18

The next soul appeared small and frail, barely more than a whisper of light. It was a child — thin, delicate, with eyes far too old for such a young face. The Angel of Death could still sense the echoes of pain lingering around them, the kind that had lasted for far too long.

"Name?" the Angel asked softly.

The child blinked up at him, voice barely a whisper. "...Does it matter? I'm just a kid."

"Cause of death: brain tumor," the Angel stated gently. The words felt heavier than usual.

The child's expression didn't change. There was no fear, no sadness — just quiet acceptance. "Yeah. The doctors told me. Mom and Dad cried a lot. I didn't. I didn't want them to cry more."

The Angel tilted his head. "Were you afraid?"

The child shook their head. "Not really. I didn't want to go, but... it hurt so much. And I hated seeing them sad. I think... I think they hurt worse than I did."

There was a long pause. The Angel studied the child, who looked more tired than any soul he had guided before.

"You were brave," the Angel said, voice low and steady.

The child's lips quirked into the smallest smile. "Mom said that too. She told me I was her little hero." The smile faltered. "...I didn't feel like a hero. I just wanted to stay with them."

The Angel knelt, meeting the child's eyes. "You didn't have to fight so hard for their sake."

The child looked down, voice small. "I wanted to make them proud. I didn't want to be a burden."

The Angel's voice was soft but unwavering. "You were never a burden. You were loved — deeply, endlessly. Their pain wasn't because you were leaving… it was because they couldn't imagine a world without you in it."

The child's eyes glistened. "Do you think they'll be okay without me?"

The Angel nodded slowly. "It'll hurt. A lot. But they'll carry you with them. In every memory, in every quiet moment, and in every piece of their heart. You won't be gone — not really."

The child was quiet for a moment, then asked in a small, hopeful voice, "Do you think they'll remember the good stuff? Not just… the hospital and the bad days?"

The Angel's voice was gentle, but certain.

"They'll remember your laugh. The way you lit up the room. The way you made them smile, even when they were supposed to be comforting you. And they'll remember how brave you were — even when you didn't feel like it."

The child's smile trembled but didn't fade. "I hope so."

The Angel reached out his hand. "They'll remember you with love. Always."

The child stared at the hand for a moment, then slowly reached out. Their small fingers curled into the Angel's, warm and trusting.

"...Do you think they'll know I loved them too?"

The Angel's voice was steady, comforting.

"They already do."

The child's eyes closed, and with one last, peaceful breath, they stepped into the light — leaving only warmth and quiet bravery behind.

---

The next soul flickered into view — small, light, and trembling. A child, no older than ten, with scuffed shoes and dirt smudged on their cheeks. Their clothes were torn, and the faint scent of smoke clung to them. The Angel of Death already knew the story before he even spoke.

"Cause of death: struck by a car," the Angel said softly. "...While saving a cat."

The child blinked up at him, eyes wide, like they weren't sure if they were in trouble. "Did… did the cat make it?"

The Angel's gaze didn't waver. "Yes. It's safe."

The child's shoulders slumped with relief, a tired, shaky laugh escaping. "Good. It was scared. I didn't want it to get hurt."

The Angel tilted his head. "You knew you might get hurt."

The child glanced away, voice quieter now. "...Yeah. But the cat was so small. It couldn't save itself. Someone had to do something."

There was no arrogance or pride in the words — just simple, honest conviction.

"You were brave," the Angel said softly.

The child shrugged, scuffing a foot against the ground. "I was just fast. Not fast enough, I guess." Their voice wavered. "Mom's gonna be mad. I promised I wouldn't run in the street."

The Angel knelt to meet the child's eyes. "She won't be mad. She'll be sad. Because she loves you."

The child's face crumpled. "I didn't want her to be sad. I just... I couldn't let the cat die."

The Angel's voice stayed steady. "She'll understand. She'll miss you — more than anything. But she'll remember how kind and brave you were. And she'll be proud."

The child swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Do you think the cat will be okay without me?"

The Angel's expression softened. "It'll find a home. Someone kind will take it in. And they'll love it... because of you."

The child's face brightened, just a little. "That's good. I'm glad it wasn't for nothing."

The Angel reached out his hand. "It wasn't. You gave it a chance to live — and you left behind a piece of your kindness. That kind of thing doesn't disappear."

The child stared at the hand for a moment, then reached out slowly, their small fingers wrapping around the Angel's.

"...Do you think Mom will remember the good parts too? Not just... this?"

The Angel's voice was gentle but sure.

"She'll remember everything. The way you laughed. The way you loved. And the way you were never afraid to help someone — even if it was just a scared little cat."

The child's lip quivered, but they nodded, holding tightly to the Angel's hand.

"...Okay. I'm ready now."

The Angel gave a small nod. "You did good."

With a final, shaky breath, the child stepped forward into the light — leaving only the quiet warmth of a brave, gentle heart behind.

---

The next souls didn't walk toward the Angel of Death. They drifted — faint, flickering, and barely holding on. Children. Small, fragile, and quiet, as though even the weight of the air around them might break them apart.

"Cause of death…" the Angel began, then paused, voice lowering. "Not death. Yet. Coma."

The children stared up at him, their eyes hazy and distant. They weren't fully here, but they weren't fully gone either.

"You're not supposed to be here," the Angel said softly.

One of the children — a boy, maybe six or seven — stepped forward. His voice was faint, like a whisper carried on a weak breeze. "We know. But it feels like we're stuck. We're tired."

The Angel knelt, tilting his head. "Do you want to go?"

The boy hesitated, glancing back at the others. A girl with pigtails clutched his hand tightly, her voice barely a murmur. "I don't want to leave. But… it hurts to stay."

The Angel's gaze softened. "Your bodies are still fighting. Your families are still hoping. That pull you feel — it's them. They're not ready to let you go."

The boy's voice trembled. "What if we can't wake up? What if we stay like this forever?"

The Angel didn't answer right away. He studied the flickering light that made up their fragile forms. "Sometimes waking up isn't something you can choose. But holding on is."

The girl's voice cracked. "It's so hard. I miss my mom. I just want her to hold me again."

The Angel leaned closer, his voice quiet but unwavering. "She's holding you now. She may not see you, but she's there. Every time she whispers to you, every time she holds your hand by your bedside — you feel that, don't you?"

The girl's eyes filled with tears. She nodded slowly. "It feels warm. Like home."

The Angel's voice was gentle, but steady. "That's love. It reaches further than pain, further than fear — even further than here. If you can feel that warmth, you're not lost yet."

The boy's eyes flickered with something faint but hopeful. "...If we hold on, can we go back?"

The Angel didn't promise things beyond his power. "I don't know. But if you want to keep trying, I'll keep the door open for you. Just a little longer."

The children looked at one another, silent for a moment. Then the boy nodded, determination flickering in his dim light. "I'll keep holding on. I want to see my dad again."

The girl squeezed his hand, her voice no longer shaking. "Me too. I want to go home."

The Angel of Death straightened, his voice quiet and resolute. "Then hold on to that warmth. Let it guide you back."

The children began to fade, their forms growing faint, but not in the way souls do when they pass on. This was different — a pull, a tug, drawing them back to where they belonged.

As they vanished from his sight, the Angel spoke one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll wait, just in case. But I hope I never see you here again."