William saw the stars. They were infinite, and as he watched they began to move, slowly at first but then faster and faster, rushing past him in space. He named them one by one, in their own tongue, names they hadn't been called for thousands of years, since before wizards held wands, when their world was water and dust. They sang to him, a soft shimmering chorus like fingertips on a water goblet, and he spoke faster until there were too many and he couldn't keep up as they hurtled past.
He heard wingbeats then, in the dark, and the stars shuddered as a flight of angels settled around him in a circle, speaking the names he had missed. Their wings swept the stardust beneath their feet and they held swords made of fire in their hands. His grandmother had told him of them, when he was small. He'd believed them to be another kind of magic, until he'd grown old enough to know they were just stories out of books that would never breathe.
These were real. He knew their names as well, and chanted them in order as they watched with impassive faces, starting with the oldest; Ameshaspand, Yazata, Chayot Ha Kadesh, Ophanim, Erelim, Hashmallim, Seraphim, Malakhim, Elohim, Bene Elohim, Cherubim, Ishim, Kiraman Katibin. He spoke the names of the archangels and the Sephirot, in the tongue of the choir, which was never meant to be spoken by man. It left blood on his tongue and fire burning his throat, until he finally reached the end and couldn't hold himself up among the stars anymore.
The angels opened their wings and raised their swords. William spread his arms, dragging them through the empty space (rug), tilted his head up to the stars (ceiling, stone floor beneath him), arched his chest forward and fell to earth.