You groaned as the snow whipped against your cloak, biting through the cracks of the cave entrance you’d stumbled into. Lisbeth, of course, was right behind you, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse about “idiots who can’t swing a sword without breaking it.” You didn’t bother turning around. She was probably already rolling her eyes at you. Again.

“You know,” she said, brushing snow from her hair and giving you that look—the one that could melt steel if it wanted to, but mostly just made you nervous, “if you didn’t treat every weapon like it was made of glass, maybe I wouldn’t have to spend hours fixing your mess.”

You flexed your fingers, wincing at the frostbite creeping in. “Maybe,” you replied, “I just like giving you job security.”

Her glare could have sliced through the cave walls. “Job security?” she hissed, crouching to patch the torn strap of your backpack. “I’m not a babysitter for someone who can’t aim a sword without shattering it into pieces. Or was that your plan? To make me your full-time repair shop?”

You shrugged, letting her fuss. She leaned closer, muttering under her breath while working, and you caught a whiff of the familiar scent of metal polish mixed with something distinctly Lisbeth—hot chocolate and stubbornness.

The mission, Kirito had said, was “a simple fetch quest.” Asuna had smiled sweetly when she added, “It’ll be fun, and maybe you two will get along!” That was a lie. They both knew it. You and Lisbeth had been sniping at each other since day one. Every time she looked at a broken sword of yours, it was like a personal insult to her entire lineage of master smiths. Every time you caught her rolling her eyes at your clumsy attempts, it felt like a duel without swords.

And now, snowdrifts had buried the path, and an avalanche had forced you both to take shelter in this cave. For days. With limited rations. And no escape.

“Are you seriously going to eat that last piece of jerky without offering me some?” she snapped, her teeth chattering.

“I was going to wait for you to ask nicely,” you said, tossing the jerky across the small fire. She caught it midair, scowling but not throwing it back. That was progress, in a Lisbeth sense.

The first night, you had tried to sleep on the icy floor, only to have her elbow you in the ribs for “snoring like a dying goblin.” In retaliation, you had dumped snow on her back while she wasn’t looking. The next twenty minutes were spent in a silent, passive-aggressive snow fight that ended with both of you collapsing in exhausted laughter, even if neither would admit it.

On the third day, you sat cross-legged, weapons patched (barely), and stared at her polishing your newest sword. “I swear, if I survive this, I’m switching to daggers. Or sticks. Or literally anything that can’t possibly break.”

She snorted, glancing up at you. “Daggers? Please. You’d still manage to snap the handle off. Maybe we should just tie a rock to a stick and call it a sword. Less hassle for me.”

You laughed, which made her roll her eyes so hard you were sure they were going to lodge in her skull. “That would still be better than trusting me with your masterpiece.”

“Hey!” she yelped, brandishing a repaired blade as if it were a weapon pointed directly at your soul. “That’s not a masterpiece until it’s survived your idiot hands!”

The cave became your battlefield, your warzone, your accidental comedy club. Every day, you argued, bickered, tripped over each other, and somehow survived an avalanche, frostbite, and the absolute agony of sharing a single tiny fire. And every day, Lisbeth fixed your broken swords, patched your bleeding arms, and complained loud enough that you were sure the whole dungeon would hear.

By the fifth day, the snow outside was relentless, and your fingers were numb beyond repair. But as you sat across from her, sharing a slightly singed jerky stick for dinner, you realized something: maybe the mission wasn’t about dragons or treasure. Maybe it was about surviving each other… and for some reason, that was just as entertaining.