21

The next soul stood with a straight back and a rigid posture, though their eyes betrayed the exhaustion hidden beneath. A soldier — the weight of countless battles still clung to them like armor that could never be taken off.

The Angel of Death watched them for a moment, sensing the quiet conflict within.

"You fought for something bigger than yourself," the Angel said softly.

The soul's voice was steady, but low. "I fought because someone had to."

The Angel tilted his head. "Did you believe in the cause?"

The soul was silent for a moment. "...At first. Then it stopped being about belief. It became about surviving. Keeping the people next to me alive."

The Angel's voice held no judgment. "You lost people."

The soul's eyes darkened. "Too many." Their voice wavered for the first time. "Good people. Better than me. I made it out when they didn't. Feels wrong."

The Angel took a step closer. "Survivor's guilt is a heavy thing to carry."

The soul clenched their fists, even now. "They deserved to live more than I did. They had families waiting for them. People who loved them. I came back to an empty house."

The Angel's voice was quiet but steady. "You think your life was worth less because no one was waiting for you?"

The soul didn't answer. They looked away, as though afraid to meet the Angel's gaze.

"You kept going," the Angel said gently. "Even when it hurt. Even when you didn't believe in it anymore. That isn't failure. That's strength."

The soul swallowed hard, their voice barely above a whisper. "It didn't feel like strength."

The Angel's expression softened. "Strength rarely does, in the moment."

The soul was quiet for a long moment. When they spoke again, their voice trembled. "...I just wanted it to mean something. All of it. The pain. The loss. Me making it out when they didn't."

The Angel nodded slowly. "It did. It always did."

The soul blinked, their eyes glassy — not with tears, but with something deeper.

"...Maybe that's enough," they said softly.

The Angel extended a hand. "It is. And now, it's time to rest."

The soul hesitated, then reached out. Their hand, once calloused and worn, looked lighter somehow — as though the weight they carried had finally lifted.

Together, they stepped into the light. This time, the soldier walked without burden.

---

The next soul sat on the ground, knees pulled to their chest, head buried in their arms. Small. Fragile. A child.

The Angel of Death approached slowly, his usual words caught in his throat. There was no armor of pride, no mask of strength, no weight of lifelong regrets. Just a child — too young to understand why they were here.

The Angel knelt down, his voice softer than a whisper. "Hey there."

The child peeked up, eyes wide and scared. "Am I in trouble?"

The Angel shook his head gently. "No, you're not in trouble." He paused. "Do you know what happened?"

The child looked down again, fidgeting with the hem of their clothes. "There was… fire. It got really hot. I was scared. And then… I woke up here."

The Angel's chest felt heavy. "You were very brave."

The child's voice quivered. "I tried to call for Mama and Papa. But they didn't come."

The Angel swallowed the ache in his throat. "They wanted to. They tried. But sometimes, even when people love us very much, they can't always reach us in time."

The child's lip trembled. "Will they be okay without me?"

The Angel blinked slowly. "It's going to hurt for a while. A long while. They'll miss you more than anything." He leaned in a little closer, voice steady and warm. "But they'll remember you too. All the times you laughed together. All the times you made them smile. That won't ever go away."

The child looked down at their hands, voice barely a whisper. "I didn't want to leave them."

The Angel's voice wavered. "I know." He took a breath. "But you're not alone now. I'm here. And I'll stay with you. Every step of the way."

The child looked up at him, eyes searching his face. "...Promise?"

The Angel nodded, his voice soft but unwavering. "Promise."

Slowly, the child reached out and took his hand. Their small fingers curled around his with quiet trust.

"Okay," the child whispered. "I'm ready."

The Angel stood, holding the child's hand tightly in his own. "Let's go."

And as they walked into the light together, the Angel didn't let go — not until the child was safe on the other side.

---

The next soul sat alone on an old, splintered park bench that wasn't really there. Their head was low, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world still pressed on them even now.

The Angel of Death approached slowly, sensing the familiar ache of isolation and regret.

"You were alone for a long time," the Angel spoke gently.

The soul didn't lift their head. Their voice was hollow, barely a whisper. "Guess I got used to it."

The Angel tilted his head. "No one should have to get used to that."

The soul let out a bitter chuckle. "Didn't have much of a choice. People come and go. Friends move on. Family gets tired of you. One day, you just… stop trying."

The Angel stepped closer, his voice quiet but steady. "And that's when it starts to hurt the most. When the world keeps moving without you."

The soul finally looked up, their eyes empty and tired. "It's not like anyone noticed I was gone. My phone didn't ring. My door stayed shut. Feels like I was already dead before this."

The Angel's voice softened. "Loneliness is cruel. It whispers lies, makes you believe you don't matter. But you did. You do."

The soul shook their head slowly. "Then why didn't anyone stay?"

The Angel was quiet for a moment, then spoke, voice low and calm. "Sometimes… people leave for their own reasons. Not because you weren't worth staying for."

The soul looked away again, voice quieter now. "It doesn't feel that way."

The Angel knelt beside them, his voice steady. "Feelings aren't always truth. I've seen a lot of souls pass through here — people who loved more than they could handle, and people who didn't know how to show it. I think the truth is somewhere in between."

The soul sat in silence for a long moment. Then, barely a whisper: "I just wanted to feel like I mattered to someone."

The Angel's voice didn't waver. "You mattered. More than you know. And now, you'll never be alone again."

The soul blinked, their expression trembling between disbelief and hope. "Never?"

"Never," the Angel promised.

The soul stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly — hesitantly — stood up. Their shoulders still sagged, but the weight seemed a little lighter now.

"...Okay," they said softly. "I'm ready."

The Angel nodded, stepping beside them. "Let's go."

They walked together into the light, and this time, the soul didn't feel alone. Not anymore.