the light sky of bleeds into that of the night, much of the academy grounds are silent - caught out after hours carries the punishment of a detention. for one Lancelot Abyssmal though, this rule is easily bypassed, if caught he claims sleepwalking in such a fanciful manner people roll their eyes and mutter 'Wonderlandians'.
he is at his usual haunt, sparring outside, lean body on show, he loathes combat training with simple swords, not when he has a claymore. The Claymore he recieved for his sixteenth, old enough then. hitting dummies with the broad, two handed sword, Lancelot hears a noise somewhere off and pauses, weapon still raised. “ i know you're there, might as well come out, "






