2

The next soul arrived with a sense of quiet, almost serene expectation.

The world around the Angel of Death shifted as the familiar dark void filled with the warm glow of sunset, the soft orange light spreading across the horizon. The land below was vast and rolling, lush with fields of green. It felt like a place of reflection, of endings and new beginnings.

The figure that approached was an older woman, her hair silvered by age, her posture stoic but elegant. Her name was Marguerite.

Marguerite stepped lightly across the soft grass, her bare feet hardly making a sound, as if the earth itself recognized her presence. Her robes flowed gently behind her, adorned with small, intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light.

As the Angel of Death watched her approach, there was no confusion in her eyes, no fear. She seemed almost prepared, accepting, as if she had known this moment would come. Yet, her eyes held a profound sadness—one that could only be borne of long years lived, of experiences too numerous to count, of time that had slipped through her fingers like the finest sand.

"You knew I would come for you, didn't you?" the Angel asked, his tone more of an observation than a question.

Marguerite smiled softly, a knowing smile. "I have lived many years, far more than most. I knew it was inevitable, though I thought it would come sooner. Perhaps the world was not ready for me to leave."

The Angel of Death nodded, understanding her words more deeply than she might have known. "Your time was always meant to be as long as it needed to be. You touched the lives of many, and your journey was always destined to end this way, in peace."

Her eyes flickered with a hint of something—regret, maybe, or perhaps longing. "There is peace now. But I wonder, did I do enough? Did I leave behind a legacy that will matter? Or will I fade from the memories of those I loved?"

"You leave behind more than you know," the Angel of Death reassured her. "You gave love, wisdom, and strength. You guided others even when you did not realize it. The seeds you planted have grown in ways you cannot see."

Marguerite's gaze softened, and she lowered her head for a moment, lost in thought. "I had my moments of doubt, as all do. My children... they have their own paths now, and perhaps I was not always the mother I thought they deserved. But I loved them, with every ounce of my being."

"I know," the Angel of Death said quietly, his tone empathetic. "You loved them with a depth that few understand, and that love will never be lost. It will live on in them, in the lessons they learned from you, and in the way they continue to love."

Marguerite's lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something more but couldn't find the words. Finally, she sighed deeply, the weight of the years lifting as she let go of the lingering doubts.

"Is it time?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of peace and acceptance. "Am I ready?"

The Angel of Death nodded slowly, stepping forward and extending his hand to her. "It is time, Marguerite. You have given all that you could, and now, your journey will continue in a new way."

Marguerite hesitated only for a moment, looking out at the land she had once called home. She closed her eyes, the wind catching her hair, and when she opened them again, the sadness had lifted. There was no fear, only calm, as if she had finally made peace with everything.

She took the Angel's hand.

"I am ready," she whispered, the last remnants of doubt falling away like petals in the wind.

And with that, Marguerite's soul gently lifted into the warm, golden light, leaving behind the world she had once walked, her legacy woven into the hearts of those she left behind.

The Angel of Death stood, watching her go with a quiet reverence. In a world filled with endless souls to guide, Marguerite had found her peace, and in that moment, the Angel knew her journey had been well-lived.

---

The next soul arrived in a world of deep shadows, the atmosphere thick with the feeling of tension and unrest. There was no comforting light this time, no calming breeze. Instead, the air felt heavy, almost oppressive. The ground beneath the Angel of Death's feet was cracked, barren, and covered in faint traces of ash, as though it had once been a place full of life but had long since withered away.

From the murky depths of the shadows emerged a man, walking with a slow, deliberate pace. His appearance was strikingly youthful, yet his eyes betrayed an age far beyond his years. His name was Arvid.

Arvid's clothes were simple but worn, the fabric torn in several places as though he had endured much hardship. His face was sharp, his features set in a permanent scowl, yet there was a quiet sadness behind his eyes. He glanced around, confused, as if he had just woken up in an unfamiliar place, unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there.

"You're dead," the Angel of Death said, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Arvid stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he processed the words. "Dead?" His voice was rough, but there was an edge of disbelief. "No, that can't be right. I... I just... I was... I don't remember."

The Angel of Death extended a hand toward him, gesturing for him to come closer. "You have crossed over, Arvid. Your time in the world has ended."

Arvid hesitated for a moment, still trying to grasp the reality of it. "I was in a battle. I thought... I thought I was going to win. But... I don't understand. I didn't get to say goodbye. There were things left unsaid." His voice trembled, a mix of frustration and sorrow in his tone. "Is it over then?"

The Angel of Death observed him quietly before speaking again. "You were part of a war, a war that left you with nothing but pain and unanswered questions. You fought for a cause, but in the end, you never found the peace you were seeking."

