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Celestial

By Hannah Mae

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- Prologue -

Heavy darkness laid upon the hospital. Grief and pain tramped along to the beat of heart monitors, and IVs dripped their concoctions into blood veins. Tired nurses held to their dutiful if dreary routine as their work hours trudged on, but for the lone hooded figure they could not see, his work had just begun.

The song he hummed danced down the hall. It issued from his lips like a gentle creek over polished stones, but no mortal ears could hear. Walking in the swirling mist, he searched the rooms. Passing a mirror, he caught sight of the glowing wells of holy fire within his eyes. Alive with that celestial spark, they illuminated his face beneath the shroud. He shook his head at the reflection and continued on.

Doctors shivered as he passed. They pulled their jackets tighter and checked thermostats, but the invisible being paid no mind to their discomfort. Such reactions weren’t surprising. He floated through more personnel, sending extra waves of unnatural cold through their core.

The being turned a corner. A distant glow peeked beneath a scuffed door at the corridor’s end. It called to him. The misty veil under his command gathered behind him, forming two wings that spread as a canopy above, then carried him in a quick rush of air. He landed and dismissed the mists. They again swept the floor, obscuring his tall stature.

Though unreliant upon mortal needs, the angel drew a reflective breath. His steady hands fiddled with his robes. The grey fabric rippled glimmering silver as he smoothed it. Content with appearances, he straightened. The heat and brilliance within his eyes intensified, and he dissolved into a stardust that sifted through the door. On the other side, the diamond shards reassembled in pieces until his form completed itself. The warmth from the glory in his eyes subsided, revealing their crystalline, emerald hues.
The angel often pondered how the human populace would react if they caught visual evidence of him. He imagined himself being an awe-inspiring spectacle, but for all the mortal admiration in the world, it wasn’t one tenth the amount of respect he had for the soul laying before him.

An elderly man gripped his sheet against the cold. His lungs wheezed, no doubt burning for precious oxygen, but the Mark of the Trinity, embedded upon his chest, stole the angel's attention from anything else. Its unfathomable light beat back the spiritual world's shadows with its beauty.
High tones rang out from the Mark.

In obedience, the angel drew near, and his face basked in its light. He nestled a tender hand upon the man's feverish brow. The rapid pulse in his veins subsided beneath it.
The mortal sighed, as if accepting newfound peace. His body ceased its fight and sank into rest.
Assured of his comfort, the angel dissipated his hand and let it flow into the man’s mouth. He reached for the breath of life, seated at the heart. Then, taking hold of the man’s literal last moment, he pulled. It snapped like a thread. The Mark of the Trinity brightened, and the angel withdrew his hand. “Come forth, Image Bearer," he whispered. "Arise.” The symbol extended its reach, engulfing the man in its brilliance.

Untethered from his physical shell, the man's soul opened a new pair of eyes for the first time. He blinked and gave a soft laugh, full of good cheer, but then his eyes widened. His jaw slacked. He lurched back and hid his face in his hands.

The angel sighed to himself. He knew that terrified reaction from a million missions before. His appearance radiated remnants of God’s Shekinah glory, after all. No human could withstand its holiness at the start, but determined to reassure him, the angel smiled. He dismissed his hood, letting loose a rush of dark hair interwoven with silver. It swayed and flowed like waves upon the shore. He then rested his strong hand on the man’s shoulder.

By that one simple touch, the fear and tension in the human’s fresher, younger form melted away. He peeked through his fingers.

“Fear not, God's beloved,” the angel said. “The Lord your God invites you into His courts tonight." He released the man's shoulder and offered a hand as smooth as carved alabaster. "I, His servant, have come to bring you home.”

The man lowered his hands and stared with eyes so wide the angel could almost see himself in them.
Sympathetic to his hesitance, the angel scooped up his quivering hand and resumed his song. He led his charge into the hall. The mists went ahead of him as if with a mind of its own. It crept along and carpeted the tile floor to honor the man’s first taste of immortality.

A joyous smile broke out across the Christian’s now youthful face, and despite not knowing the tune beforehand, he took up the angel’s song. All thoughts of earth were behind him.

The angel of death smiled, thrilled as always to escort one of God’s adopted sons, yet an old dread loomed over him—one that never seemed to go away. The angel shied from select doors and mentally constrained his fog as though to keep a monster on a leash. He quickened his pace toward the end of the hall, then spread his arms apart. A sharp rip cut between dimensions. The gateway led to a fair, green country just beyond. Soon, the Image Bearer and his angelic guide departed far from the second realm and into the third—Home.

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