The room was small. Musty, salty dust choked my throat, clogging me up. I coughed, raising a hand over my mouth to shield it. This room hadn't been open for a long time. White marble lined the walls, while the hard salt rock felt rough on my bare feet. I bent down, placing my pack and wrecked Boots on the floor. Behind me, Michael swung the torch around the room, lighting up the corners and crevices. In a moment, it flickered out.
"Harry," he said impatiantly, tapping one foot.
Without speaking, I took my Silver Pentacle amulet from around my chest and in a second, a humming blue light had sprung forth from it, encasing the small room in a pale blue glow. It crept across the walls, glinting back at me.
Engravings, pictures and faded Aramaic script crept across them, telling tales. Old ones. An old stable, a baby, an angel and three men. A young man, with twelve others, all standing strong against a wave of darkness. A great battle, with the man at it's fore, wielding a glowing sword. A desert and a demon. A Kiss, and Thirty Denarii. A Cross.
I glanced back at my friend. His blue eyes shone, tears of joy and awe creeping out of them. He limped across towards me, and I placed my free hand on his shoulder.
"Is this...?" I needn't say more. The big man nodded, sighing with relief. He glanced past me and drew in a sharp breath. He nodded.
"I turned to where his eyeline was set, and saw a large marble sarcophagus. It had no design bar a single Cross in the centre.
I had never been religious, owing to the fact that I had never been able to belong to a religion before I started poking holes in it. But I had a certain respect for those who followed them. Michael for one, although it was kind of hard not to, owing to the fact that he had, at one point, been the literal Fist of God, a holy knight against the darkess. I had seen things, fought Fallen freaking Angels and been given a severe bout of pins and needles by an Archangel. But I had never really believed that they were anything more than powerful supernatural entities that were, in one way or another, no more exciting than the Faerie Courts or The White Council.
But now I was thinking differently. I watched Michael, one of my oldest, most loyal friends step up to that coffin and had to look away. This wasn't my moment. It was Michael's
A few moments later, he returned. He was openly weeping now, but I knew it was joy. He was happy, truly at peace at last.
"Was it..."
"It was Him" he said, letting out a quiet chuckle.
I blinked as he walked past me, pondering things. Many things.
"God, I could do with a beer," I muttered, then followed Michael out into the desert sun.
I didn't look back.
Neither did Michael, which just goes to show how strong the guy was.
The Old Knight and I (The Wizard) walked onwards into the sun, and hopefully, back home.
To Chicago.