Arvid's shoulders sagged, and he sank to his knees, staring down at the cracked earth beneath him. "I spent my whole life fighting. Fighting for a cause that... that never cared about me. I wanted so much to make a difference, but all I did was lose everything. My friends, my family... I thought I was doing the right thing. But now... now it's all gone."

The Angel of Death knelt beside him, his voice steady and calm. "Sometimes, Arvid, it is not the outcome of the battle that defines us, but how we fight and what we leave behind. Your struggle, your perseverance—it mattered. It was never in vain."

Arvid lifted his head slowly, his gaze distant. "But what about all the things I didn't get to fix? All the lives I ruined, all the moments I could've done better? How can I forgive myself for all that?"

"You must forgive yourself," the Angel of Death said gently. "Forgiveness is not about erasing the past. It is about accepting what you cannot change and letting go of the burden it holds over you. You've carried it for so long. It's time to set it down."

Arvid's eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall. Instead, he looked at the Angel, his expression softening. "Is it too late to change? Even now, after everything?"

The Angel of Death did not answer immediately. Instead, he gave Arvid a moment to reflect. "It is never too late to change, Arvid. The moment you let go of your guilt, the moment you make peace with what you have done—that is when true change begins."

Arvid stood slowly, his body weary from the weight of his past but now lighter than before. "I think... I think I'm ready. I don't know what comes next, but I'm not afraid anymore."

The Angel of Death extended his hand once more. "Then let us begin. Your journey continues."

Without another word, Arvid reached out, and as he took the Angel's hand, the barren world began to fade away. The shadows dissolved, and a soft, radiant light enveloped him, guiding him toward the peace he had long been searching for.

The Angel of Death watched as the soul of Arvid ascended, knowing that, though his journey had been fraught with sorrow and regret, he had found the peace he so desperately needed.

And with that, the world fell silent once more.

---

The next soul arrived in a place that was eerily still, the silence heavy with sorrow. There were no vast landscapes or bright skies, no beauty or peace. It was a place suspended in time, filled only with a deep, aching quiet.

The Angel of Death looked down at the two small souls before him.

They appeared to be no more than five or six years old, their faces still soft with the innocence of youth. Their clothing was simple, their hair disheveled as if they had been playing just moments ago, but now they stood together, holding hands tightly, their faces confused and scared.

One was a little boy named Ethan, with short, messy brown hair and wide, frightened eyes. His sister, Lily, had blonde hair that was neatly tied into two braids. Both children looked at the Angel of Death with wide eyes, unsure of what was happening.

"You're... you're not real, are you?" Ethan's voice was small, full of hesitation, as if trying to make sense of the strange world around him.

The Angel of Death knelt before them, his tone gentle but firm. "I am here to guide you, little ones. You've passed beyond the world of the living."

Lily clutched Ethan's hand tighter. "Where's Mommy and Daddy? Are they with us? We were in the house... I... I remember the smoke, and it was so scary. I... I couldn't breathe. I... I couldn't find them."

Ethan nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I was looking for them too. I couldn't get out, and then... everything went dark. I don't want to go without them. Please, can we go back?"

The Angel of Death's heart felt a pang of sadness for the children, so young, their lives cut so tragically short. "I'm so sorry," the Angel said, his voice soft. "You can't go back to the world you knew. But your parents... they are not far behind. You'll see them again soon. You're not alone."

Ethan's lip trembled, and Lily looked up at the Angel with the innocence only a child could possess. "But I don't want to leave. I'm scared," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The Angel of Death extended his hand gently toward them, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding. "It's okay to be scared. But you are safe now. And soon, you will be reunited with your family. This is not the end of your journey, only the beginning of a new one."

The children remained silent for a moment, looking at each other, and then at the Angel. Slowly, Ethan spoke, his voice hesitant but filled with the trust only a child could have. "Do you promise we'll see Mommy and Daddy again?"

"I promise," the Angel of Death said, nodding. "You are loved. And they will be waiting for you."

Lily and Ethan exchanged a quiet glance. Their small hands slowly loosened their grip as they let go of the fear that had held them together. With a final glance at the Angel, they nodded in silent agreement.

With a soft and fleeting smile, the two children stepped forward, their figures beginning to shimmer with a gentle light. Their small forms glowed, bathed in the soft warmth that enveloped them.

As the light around them grew brighter, the Angel of Death watched as the children's fear melted away, replaced with a quiet peace. The place they had arrived in now shimmered with soft hues, slowly fading as their souls ascended toward their new journey, reunited with the love that awaited them.

The world grew quiet again, but now, the silence was filled with the calmness of resolution.

And the Angel of Death stood there for a long time, watching as the children's souls found peace, knowing they would soon be with the ones they loved. The warmth of their innocence lingered in the air long after they were gone, a reminder of the fragile, fleeting nature of life.