Ryan's vision slowly focused, and he found himself in a small, windowless room. It was bare but for a bed placed haphazardly in the center. Its tenant, a wrinkled old man, slowly opened his gummed eyes and focused on the young God.
"So," he said hoarsely, "This is it then."
He's dying, thought Ryan, Alone.
"Lord knows I've been ready." croaked the ancient. "Take me up in your arms or give-" He coughed wetly. "Or give me my wings or whatever it is you do."
How? Ryan stepped forward nevertheless and, after a moment's hesitation, laid his hands over the elder. He did everything he thought could help, from just willing it to be done to trying to reach out and take the man's soul.
Nothing worked. Looking at the pitiful being before him, Ryan found himself wishing a new petition would simply spirit him away from the sickroom. Soon enough, one did. The man's cries reached him as he faded.
"No! Don't leave me, please! Take me with you!"