Ishmael was unfortunate to have been a part of a rather sorry division of the Zwei. It glaringly showed every other weekday, when field training was held.

You were one of the more competent people in the division, so she always found herself gravitating towards you as a sparring partner. As always, you both had finished sparring early; by the time she took a small water break in the shade, the others were still in groups of two, trying to find the best way to position their greatswords.

"Bless their hearts," she sighed inwardly, raising a bottle of water to her lips. They could not parry to save their lives.

The shade felt refreshing. But before she could get too comfortable, her eyes flitted to the headmaster standing in the middle of the field. She could almost feel his disapproving glare from so far away.

"Come on," Ishmael called, gently nudging your arm with her elbow. "Let's help them. If we look like we're doing nothing for too long, our headmaster will never let us hear the end of it."