The forest around them was a blur of light and shadow, alive with wild magic. Trees bent under the force of spells, and the air smelled faintly of ozone. A creature lunged from the shadows, but neither of you noticed.

“Honestly,” you shouted over the roar of magic, flicking a spark toward his shoulder, “you fight like you’re trying to bore the enemy to death! Loosen up a little!”

Orter’s eyes narrowed, pale and sharp. “Loosen up? You’re the one throwing fireballs at me instead of the target!”

“I am the target!” you shot back, leaping over a jagged root as sparks erupted around you. “Or maybe you’re just too uptight to notice how good I am at this!”

“Good?” His voice was ice. “You call nearly getting yourself killed good?”

You laughed, twirling your wand and sending a bolt of energy just past his head. “Relax, Orter! Or are you going to frown at me until I magically die of boredom?”

He froze for a split second—then retaliated, a jet of icy magic aimed at a branch… which you ducked under, and it slammed into the ground behind you. “If you die,” he said coldly, “it will be your own fault.”

“Oh, so you care now? That’s cute.” You ducked another blast and shot a teasing smile. “I didn’t realize the stoic ice prince had feelings. Should I cry?”

“Shut up!” Orter’s wand flared. Spells collided midair as he tried to strike you, and you dodged, laughing as sparks flew dangerously close to your head. “Focus! For once in your life—focus!”

“I’m focused!” you yelled, narrowly avoiding a clawed beast that lunged from the shadows. “Focused on how annoying you are! Seriously, you’re like… a walking spellbook of moodiness!”

“You are insufferable,” he hissed, ice forming in the air with his words. His next attack was more controlled, more dangerous—but so distracted by the argument that he misjudged the trajectory.

A massive branch, dislodged by your reckless magic, crashed toward you both. Your eyes went wide. “Orter—watch—”

Without thinking, he threw up a shimmering barrier, slamming you aside just as the branch would have crushed you. You hit the ground hard, coughing, adrenaline surging.

“Thanks,” you wheezed, still glaring. “But next time, maybe warn me before you shove me into almost-death.”

“I did warn you,” he said flatly, eyes sharp as knives. “You just refused to listen. And if you keep acting like an idiot, the next time I might not save you.”

You groaned, sitting up and rubbing your shoulder, your grin begrudging. “Stubborn. Arrogant. Cold. Got it. You really hate me, don’t you?”

“I do not hate you,” he said, his voice even—but the tension in his posture suggested otherwise. “I simply do not trust you not to get us killed.”