It was growing warm. William looked for the fiery swords, but this was radiating from the earth, heat rising off the sand as the sun set. The angels spread their wings and rose as one, climbing majestically into the heavens.
Too soon, William entreated desperately. Please, not yet, it's too soon.
This was the end, though. He knew that. It was time. There was a part of him that insisted he was supposed to fight, that he could change this, bend it to his will, rage at the angels until the heavens clouded over and opened up. Part of him fixated on that, chanting fight, fight, but it was slowly diminishing as the angels flew higher.
Let go, the wind whispered. William tilted his head back and saw the angels, saw the stars beyond them, limitless and infinite. He matched his breaths to the angels' wingbeats, slower as they grew more distant, watching them fade into the Empyrean. He lost himself among the stars, feeling more at peace than he'd ever been in his life, and the next time he exhaled, he couldn't hear the sound of wings at all.