19

The next soul appeared slowly, hesitantly — like it wasn't sure if it was supposed to be there. A child, thin and small, with hollow eyes and a quiet, tired expression that seemed far too old for their fragile body.

The Angel of Death studied them for a moment. He didn't need to ask. He already knew.

"Cause of death: neglect."

The child didn't react. They stared at the ground, shifting their foot in the dust.

"You were waiting for them," the Angel said softly.

The child's voice was barely more than a whisper. "They said they'd come back. They promised."

The Angel tilted his head. "They didn't, did they?"

The child shook their head slowly.

For a moment, there was only silence.

"Did you hate them for it?" the Angel asked, his voice gentle but steady.

The child looked up, startled. "No. They're my parents. I… I think they loved me. Maybe they just forgot for a while." Their voice trembled. "I tried to be good. I thought if I was better — quieter, smarter, stronger — they'd come back."

The Angel's expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "It wasn't your fault."

The child swallowed hard. "Then why didn't they want me?"

The Angel didn't answer right away. Some questions didn't have answers — at least, none that would make the pain any smaller.

"People break in ways that have nothing to do with the ones they hurt," he said finally. "Sometimes they lose their way so badly, they can't see the ones who love them anymore. It's not because you weren't enough."

The child blinked, tears gathering in their eyes. "I wanted them to be proud of me."

The Angel knelt to meet their gaze. "They should have been. You lasted longer than anyone should have to. You hoped, even when it hurt. That takes more strength than most people ever find."

The child's lip quivered. "It still hurts."

The Angel nodded slowly. "It will. But you won't be alone anymore."

The child stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for something — maybe reassurance, maybe kindness. Then, with a shaky breath, they stepped forward, reaching for his hand.

"...Do you think they'll miss me now?" the child asked quietly.

The Angel's voice was steady, but something in it felt almost sad.

"They might. And if they do, that'll be their burden to carry. Not yours anymore."

The child's small hand fit into his.

"...Okay."

And together, they walked into the light.

---

The next soul was small. So small.

It wasn't walking or standing. It didn't even seem to understand what was happening. It simply was — a faint, flickering presence, barely formed. An unwanted baby.

The Angel of Death looked down at the fragile soul. It didn't cry. It didn't speak. It couldn't. But he could still feel the faint stirrings of what might have been.

"You didn't even get a chance, did you?" he murmured. His voice, normally steady, wavered just a little.

The soul didn't respond. It couldn't. But it trembled faintly, as if reaching for something that wasn't there.

"You didn't ask to be born. You didn't ask to be left behind, either."

There was no bitterness in the Angel's voice — only sorrow.

He knelt beside the tiny soul, his hand hovering just above it, careful, gentle. "It wasn't your fault."

The flicker of light quivered, almost like it understood.

"You deserved love," the Angel said softly. "You deserved warmth. You deserved a name."

The light pulsed faintly, as though it were trying to hold on to something that had never been given.

The Angel closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. Then, he spoke again — quietly, but firmly.

"You were here. You mattered. And I'll remember you."

The soul stilled, no longer trembling. Slowly, it began to glow brighter, warmer, as though the words had filled an emptiness it didn't know it had.

The Angel stood, his voice low and tender.

"Let's go. There's a light waiting for you, little one. And this time, someone will hold you."

The soul drifted upward, carried by an unseen warmth. It didn't flicker anymore. It shone.

---

The next soul stood tall, even in death. A firefighter — their uniform still bearing the faint smell of smoke, their face calm despite the soot smudging their features.

The Angel of Death approached slowly. He didn't need to ask for the cause of death. It was obvious. Flames still clung faintly to the edges of the soul, flickering and dying out as they crossed into this place.

"You stayed behind," the Angel said quietly. It wasn't a question.

The firefighter nodded once. "There were still people inside."

The Angel tilted his head. "You knew you wouldn't make it out."

Another nod. No regret in their eyes — only a quiet, unwavering resolve.

"They were scared. I wasn't." The voice was steady. "If someone had to stay, it was going to be me."

The Angel was silent for a moment, studying the soul. "Were you afraid at the end?"

The firefighter paused, thinking. "Not for me." Their voice softened. "I just hoped the others got out."

The Angel gave a slow nod. "They did."

The firefighter exhaled — or at least, the soul did something that felt like it. A release of tension that had been holding on even past death.

"Good," they murmured. "That's enough, then."

The Angel's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "You died saving lives. That's no small thing."

The firefighter gave a tired, lopsided smile. "It wasn't about dying. It was about doing the right thing. Someone had to."

The Angel regarded them for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Come on," he said gently. "You've done enough. Let's go."

The firefighter hesitated. "Will they be okay? The ones I saved?"

The Angel didn't offer false comfort. But this time, he didn't need to.

"They'll remember you. And because of you, they have a second chance. That's more than most people ever leave behind."

The firefighter smiled again — softer this time, relieved. "That's good enough for me."

And together, they walked into the light, leaving the smoke and fire behind.