The room was dim, with only the faintest glow emanating from the ethereal light that surrounded the figure seated at the edge of the bed. The Angel of Death had always been a silent observer of life's transitions, moving through the world with an air of calm that spoke of an eternal patience. Today, however, was different.
The room smelled faintly of incense and the soft scent of lavender, remnants of life that had once filled it with vibrancy. Christopher, the old king, lay still beneath the covers, his chest barely rising and falling. His once-commanding presence had diminished, and the years had etched themselves into every wrinkle, every gray hair.
The Angel of Death remained standing at the foot of the bed, watching the soul's departure. The time had come for Christopher to cross over, his body's weariness finally giving way to eternal rest.
The air shifted, and Christopher's eyes fluttered open, no longer burdened by the weight of age. His gaze slowly turned, locking with the presence before him. The angel's form was indistinct, barely more than a shimmer of light and shadow, but in his soul's eyes, the figure was unmistakable.
"Are you...?" Christopher's voice was soft, tinged with wonder, as if his tired body was failing to catch up with his mind. "Am I...?"
"Yes," the Angel of Death said, his voice calm and soothing, like the quiet before a storm. "It is time for you to leave this world, Christopher."
The old king nodded slowly, the recognition of his fate sinking in. His life had been long, filled with the weight of decisions, battles, and triumphs. But now, as the last breath of life ebbed away, he was ready to let go. He had ruled his kingdom, earned respect, and fought many battles—both on the field and within himself. But in his heart, he knew that even kings must eventually fall.
"Is it truly my time?" Christopher whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of acceptance and sorrow.
"It is," the Angel replied, his voice steady. "But rest assured, you will not walk alone."
Christopher's lips trembled as he looked at the Angel, who seemed to embody both the inevitable end and the comfort of knowing it was his time. He had long feared this moment—the silence that would follow, the unknown that lay beyond the veil of life. But as he stared into the gentle light that surrounded the Angel, he felt a quiet peace settle over him.
The Angel of Death extended his hand, and Christopher hesitated. But only for a moment.
With a sigh, the old king reached out, his frail fingers grasping the ethereal hand before him. The weight of the years fell away, and in its place, a deep sense of calm filled him. The final journey was always the hardest, but with the Angel's presence, it felt like nothing more than the closing of a chapter.
As Christopher's soul began to rise, the world around him seemed to blur, his body and the kingdom he had ruled slipping away like mist. But the Angel of Death remained, ever watchful, ever patient.
"You've lived a life well fought, Christopher. Rest now," the Angel whispered, as the king's soul passed into the quiet beyond.
And just like that, the first of many souls had crossed over, leaving behind the world they once knew.
---
The next client appeared before the Angel of Death, though this time the transition was not so clear. There was no field of light, no calm breeze—only a chaotic swirl of emotions and memories that clung to the air like mist. The Angel of Death stood in the darkness, waiting for the soul to take form.
Suddenly, the air rippled, and a figure slowly began to emerge from the swirling mist. This soul was different from the others. The figure was young, almost boyish, with wide, haunted eyes. His name was Tomas.
Tomas looked disoriented, his body trembling as if he could still feel the weight of the world pulling at him. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with dirt, and his hands were covered in blood. The remnants of a battle still clung to him, both on his body and in his soul.
He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. "Where am I?" Tomas's voice was shaky, as though he was waking from a nightmare. "What happened? What's... going on?"
"You are dead, Tomas," the Angel of Death said softly, his voice echoing through the void.
The young man staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. "No, no, I can't be! I was... I was fighting! I... I can't be dead!"
The Angel of Death's gaze softened, understanding the storm of confusion and denial that raged within Tomas's mind. "You died in battle, Tomas. The fight you were part of—your final breath left you amidst the chaos."
Tomas shook his head frantically. "No! I was supposed to protect them. My team—my comrades—how did they...?" He trailed off, guilt seeping into his voice. "Did they... did they make it out? Were they all right?"
The Angel of Death did not respond immediately. The question hung heavy in the air, and Tomas could feel his heart shatter further with each passing second.
"No..." Tomas whispered. "I... failed them." His voice cracked as he sank to his knees, hands pressed to his face in despair. "I couldn't save them... I couldn't even save myself..."
The Angel of Death approached quietly, kneeling beside the young soul. "You fought bravely, Tomas. But sometimes, even the strongest fall. You didn't fail them—you fought with all that you had. That is all anyone can ask."
