Emma opened her eyes slowly, smiling when she saw me watching her with a worried expression. She’d been thrashing and covered in cold sweat during her sleep. While I’d wanted to wake her, I figured it might hinder whatever process her dreams were triggering. Now that she was awake, she pretended everything was fine, her nonchalant attitude piquing my curiosity even more.

  She glanced at her sharp fingernails and, in a teasing tone, asked, “I suppose you’d like to know my new class and abilities?”

  Feigning indifference, I shrugged. “Oh, you got a new class? That’s cool, I guess. If you feel like sharing, no big deal.”

  She smirked and stood up. “Why don’t we take this outside? I’ll show you.”

  Suspicion prickled in the back of my mind, but my curiosity overrode my caution. I followed her out of the hut, eager to see what new tricks she’d unlocked. I should’ve known better. General Ackbar’s voice echoed in my head: “It’s a trap!”

  As we stepped outside, Emma turned to me with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “So, my free class is Ghostly Flyer, and my purchased one is Dragon’s Heir,” she began, her tone casual. “Dragon’s Heir strengthens my draconic abilities and helps me learn new ones faster. Ghostly Flyer lets me do things I could only do as a spirit.”

  Before I could process her words, she grabbed me and launched us into the sky.

  I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loudly—or so pathetically—in my life. We soared higher and higher, the ground rapidly shrinking beneath us. My terror took over entirely. I gripped Emma like a lifeline, trembling and clinging to her with the desperation of a man dangling over a pit of spikes.

  At first, she laughed, clearly enjoying my panic, but as my screams grew shrill and tears streamed down my face, her laughter faltered. Realizing she’d gone too far, Emma descended, landing us safely on the ground.

  I immediately collapsed, my legs refusing to support me. My body shook as I tried to catch my breath, every muscle locked in panic. To my ultimate humiliation, I discovered I’d wet myself. Everyone nearby saw it too—there was no hiding it. My cheeks burned with shame as I grabbed fresh clothes from our hut. Emma trailed behind me, guilt etched on her face.

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  “I’m sorry,” she said repeatedly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You didn’t mean what?” I snapped, spinning on her. “To exploit my worst phobia? To humiliate me in front of everyone I know?”

  Emma’s tears fell freely now, her voice breaking as she tried to explain, but I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Anger boiled over, and before I could stop myself, I said the words I instantly regretted: “Maybe I should find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

  The look on Emma’s face shattered my resolve. To an elf, those words were the equivalent of saying, I think we should see other people. She fell to her knees, whispering apologies over and over, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn back. I needed space, time to think, and a way to calm the storm inside me. That night, I slept on a stiff tree branch, far from anyone. The discomfort only made me miss the familiarity of our humble little hut.

  The next day, we split into separate parties to tackle the third floor of the dungeon. The air between us was thick with tension. Everyone around us was uncharacteristically quiet, aware of the strain but unsure how to address it. Emma and I exchanged glances across the way, but every time our eyes met, we both quickly looked away.

  The monsters on the third floor were mummies, eerily reminiscent of Skyrim’s Draugr. As we fought, I couldn’t resist shouting, “Hey, Draugr-san, is that you?” The groaning undead almost sounded like it was responding, which had me laughing despite myself.

  That night, I returned to the hut, still unsure how to fix things with Emma. Inside, I found my freshly washed and folded clothes neatly stacked on my mat. She had done it for me. As I picked up the bundle, our hands touched briefly. I looked down to see Emma standing there, her gaze full of remorse.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted,” I said softly.

  Emma’s lips curled into a grateful smile. “No, it’s my fault. I didn’t think my actions through.”

  Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled her into a hug. “I forgive you,” I said, squeezing her tightly. “Because you know I love you, girl.”

  She chuckled through her tears, her blush deepening as she replied, “I love you too, even when you sound like Justin Bieber.”

  That broke the tension entirely. We both laughed, sharing the moment. I kissed her forehead gently, still holding her close. For now, our relationship felt steady again. Maybe after surviving our first fight, we were ready to take our bond to another level—when the time was right.