12

The next soul emerged with a presence that seemed to bend the very air around them — a man in his late thirties, tall and regal in his stance, though his expression was a mix of pride and exhaustion. His clothing, once fine and commanding, now hung on him like a burden. His sharp eyes, once used to looking down on others, now searched the Angel of Death with something bordering on vulnerability.

"Name?" the Angel asked.

"Lord Sebastian Vale," he responded, his voice steady, though his composure faltered for a second. "Ruler of the Iron Dominion."

The Angel tilted his head slightly. "Cause of death: assassination. A blade in the back by a trusted advisor."

Sebastian's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Trust was always a dangerous currency. I should've known better."

The Angel regarded him carefully. "You held power. Controlled armies. Governed thousands. Why does your soul tremble now, when all of that is gone?"

Sebastian's expression darkened. "Because power was the only thing that defined me. Without it, what am I? I built an empire, crushed rebellion, secured my family's place in history. And yet... it seems none of it was enough. The people cheered when I died, didn't they?"

The Angel didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked, "Did you ever wonder why they hated you so much?"

Sebastian's jaw tensed. "They feared me. Fear keeps people in line."

"Fear," the Angel said softly, "is a brittle foundation. It cracks beneath the weight of resentment. Respect lasts longer — but only if it's earned, not taken."

Sebastian's voice dropped to a whisper. "I wanted to be respected. I wanted to protect my people — my family — even if it meant becoming a tyrant to do it."

The Angel stepped forward, his tone unwavering. "Power doesn't corrupt. It reveals. You believed strength was the only way to keep control. But control isn't leadership. You ruled from above, never alongside. You built a kingdom of obedience, not loyalty."

Sebastian's hands clenched at his sides. "So what was I supposed to do? Be kind? Mercy is a weakness, and the world devours the weak."

The Angel's voice softened. "Mercy isn't weakness. It's strength — the kind that binds people together. Power wielded for control dies with you. Power wielded to uplift endures."

Sebastian looked away, his voice hollow. "Maybe I didn't deserve to rule after all."

"You didn't deserve to die like you did, either," the Angel replied calmly. "But death is not a punishment. It's an end to what was... and a beginning to what could be."

Sebastian swallowed hard. For the first time, the weight in his eyes wasn't pride or bitterness — it was regret. "If I had a second chance... I'd do it differently."

The Angel extended his hand. "Power doesn't follow you beyond this life, Sebastian. But the truth of who you are — that does. The next step isn't about ruling. It's about becoming."

Sebastian stared at the hand, his own trembling. He hesitated — then slowly, cautiously, he took it.

As the light wrapped around him, his regal posture softened, his burdened shoulders relaxed. For the first time, Sebastian Vale wasn't a ruler. He was simply a man, finally free from the weight of his crown.

---

The next soul appeared not with grandeur or sadness, but with a quiet, hollow stillness. A woman in her early thirties, her posture was tense — as if she was holding herself together by force alone. Her eyes flickered with exhaustion, not from life, but from the emotional weight she carried.

"Name?" the Angel of Death asked gently.

"Elena Hart." Her voice was quiet, almost reluctant. "I… I was a writer."

The Angel glanced at her record. "Cause of death: car accident. You died on the way to… a meeting with someone important to you."

Elena's eyes lowered. "Yeah… my husband. Or… ex-husband. I don't know anymore."

The Angel's gaze softened. "Tell me."

Elena swallowed hard. "We used to be everything to each other. He was my world, and I was his. But somewhere along the way, things broke. Not all at once — little cracks, small arguments, misunderstandings left to fester. I loved him, but loving him wasn't enough to stop the distance that grew between us."

Her voice trembled. "We stopped talking. Or maybe… we talked, but never really listened. I thought we could fix it. That's why I was going to see him. I wanted to fix it."

The Angel nodded slowly. "What were you going to say to him?"

Elena's throat tightened. "That I was sorry. That I still loved him. That I hated how we let everything fall apart." Her voice broke. "But now he'll never know."

The Angel of Death took a slow step forward, his voice steady and kind. "Do you truly believe he didn't know?"

Elena blinked, her voice faltering. "How could he? After everything — the fights, the silences, the accusations. All that's left is the broken pieces of what we were."

The Angel's expression didn't waver. "Love doesn't disappear just because it's buried under pain. Sometimes, it's the pain itself that proves how much we still care. The sharper the hurt, the deeper the love that caused it."

Elena's breath hitched. "But what if he hates me now? What if all he remembers is the worst of us?"

The Angel's voice softened. "Relationships are fragile, yes — but so is resentment. So is anger. The memories of hurt may last, but so do the moments of warmth, laughter, and tenderness. The heart holds both, even when we think it can only hold one."

