The end of a story how a man find and witness the last moments of the divine.
And as the angel began to speak, both me and my companion were filled with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. What could possibly a have happened to this being to reduce him to such a state. It would be an understatement to call him pitiful. But the words that he spoke, that was what really got us, what really filled us with despair. I will repeat his words knowing that no one will ever believe me, but had you heard it from his mouth there would not be a doubt in your mind that it was true. What he said was: "Yes, angels do exist, or rather did. I believe I am the last one of us left, and I won't be long for this world."
And with those words he simply slumped over motionless. It was as if all light in the chamber had suddenly just vanished even though the torches were still burning strong. And the deathly chill that drew in almost froze the bones in my body. My friend and I simply stood there watching him as he slowly faded away into dust, it felt like minutes but was in reality more like hours, since when we stepped outside the sun had already begun to rise. My fellow explorer and I simply looked at each other, nodded and went our separate ways, we both knew, withour speaking a word to eachother that our lives would never be the same again. What happened to him after that I only know vaguely, I heard he was still travelling the world, traversing old ruins. No doubt searching for more evidence of the angels story. Me? I believe my life you know fairly well, I spent some time obsessing over that ruin, canvassing every inch of over and over again. Looking for any proof that would corrobarate my story, though having found nothing I will still tell it to anyone who would listen.
Looking out across the room I could see only one or two of the people who were there from the beginning was still around, probably only out of respect for the elderly, I could see that much in their eyes. They left quickly enough and left me alone in my study. I let out a deep sigh as I walked over to my desk that held the various artifacts I had found through the years. I opened a drawer and with some effort lifted out the false bottom to reveal it's secret content. A single singed feather, old and fragile, but still glowing faintly, just enough to make out if the room was dark enough. Of course I had not told them the full story, part of it was mine and mine alone. This feather was only one of the things I had found in that ruin, though this feather was special. It was a feather belonging to the last of the angels, an angel I had seen and talked to at its last moment. An angel I watched crumble into oblivion.
He never did give me his name, but even if he did I do not think I could share it with anyone else, just as I have not shared the entirety of his last words. Such was the impact of that day. What he said just before his final silence was: "You ask of a god, but he is long disappeared. My brothers and I killed him many millenia ago."
The pure sadness and grief had sealed my lips but even so, funnily enough, I could not sence even an iota of regret in his words, nor could I see it in his eyes.
This is only speculation on my part based solely on my humen perception, but I do not think he regretted his actions, nor was he afraid of his death. I think his only regret was that he could not have perished together with his brothers, but instead lived on, in solitude for so long, so very long. I can only hope that the presence of me and my compatriot at his last minutes at least lessened his burden somewhat.
I write this down because I can feel I don't have much longer for this world, I am getting old and it will soon be time to go. Every year I can feel the chill of the wind getting colder, the creaking of my bones louder. I will leave behind this journal with the full story that only two humans in this world know so that at the very least, you who read this will know the truth I could not bear to reveal. Could you bear this burden better than I could, or will you dispose of the pages to never be read again. That choice is up to you, some one like me have no right to tell you what to do.
I go now, knowing that only oblivion await me.