It was noon on an autumn day. Ocean waves crashed upon the shore of a tight-knit coastal town. A lone woman stood by an empty merchant stand near the shore, her eyes filled with anticipation. She exhaled as she caught sight of a familiar ship sailing toward the town’s harbour. Disturbed by the approaching vessel, the seagulls cried and scattered, their echoes spreading across the port.

  The Captain stepped onto land, turning to his crew and guiding them to his stand. As he drew closer, he saw her. They exchanged smiles and intertwined their fingers, their shoulders lowering in relief.

  “Have I kept thee waiting?” asked the Captain, his smile not faltering and his gaze fixed.

  “No more than the usual.” His wife replied with a mutual gaze, her smile wider.

  The Captain leaned to her, kissing her forehead. He glanced back at his crew and nodded, before turning all his attention on her. They strolled along the road together with easy steps. “So where is our young lad? ‘Tis unlike him to be absent upon my arrival.” The Captain asked, curious and not disheartened.

  On the contrary, her expression and tone darkened at the mention, almost spitting the words out. “He hath grown wilder since thou didst see him last. He wandereth these godforsaken woods and returneth home with bruises and cuts! His cousin doth drive him further with... so-called ‘training’ day after day!”

  The Captain remained unbothered by the news, his voice calm, curious, and his expression even. “Dost thou see them quarrel? Mayhap ‘tis but youthful rivalry."

  His wife thought in silence, struggling to describe her concerns. Then she sighed, her distress yet unanswered. “I am not so sure... he always cometh back late with bruises I say! He calls it ‘training’, yet I feel Crepus is just prodding him to folly and he alloweth it on himself!”

  The Captain tilted his head and placed a hand on her shoulder, cracking a small grin. “Worry not, I shall speak to him once he returneth. Come, let us go home.” He consoled.

  Far from the shore, under the trees’ shade, the sun’s unforgiving rays struck his reddened cheeks as he panted. He drove his sword to the ground as a staff to lean on, giving himself a moment to regain his breath.

  “Good, cousin, very good. Thou hast endured longer than I assumed.” Crepus teased. His smirk evident and so was a slight strain in his voice, in complete contrast to the other’s frowning, sweat-drenched face.

  “Thou... art a fool to assume I can not carry on.” The young man huffed out, glaring back at his relative. He straightened himself and pulled the sword out of the ground. The sun’s light illuminated his dishevelled flaxen hair and piercing blue eyes.

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  Crepus’ smirk didn’t falter, rather he tilted his head at his relative’s words. “Careful there, cousin, for pushing thyself is folly. On a battlefield, thoushan’t use all thy force at once. Instead, thou must plan and act wisely. A skirmish is not like that of a duel, after all.”

  The other young man pointed his sword and stiffened his posture, still eyeing his cousin with focus. “If thou art done with thy lectures... allow me to finish what we came for.” He declared with a strained, defiant voice.

  Crepus’ smirk turned wide as he pointed his sabre back, his eyes squinted at the glaring relative with challenge. “’Tis already done. But thou couldst try to send another strike.” He planted his feet to the ground and awaited his cousin’s advance.

  The young man let out a cry before dashing toward Crepus, his arms reaching high up to descend upon his opponent. Crepus’ smirk faded as he dashed toward his cousin with greater speed. Taking a foot to the left at the right moment, he struck him beneath his chest a precise strike that barely pierced his relative’s leather armour.

  The victor halted then turned, walking toward his now laying opponent. He looked at him from above, not lending a hand. “And what was that supposed to be?” Crepus scolded. “Have I not told thee a hundred times not to flail thy blade so high?” He scoffed. “Should I ask mine father to give thee a battle-axe, as he wieldeth?”

  The defeated young man struggled to get up, his body shuddering from all the bruises and the effort he has placed upon himself. He looked not at his cousin but responded with a low, annoyed voice: “If it silence thee.”

  Crepus grinned and retorted: “I look forward to seeing how thou mayst ruin that.” He stretched and turned away from the woods, letting his relative help himself. As they began their march back to their town’s walls, Crepus spoke: “I have heard from Father that mine uncle shall arrive today. ‘Tis unbecoming of thee to abandon such an occasion.”

  The young man walked to his side, speaking with nonchalance: “So what? I shall return home regardless; he will see me either way.”

  Crepus snickered, speaking with slight sarcasm to his voice: “Come now, at least feign excitement.”

  “For whom? A man who treateth weapons like ornaments and useth them as his last means?” The young man replied. Signs of irritation crossed his face though his voice remained even.

  “Perchance,” Crepus replied. “Yet thou shouldst not deny his wisdom, for his trials have taught him much. Thou couldst stand to learn a thing or two, Desider.”