Elena stared at the ground, tears pooling in her eyes. "I just… wanted one more chance to make it right."

The Angel stepped closer. "The chance to fix what's broken may be gone. But that doesn't mean the love is gone with it. It stays — in him, and in you. And even if the relationship couldn't survive, the love still can."

Elena's voice trembled. "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

The Angel's gaze was steady and warm. "Forgiveness doesn't always come in words. Sometimes, it's found in remembering the good more than the bad. And sometimes, the hardest forgiveness to give is the one you owe yourself."

Elena's tears fell freely now. For a long moment, she stood in silence, the weight of her grief and regret finally easing.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked, her voice small.

The Angel nodded. "He will. And so will you."

Slowly, he extended his hand. Elena stared at it for a moment, then, with a trembling breath, she reached out and took it.

As the light embraced her, the tension in her shoulders melted away. The hollowness was replaced with something else — not quite peace, but the faint, fragile hope that love, even broken, never truly disappears.

---

The next soul appeared slowly, almost reluctantly, as if the weight of their existence made it hard to step forward. A man in his mid-twenties, his figure was hunched and thin, his clothes plain and worn. His eyes, once meant for seeing the world, now stared blankly ahead — dull, lifeless, and tired.

"Name?" the Angel of Death asked gently.

"Daniel Reed," the man murmured. His voice was quiet, almost like he didn't believe he deserved to speak.

The Angel glanced at his record. "Cause of death: self-inflicted. Overdose."

Daniel didn't flinch at the words. He only lowered his head further, as though confirming what he already knew.

The Angel's voice was steady but kind. "Why, Daniel?"

Daniel swallowed hard. "Because… I was alone. I think I've been alone for longer than I can remember." His voice trembled. "People were around me, sure — coworkers, neighbors — but none of it felt real. I'd smile when they talked to me. I'd laugh when they made jokes. But no one ever… saw me." His voice broke on that last word.

The Angel tilted his head. "No one?"

Daniel blinked, his eyes wet. "Not really. My friends drifted away. My family stopped calling. Or maybe… I stopped calling them first. I don't even know anymore. I just felt like a ghost in my own life." He took a shaky breath. "I stopped reaching out because… what was the point? No one noticed when I was there, so why would they notice when I was gone?"

The Angel's voice remained soft, unwavering. "But they did notice, Daniel. More than you think."

Daniel's voice cracked. "They'll probably say they wish they could've done something. But they didn't. No one did. And maybe it's because… I didn't matter enough."

The Angel stepped forward, his expression neither pitying nor condemning. "Loneliness can be louder than any crowd, Daniel. It tells you that you're invisible, unwanted, unworthy. But loneliness is a liar. You mattered — and you still do."

Daniel let out a shaky, bitter laugh. "If I mattered, why didn't anyone stop me?"

The Angel's voice was quiet, but firm. "Because sometimes, the pain hides too well. People don't always see what we bury — but that doesn't mean they wouldn't have tried to save you if they had."

Daniel's shoulders shook. "I just… wanted the pain to stop. It felt like it would never stop."

The Angel took another step closer. "Pain convinces us it's endless. But it isn't. It's a wave, not an ocean. It crashes, and it drowns — but then it recedes. And the people who love you… they would have held on to you through it, if you had let them see the truth."

Daniel's eyes welled with tears. "I didn't know how to ask for help. I didn't want to be a burden."

The Angel knelt to meet his gaze. "You were never a burden. The weight you carried wasn't meant to be held alone. Love doesn't weaken under the weight of someone's pain — it strengthens to carry it."

Daniel's voice trembled. "Do you think they'll miss me? Really miss me?"

The Angel's eyes were steady, filled with quiet compassion. "They already do. They're grieving a life they didn't realize was slipping away — and they'll carry that grief because they loved you. Because you mattered."

Daniel's tears finally fell, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't want to die. I just didn't know how to live like that anymore."

The Angel reached out his hand. "You weren't meant to live like that, Daniel. No one is. The pain wasn't your fault — but it also wasn't your ending. There's more to you than what the loneliness made you believe."

Daniel stared at the hand for a long, shaking moment. His voice trembled. "I'm scared."

The Angel's voice was soft. "You're not alone anymore."

With a broken breath, Daniel reached out. His hand shook as it met the Angel's, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't holding the weight alone.

The light came slowly, wrapping around him like warmth he hadn't felt in years. His hunched figure straightened. His trembling stopped. And the emptiness that had held him so tightly finally loosened its grip — leaving behind a soul no longer lost.