With You Until the End of Time

The evening sky had begun to turn grey. Serafim stood alone on the edge of an old, abandoned building. The wind whispered faintly in his ears, carrying fragments of voices that stirred unease deep within him. Restless thoughts and resurfacing memories clawed at his mind like wounds that refused to heal.

"Still trying to forget who you really are?"

A deep voice emerged from the chill behind him. A figure stepped forward—his skin charred with glowing cracks like molten rock, and his eyes burned like embers. A black cloak fluttered over his shoulders, dancing with the wind. It was Azazel.

"I don't care anymore," Serafim replied, not turning around.

"Really? Then why are you still restless?" Azazel sneered. "When humans forget, they call it a blessing. But for beings like us… it's a curse."

Serafim clenched his fists. A battle raged inside him—a war between accepting his present or pursuing a truth he might not want. Without another word, Serafim summoned his light and vanished, leaving Azazel behind.

The rain had just passed. Droplets still clung to leaves, and the air was damp and heavy. Serafim sat alone on a hospital park bench, as he had for the past few days. For reasons unknown, he kept returning, watching the grey sky slowly shift toward blue.

From a distance, faint footsteps echoed along the path. A young girl approached, fragile in appearance but determined in her stride. She wore a knitted cap, a light scarf, and clutched a sketchbook tightly in her hands.

She sat on a bench a few meters from Serafim, saying nothing. She opened her book and began to draw.

Serafim glanced sideways, with no intention of speaking. Then the wind lifted a page of her sketchbook, revealing her most recent drawing: a beach, with two tiny figures standing at its edge.

The girl quickly grabbed the paper.

"Oops… sorry," she said with a small, awkward smile.

"Your drawing is beautiful," Serafim finally said.

Her eyes sparkled with gratitude.

"Thank you… It's from my imagination. I like drawing places I've never been to. I don't know why, but this beach keeps showing up in my head," she said, showing him the picture.

Serafim nodded. "Who are the two people?"

"I don't know. But when I picture the place… I never feel alone."

Silence hung between them for a moment, then she held out her hand.

"I'm Lily."

Serafim looked at her hand for a few seconds before shaking it.

"Serafim."

"That's a unique name. Are you from around here?"

He shook his head slightly, unwilling to explain. Lily understood and didn't press. She went back to her drawing.

Days passed, and they met again on that same hospital bench. Lily drew as usual, but this time, her hands trembled.

Serafim quietly noticed her shallow breaths, her pale skin, and how she pressed her chest as if hiding pain. He tried to make a joke. Lily chuckled softly—then quickly looked down and coughed. Faint traces of blood appeared on her handkerchief, which she hid beneath her sketchbook.

Serafim frowned. "Lily…"

"I'm okay," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "I'm used to it."

"How long?"

She lowered her head and paused.

"Late-stage leukemia," she said. "The doctor says I have a few months left. Maybe just weeks... or days."

Serafim said nothing. But something heavy settled in his chest. He wasn't human. He should've been prepared for this. Yet there was something about Lily—a quiet strength in how she tried so hard to be okay—that made Serafim deeply admire her.

"I just don't want to die alone," Lily whispered. "I know you're a stranger. But you're the only one who sees me—not just my illness. You're not like the others who only look at me with pity."

Serafim gazed into her eyes, gently.

"But... can I ask one thing?" Lily asked.

Serafim nodded slowly.

"Would you… stay with me?" she whispered. "In the time I have left, I don't want to be alone. I'm an orphan. I have no one."

The breeze brushed through Lily's thinning hair.

"Take me to the beach, to the mountains, to my parents' grave. I just want to feel alive one last time. Not in a hospital… but in a place that actually feels like life."

Serafim didn't speak. He simply stood and held out his hand.

"Where should we start?"

Lily's smile grew slowly—genuine, relieved.

"The beach."

That morning, the sand welcomed their feet like warm hands. Sea wind tossed Lily's hair as her eyes widened in awe, like it was her first time seeing the world.

"This is… my first time at the beach," she said, taking off her shoes. "My mom was afraid of water, so we never came. Funny, isn't it? Most people see the beach as ordinary. But to me, it's like heaven."

Serafim sat on a large rock, watching her step into the water, letting the waves lap at her feet.

"Serafim!" she called suddenly. "Come on! It's freezing!"

She laughed like a child who had just received the greatest gift. Serafim walked toward her and joined in. Without realizing it, he laughed—freely, for the first time.

They sat by the shore until sunset. Lily sketched again—a sunset over two figures on the sand. This time, not imagination. This time, it was real.

"I don't want to be remembered as someone who was sick," she said. "I want to be remembered as someone who truly lived."

As night fell, they built a small fire on the beach. Lily leaned against a rock, shivering slightly, but her eyes stayed on the starlit sky.

"If I die…" she whispered, "will you remember today?"

Serafim looked up.

"I won't forget. I never forget the souls I meet."

"You promise?"

He nodded—though uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

They continued their journey. This time, to the mountains. The trail was slippery, blanketed in fallen leaves. The air was thin and cold, but Lily smiled, breathing deeply.

"The air's different here," she said, eyes on the cloudless sky. "Cleaner. Lighter."

