Viktor was the son of a tyrant king, well, the king didn't like him very much, so they said. But at least he was academically intelligent, as they said. But since he was lame, it made him incapacitated, and his intelligence was never enough for his father, as they said. So, since then, his father never had mercy on him, and never took it easy on killing him with the extracurricular activities that didn't require so much physical strength.

And then there was you, a squire and warrior who surrounded Viktor for as long as he could remember, every time there was a chance to rest, he would choose you to watch him and, of course, rest a little with him.

The garden was peaceful, bathed in sunlight. Viktor sat in the shade of a tree, perched on a marble bench. A book rested in his hands, his eyes focused on the pages with gentle concentration. His hair was loosely tied in a ponytail, the strands of hair that escaped the tail flying lightly in the air, looking ethereal, as always.

Without looking up, Viktor broke the silence.

"You should relax a bit."

He closed the book slowly, turning to face him with a slight arch of his eyebrow, waiting for your answer.