

  I blinked. “You’re telling me... you summoned me here because I like to drink?”

  “Not just that,” she corrected. “You understand what it means to gather around a bottle, to share stories, to unwind. You’ve lived in a world where such freedoms still exist.”

  I hesitated. “And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about it?”

  Rumiel stepped closer, her eyes piercing into mine. “Inspire. Take charge. Help me reclaim what was taken.”

  I exhaled slowly, my mind spinning. “So let me get this straight. You pulled me out of my reality—right before I could experience the greatest moment of my existence—so that I can overthrow some prohibition-obsessed regime?”

  “Yes.”

  I crossed my arms. “And if I say no?”

  Rumiel’s expression darkened with a deviant grin. “Who said you had a choice?”

  My stomach dropped. “Wait, what?”

  She gestured to the endless void. “You can stay here for eternity if you want. You’re not the only person in the universe partial to a drink after work. I’ll just find the next guy’”

  I stared at her. “So I’m getting blackmailed?”

  Her silence was answer enough.

  I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “This is plain insane.”

  A vein grew on Rumiel’s forehead and her wings twitched. “Insane? Try being the Angel of Wishes in a world where no one can drink. Do you have any idea how many prayers and desperate pleas I get now? People used to drink their sorrows away. Now they just send me endless requests to fix their lives, bring them happiness, or make their problems go away. It’s an administrative nightmare!”

  I blinked. “Wait… you’re telling me the Holy Prohibition is giving you too much paperwork? And what I’m reclaiming is your peace of mind”

  “Exactly!” Rumiel threw up her hands, her wings twitching in exasperation. “I used to get the occasional wish for true love or a fortune. Now I’m drowning in requests from miserable, sober people! I have entire stacks of paperwork taller than I am, all begging for just one more sip, one more drink, one more night of joy! I swear, if I have to process one more desperate plea for ‘just a little something to take the edge off,’ I’m going to lose my divine mind!”

  She pointed an accusing finger at me. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is? Every single day, my desk is buried under mountains of wish scrolls from sad, dry-mouthed citizens! ‘Oh, Rumiel, please, just let me taste a drop of whiskey again!’ ‘Rumiel, my marriage is crumbling without wine nights!’ ‘Rumiel, I forgot how to have fun!’”

  She threw up her hands again, wings flaring out in frustration. “I just want to relax, Barrett! I want my job to go back to normal! I don’t want to spend eternity rubber-stamping desperate wish requests for people who just need a good ale! I can’t just give it to them either. The Holy Prohibition is backed by God and the Celestial Watch itself, so lowly angels like me can’t do anything about it! So guess what? You’re fixing this. You’re going to Distilly, and you’re going to help bring back booze, because if I have to process one more request for ‘just a single drop of beer,’ I don’t know what I’ll do!!”

  Rumiel’s wings began to lose their lustre, and her holy aura slowly faded to a muted gray.

  I let out a sigh. “Sounds rough.”

  “Exactly. Now fix this for me and I’ll grant any wish you desire. Now go. Your companions are waiting for you.”

  “...Companions?”

  Before I could say anything more, she lifted her hand. A golden light engulfed me, my body pulling downward as the void around me shattered.

  Rumiel’s voice rang in my ears. “Welcome to Distilly, Barrett Walker. Go stir things up.”

  And then, just like that, I was falling—again.