Such is life. When it is a single bullet away from being forfeit, you yearn for any kind of boredom. When that is forced upon you, you yearn again for the thrill of the battlefield, for the skies, for the feeling of mana at the end of your rifle, for the mad laugh that comes with killing. The room is bare, the walls sickly, and you don’t dare approach the squat toilet in the corner until absolutely necessary. One bed, one chair. As it stands, the height of luxury.

You don’t want to think about the jailing conditions of your subordinates, if indeed they were still alive. Idle hands bring idle thoughts. Braiding your hair at least offered you solace ever since you were brought out of the military infirmary into your jail.

Of course, Lt. Ayuz’s lone knock and entrance came at the exact time when your hair was at its most disheveled. Despite this, and the creases in your shirt and trousers, you immediately stand at attention. You can’t let something like two (or was it three?) months of incarceration soften you up that much.

“Ha, Knight-Lieutenant di Heldeqi zu Bluwmik, yes. Hello, hello. Stand easy, easy, I’m no senior of yours. Hm... Have you been well...?” he trails away, and only draws his eyes away from his writing pad to look into yours for that single moment.

>“I do believe I already told you not to sully my family name. Please just use my first name.” [Friendly banter]
>“Yes, thank you for your concern.” [Cold, with an edge of sarcasm]
>“Yes, Lieutenant, thank you, Lieutenant.” Remain at attention. [Expressionless]
>Other (?)