Serafim walked half a step behind, watching as she struggled but refused to stop.

"I read once," Lily said, "that people close to death experience the world more intensely—the colors, the smells, the feelings. I think that's true. I feel it now. It's… ironic."

They stopped by a large rock near a cliff. A sea of green stretched before them. Lily opened her small lunchbox—a sandwich and bottled water.

"Nothing special," she said, taking a bite. "But… it's the best sandwich I've ever had."

Serafim smiled faintly beside her.

"If you could choose," Lily asked suddenly, "what kind of life would you want?"

He was silent for a long time, until the wind spoke in his place.

"Sometimes I envy you," he said. "Because you get to feel everything—pain, fear, love, loss. I don't think those are weaknesses. I think they're gifts."

Lily lowered her head, eyes glistening, but her lips curved into a smile.

"Thank you… for coming with me. I know it's exhausting. But just once… I wanted to feel tired from living—not from being sick."

Evening came. They descended slowly. Lily fell a few times, but kept rising.

"It's okay," she said when Serafim tried to help. "Falling… is part of the journey, right?"

Another day, Serafim accompanied Lily to her birthplace. The village was simple, old wooden houses nestled among giant trees. The air felt slower, calmer.

"This is where I was born," Lily said, looking at the golden fields. "I used to play in the mud there. Mom would scold me for coming home covered in dirt."

They walked along a narrow path to a hilltop—her parents' graves. The moss-covered headstones stood side by side.

Lily knelt, laying wildflowers she'd picked along the way.

"Dad, Mom… I'm here," she whispered.

Serafim stood back, giving space to a daughter who missed her parents. He watched as she spoke in silence, pouring out words never said. After a while, Lily rose, her eyes misty but her smile still gentle.

"Now it's time for a little nostalgia," she grinned. "Let's go!"

Serafim frowned as Lily pointed at two old bicycles she'd borrowed from a neighbor.

"We're biking around the village?" he asked.

"Of course! I used to be the queen of these roads!" Lily laughed.

They pedaled through winding lanes—past tea fields, playgrounds, the old shop where she once bought candy. Lily's laughter mingled with the squeaking chains of the bikes.

But soon, Lily began to slow. Her breath quickened. Her hands trembled.

"Lily…"

"I'm okay," she said, forcing a smile.

But a second later, she swayed. Her bike slid off the road and crashed to the ground.

"Lily!" Serafim shouted.

He rushed to her side, lifting her gently. Her face had gone pale. Blood trickled from her nose.

"I… I'm dizzy," she whispered. "But… don't panic, okay? Don't panic…"

He carried her carefully to the nearest hospital. The ride felt endless. Inside the car, Lily gripped his hand tightly.

"I'm sorry… I pushed myself too hard…"

"Don't apologize," Serafim whispered. "You did nothing wrong."

Now she was back in the hospital, in the city. The doctor spoke for a long time, but all Serafim heard was this: her body was too weak. She wouldn't leave the hospital again.

Every day, Serafim sat by her bedside. Lily spoke less, but her soft smile remained.

"Thank you," she said one night. "Thank you for… letting me live before I died."

Serafim lowered his head. A strange, aching feeling stirred in him. Images flashed through his mind—blurred memories, panicked voices, the scent of antiseptics. He'd been here before.

That night was unusually still. Outside, the hospital lights dimmed. Serafim sat silently beside Lily, now fragile as a fading flower. Suddenly, alarms rang. Nurses and doctors rushed in.

"BP dropping! Oxygen, now!"

"Get the defibrillator!"

Serafim was pushed outside. Through the window, he watched chaos unfold—but something inside him began to tremble. A light flashed in his memory.

A hospital bed.

A frail body.

Machines beeping.

He saw himself at someone's bedside—holding the hand of a young woman with long hair. Her face was familiar. But he couldn't remember who she was. Only that… she mattered deeply.

"I've been here before…" Serafim whispered.

He clutched his chest. The feeling was unbearable.

Then the ICU door opened. The staff emerged slowly. A doctor met Serafim's eyes and gently shook his head.

Serafim understood. He walked in. Lily lay peacefully, like she was simply asleep. A faint smile still lingered on her lips.

He held her hand gently.

"I'll stay with you until the end…" he whispered.

Suddenly, a white light enveloped the room—warm and silent.

Serafim stood before Lily.

She smiled—no longer sick. Her face full of life.

"You… look different," Serafim said.

"Here, I'm not sick anymore," Lily whispered. "Did you come to guide me?"

Serafim nodded.

"Thank you… for everything," Lily said. "I never imagined the end of my life would be the most beautiful part. All because of you."

She looked into his eyes.

"You lost someone, didn't you?"

Serafim was silent.

Lily nodded gently. "I don't know who you were… but if you want to find out, then go. But don't forget—you can also choose to be who you are now."

She took his hand.

"Whatever you choose… I'll pray for you."

The door of light opened behind her—warm and inviting.

Lily smiled one last time.

"Goodbye, Serafim."

Serafim nodded, his hands trembling.

"Farewell… Lily."

And Lily stepped into the light. Slowly… until she was gone.

***