The first message

“Fifth, flank them!”, the man heard his commander shout. Without thought the man followed the order, taking a step towards the flank, but then a calm voice entered his presence: “You can not help them anymore, Kulea.”

The man stopped, trying to think, but his mind suddenly felt so slow. “Kulea… Kulea, is that my name?”, he said and looked in the direction of the voice.

Standing a few steps behind him was a woman, seemingly unbothered by the people running through her body as the battle raged around them. She took a step forward, her green dress shimmering as it dragged behind as if submerged in water, just like her long, curly brown hair.

“It … was your name. I prefer to use the names of the living, they sound so interesting.” The woman was now standing face to face with Kulea’s scarred face, smiling softly.

“Who or what are you?”

Her smile widened. It reminded Kulea of someone he knew, a memory of which was so near, yet so far away.

“I am a messenger.”

“A messenger? What news do you bring? Have the reinforcements arrived?”

Her smile faded slightly, as if she had heard something expected, yet sad. “I know of no reinforcements, the message is much simpler: you are dead.”

At this Kulea chuckled. “I don’t know what you are, that allows men to pass through you, but I assure you, I am not dead. If you are merely a spirit wanting to distract me, then you have succeeded, but now I need to support my friends.”

Kulea turned around to follow his brethren, but before he could take a step he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Kulea glanced at the feminine hand holding him back. Something was wrong, yet he could not pick out what.

“Kulea, there is a reason for why no one has run through you while we have been talking. Look down and see what lies at your feet.”

As Kulea did, a shiver went down his spine. He was looking at himself, sprawled out on the ground with an arrow through the blood-soaked chest. The eyes were staring blankly into the sky, unaware of the battle and the two figures looking down.

“I understand it is hard to take in, but it gets easier if you say it.”

“Frili”

“Hm?”

“Your smile, it reminded me of Frili, my wife. She has a smile like that and I like to say that I want to be greeted with a smile like that once I am …” Kulea trails off, letting his brain catch up. The woman lets her hand follow the shoulder, down his arm, grabbing his hand gently.

Very slowly Kulea turned to the woman, looking into her expecting eyes, and a whisper escaped his lips: “Once I’m dead.”