By the end of the hour, Leo had a fortress, but he was sitting all alone in the corner of the board. His grandfather had built a beautiful park where all the other pieces—the commoners, the travelers, even the dragons—were gathered for a feast.

His grandfather just smiled and moved a small wooden pawn. "In this game, Leo, the winner isn't the one who takes the most territory. The winner is the one who keeps the peace the longest."

"I won," Leo insisted, though his voice wavered. "I have the government seat. Nobody touched me."

One afternoon, Leo found an old, dusty board game in the attic called The Silent Kingdom . He invited his grandfather to play, determined to crush him. As they set up the pieces, Leo started his usual routine: "I’m going to take the castle first, and you can’t stop me. I’m the best at strategy!"

Leo lived in a world where everything was a competition. At school, he had to have the fastest pencil; at home, he had to have the biggest slice of pie. He spent so much time defending his "territory" that his favorite catchphrase became,

Leo looked at his cold stone fortress and then at the vibrant, laughing "kingdom" his grandfather had built. He realized that while he was so worried about being "beaten" or "hit" in a fight, he had forgotten to actually enjoy the company of the person across the table.

"You did," his grandfather agreed softly. "You built a wall so high that no one could get in to play with you. You kept your seat, but you lost the game."