Tomas looked up through teary eyes, his pain evident. "But they're gone. I'm gone. What was it all for?"
"There is meaning in the struggle, Tomas," the Angel of Death replied. "Not all battles are won, but in each fight, something is gained. You gave your all for your comrades, for the cause you believed in. That is not something that fades away."
Tomas's shoulders trembled as he stood, hands at his sides, no longer looking at the Angel but at the nothingness around him. He was silent for a moment before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't want to be forgotten," Tomas said, as if it were his final plea.
The Angel of Death nodded, his presence almost overwhelming in its calmness. "You won't be. Your story will live on in those who knew you, and in the actions you took."
Tomas's eyes welled up again as he looked at the Angel, his heart heavy with all the unspoken things he wished he could have said—could have done. "But... I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what's next."
"Fear is a part of the journey, Tomas," the Angel said, his voice gentle but firm. "But you will not face it alone. The path ahead is not one you must walk alone. Rest now, and trust that peace will come."
Tomas swallowed hard, still unsure of what came next but finally letting go of the fear that had kept him bound. Slowly, he nodded, taking one last look at the world he had fought so hard to protect.
As the Angel of Death reached out to guide Tomas's soul, the young man's form began to fade, leaving behind the chaos of his final moments, stepping into the quiet of the afterlife, where no battle would ever be fought again.
--
The next soul to guide had already arrived.
The Angel of Death stood in a vast field, the ground covered in a blanket of soft, golden light. The breeze carried the scent of earth and a distant ocean, and the sky above was an endless expanse of twilight hues. It was a peaceful place—almost too peaceful for the soul that would soon arrive.
The Angel's presence felt heavier now, for this soul was not one that had lived out a long life. The next client was young, and this time, the challenge would not be a smooth transition.
A figure materialized in the distance—blurred at first, as though reality itself had yet to solidify around them. Slowly, the outline became clearer, and a woman stood before the Angel of Death, her form glowing faintly. Her age was difficult to tell; she seemed in her late twenties, but there was something about her that hinted at a life cut short.
Her name was Elara.
Her face was pale, her features soft, but there was an air of strength about her that caught the Angel's attention. Her eyes, though filled with confusion, sparkled with a certain fire. A fire that, perhaps, had been extinguished too soon.
"Am I dead?" Elara asked, her voice trembling as she glanced at her surroundings.
The Angel of Death nodded, a hint of empathy flashing through his otherwise composed demeanor. "Yes. You have crossed over. But your journey is not over yet, Elara."
Elara's eyes widened in shock. "I'm... dead? But how? I don't remember..." Her hands gripped the fabric of her clothes, her mind racing, trying to recall her final moments. "It's all a blur. There was a fire... a loud crash... I... was there someone with me?"
"You were in an accident, Elara. A fire that consumed the building you were in. But you did not pass alone. Someone was with you."
Tears welled up in Elara's eyes as memories started to surface. Her heart ached as she remembered the people she'd left behind. She thought of her younger brother, of the friends who would never see her again. "But I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to... I didn't get to live, not really."
The Angel of Death took a step closer, his presence warm but firm. "This is the part that is hardest to understand. Sometimes, a soul's time is shorter than they would wish. But there is peace in accepting what has come. The life you lived was not in vain."
Elara shook her head, her hands tightening into fists. "I was just starting to build something. My career, my dreams... everything's gone."
"Grief is natural," the Angel said. "But there is beauty in the path you walked. You gave love, you brought joy, even in the short time you had. And now, it's time for you to rest."
Elara took a deep breath, her chest heavy with sorrow. She looked down at her hands and then back up at the Angel, her voice quiet but resolute. "I'm not ready."
"You do not have to be. It is not about being ready. It is about understanding. The peace comes when you release your grip on the world behind you."
Elara closed her eyes, her breath steadying. A soft breeze blew through the field, lifting strands of her hair, and in that moment, she felt the weight of her earthly worries begin to lift.
"Will I see them again?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The Angel of Death nodded, a sense of comfort in his voice. "When the time is right, you will. But for now, rest, and know that you are not alone."
With a final glance at the world she had once known, Elara extended her hand toward the Angel. He took it, and the world around them began to fade into a peaceful, soft light.
Elara's soul ascended, her heart finally at ease, her journey into the next realm just beginning.