War of Souls Part 1

He suddenly reined in the horse, unaccustomed to such behavior from its master, neighed violently but obediently stopped almost in place, interrupting its gallop by digging its feet into the soft, hospitable earth. As if surprised by his behavior, he shifted in the saddle and patted his mount on the neck as if to apologize. He turned and looked back. He was leaving everything he had. What he had lived for, what he had grown up with, what he would soon miss. He jumped to the ground, not yet knowing what he was doing; he hesitated for a long moment. He approached a spot overlooking the entire area. The place where his entire family lived, the place he now had to leave behind. He took the sword his father had given him before his departure from his belt, sank to his knees, planted it in the ground, folded his hands in prayer, and began to pray. He whispered the rosary, the prayer his mother always recited. In the evening, when everyone had risen from their knees, when they had finished praying together, she would continue to kneel and quietly whisper her "Hail Marys." This prayer always bored him; he couldn't understand why he had to repeat the same thing ten times. It seemed a waste of time. Today, he wanted to pray exactly that way, perhaps because he was leaving the mother who had given birth to him, perhaps because this earth reminded him of her. He had already become accustomed to the fact that it was better not to think about life. Sometimes he did things he didn't understand, and it was more comfortable not to think about them. Just like now, he did what he thought he should do, what he wanted to do. Two other people lived within him. Different from each other. One was the sensible one, the one who told him to go, the one who told him that his time on this earth was over and he needed to find his place elsewhere. She told him this even though he wasn't paying attention to her. He ignored her, turned away, avoided the conversation, pretended it wasn't there. The other was the one he liked to listen to, the one he loved, the one he loved talking to as much as being silent. With her, he felt incredible freedom, free to do whatever he wanted. Time with her flew by so quickly that he began to dread it himself. This realization finally began to sink in. He knew it couldn't last, and time was working against him. Subconsciously, he knew he had to do something that would, someday, allow him to return to what he liked, loved, and dreamed of. Everything slowly began to unravel. This was probably the beginning of the end. He began to feel dull. He couldn't tell if he was feeling good or bad. He began to realize that his second nature was taking over. How he hated her then. But he knew they had to communicate. Slowly, he realized he had to turn to her, finally listen to her. They both meant well, each wanted him for herself, and each wanted to achieve it in her own way. They told him what to do, but he knew less and less. He was afraid of making a choice. He didn't want to give up what he loved, even for a moment; he knewThat it would end and something had to be done. Sometimes he felt as if God were toying with him, looking down and laughing at his weaknesses. He believed this so strongly that he began to hate Him. He distanced himself from Him, stopped praying and thinking about Him. However, a dream frightened him. He once dreamed of an angel. He had never had such a realistic dream before. He had never been so afraid before, and whenever he realized he was dreaming, he could wake up. But not then; it wasn't an ordinary dream; perhaps he hadn't even dreamed it. He felt trapped and helpless. However, he realized that the only way out was to give up. It was a battle, and he fought with himself. When he decided to do so, he felt a peace he had never known before. Then he could wake up. It was God who showed him the difference between Himself and what was not God. He felt peace envelop him, his breathing calmed, and then he opened his eyes. Even though he had given up, he felt he had won. He returned to God.

This dream helped him find his bearings. Previously, he had been afraid to win, preferred losing to winning. He had some inner conviction that he could explain every defeat better than others. Now he knew that not every victory was a joy, that not everything that looked good was. He began to wonder then. He looked at his companions. In one, he saw wise, large eyes, a serious expression, a sober and confident gaze. In the other, he saw tenderness, love, hope, and the fear of separation. He pondered for a long time what to do. He pictured the look of fear in the eyes of his beloved soul; he knew he could hurt her, that he might never return to her. He had moments of hesitation. He never imagined such a decision would weigh so heavily on him. He went to the place where they had seen each other. They were there and then together. They were silent for a long time, until finally, he looked into her eyes. Beautiful green eyes:

"I'll be back..."

was all he managed to say. There was no turning back. His throat tightened so much that tears began to stream down his face in pain. Time froze. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, wipe away the tears. But she wasn't there. In his mind, he simply embraced the invisible figure and lingered for a long time, his hands as if holding someone's face.

Suddenly, he felt something cold, something slapped him in the face. He opened his eyes. The horse's enormous head bobbed above him. He himself was still kneeling on the cold ground, his hands clasped in prayer. The horse, as if disturbed by its master's strange behavior, decided to investigate. And he slowly returned to consciousness. He had already made his decision; there was only one path left. He had an irresistible urge to stay here as long as possible. He knew every inch of this area, yet his eyes took it all in as if seeing it for the first time. Every detail captivated his attention. He celebrated every moment in this place with all his senses. He looked, listened, smelled, touched. He felt that what he remembered now would have to last him a long time. He hated himself for understanding it all this way. That simple things that others didn't even notice about him became important things, things he sometimes thought about for days and nights. This was the case when he met people, got to know them, and learned their behaviors. He seemed to be one of those people who were guided by first impressions when forming a relationship, and he was never wrong. He could tell the nature of another person from the expression in their eyes. From that, he knew who they were and whether he wanted to stay with them. He ignored the people he passed. Women who looked at him lost respect for him, and he couldn't warm up to them. He often entered relationships where, from the expression in their eyes, he knew nothing would come of it. But he needed tenderness, a woman, and by looking into women's eyes less and less often, he persisted in all this and deceived himself. He wounded himself more than they did. He had had enough.