The morning fog veiled two silhouettes standing on the upland. The taller figure, a muscular Celestian man in a green tunic held a wooden sword with ease. A ten-year-old boy took a straddle position, facing his older opponent. He gripped his sword with thick leather gloves, shifting from foot to foot. Strands of his golden hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and his waist-long ponytail resembled a jagged broom. His breath trembled, and his pupils dilated so much that his turquoise eyes became almost completely black. His pointy ears tensed up, listening out for every sound.

Clumps of yellow grass and leafless berries poked out of the brown moss. They lazily wobbled whenever the faint wind blew around the nearby mountains and hills. Leaves of the tree behind the boy rustled and waved. Even though the spring has just begun, The Evergreen Tree still glistened with vivid green.

The boy charged. His opponent lifted his sword and trotted forward. A dull clack echoed among the hills. Holding his weapon above his chest, the boy blocked the stroke. Feeling a little tremble in his leg, he relaxed his grip for a second. That was enough for the man to push his sword down. The boy recoiled and froze in a defensive position. With his mouth open, he glanced upwards at his opponent. Wiping the drops of sweat, the man swept aside his shoulder-length, brunette hair. He took a few, long steps back.

"Erilaz, fight," he ordered, "as if I were trying to kill you!" He rushed at the boy, taking a wide swing with his sword.

Erilaz reversed his weapon, the tip pointed backwards. He took a deep breath, squatted to gather momentum and sprung forwards. The man was approaching him, tensing all his muscles and getting ready to deal a blow. Gliding on the mud, Erilaz sneaked under the opponent's blade. The man staggered, surprised by the off-target strike. Before he halted, Erilaz had stabbed his back.

The man turned around with an underwhelmed expression. "That was a dirty trick, don't you think?" he muttered.

"But it was you, Brymir," Erilaz gasped out, lifting his hands, "who told me to fight as if you were trying to kill me."

"Besides, it's not your first time. Don't bring your sword tomorrow," commanded Brymir. He pulled his thick gloves off. His hands sparkled with sweat and smelt like leather. Panting slowly, he ran his fingers through his wet, stringy hair. "I think I need to explain some principles of combat to you," said Brymir and tucked his gloves and sword into Erilaz's hands.

Erilaz crouched over a bag and threw the items inside. "Brymir, do you really think that," he mumbled and stood up, pointing at the sky, "everybody in this galaxy respects these principles?" He put his hand on his hip. "We can't..."

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"Do you want to be like those dirty animals?" Brymir chimed in. "Who hunt and fight each other?" He pointed at the distant castle on a hill. Thin, feeble clouds twined its hoary-grey towers and the morning sunbeams reflected from its surface. "We are the royal blood of Helvetto." Clenching his fist, he continued, "We bring pride, prosperity and safety to this planet. As a future Vardir Commander..."

Hearing this title, Erilaz rolled his eyes slightly.

Brymir carried on, "you should learn something more than just how to swing your sword."

"That's what I'm talking about, Brymir." Erilaz pulled off his training tunic and spread his arms. "I don't get all of these combat techniques, tactics, and moves." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't want to be a warrior."

Brymir was preparing a crisp response but Erilaz pointed at him. "Why can't I be like you? A great king and a wise diplomat?"

A few meters away, two kids sat on the grass. Andvari, a ginger boy with short hair fiddled with a long blade of grass, and Hefri, a girl with a long, black ponytail listlessly gazed ahead.

Erilaz glanced at them. "Just ask my peers. They never have any serious conflicts," he said and stared at Brymir, "because of me."

"Erilaz, you know this place is already taken." Brymir's face softened. "When I get old or something happens to me, my cousin will take care of everything."

Erilaz tensed up, putting his hands on his hips. "Ivendir won't rule forever too.

"So then we will see," Brymir said with finality. A gentle smile appeared on his face. "That's all. You're free to go."

"Thank you," said Erilaz with resignation, turning around. He expected a response like that. Historical sovereigns and their ideas were his hobby horse since he could remember. Subjects like war bored him to death, and he was a good student just to make his adoptive father happy. Brymir always prided himself on a clever son. Dutifully, although with bad grace, Erilaz trained to be one of the best students in the Royal Academy.

Before he walked away, he felt a touch on his arm.

"Trust me," said Brymir in a soft voice, "I want to take care of you like you were my own son." He looked in Erilaz's eyes. "Sometimes diplomacy may be trickier than you expect."

"That's fine, Brymir." Erilaz squinted, pulling off a hairband. His golden, rumpled hair flopped on his arms. "Next time I will try not to impale you by surprise." He walked away towards his friends with a catty smile.

Brymir watched how Erilaz ran up to the kids. They discussed and laughed like there was no future to worry for. Brymir admired their levity. As a king, he had to keep his ears and eyes open wide. Wars always appeared in Helvetto's surroundings, but thanks to clever and wary kings, this planet remained a peaceful place. That made Brymir feel an everlasting pressure. His predecessors kept this world in order and wealth, so he couldn't be worse. He only worried a bit about his cousin. Ivendir had an enormous amount of great ideas, but their execution left much to be desired.

Keeping Erilaz away from diplomacy is keeping him away from troubles, said Brymir to himself.