The roar of the crowd had died down around them. Oren blinked, taking in the people that still cheered and whooped just feet away, hands cupped around their mouths, oblivious to the turmoil that had taken root with the small group of Starry Rose mages settled in the front row of one of the upper seating levels. They carried on, eager for announcement of the first game - while Oren slumped in his seat, his stomach clenched, shoulders pinched back, mouth set in a grim line.
“That’s Falkner, isn’t it?” he asked.
Varya, perched on the railing overlooking the arena, clasped her hands together in her lap. For once, her cherubic face looked befitting of her age. It was unsettling, to say the least, to see her so sober.
It was Sage who answered.
“We’ve never seen him,” she admitted, standing from her seat to lean over the railing beside their master. “But Hawthorne’s told us before they look close to identical for being five years apart. And from the way he’s acting…”
From the little Oren knew of Hawthorne’s older brother, he loathed the man. He’d left Hawthorne ten years ago, in the midst of an attack on their home village, left him to fend for himself and carry the burden of a traitorous brother all on his own - and he hadn’t looked back. Hawthorne had been looking for him ever since he joined Starry Rose, but until now, that search had seemed like a lost cause.
Oren almost wished it still was.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Oren cut a look to the other members of their cheering squad. Ilias, as per usual, was hunched over in his seat, knees drawn up to his chest with his chin nestled in between them. His green eyes flickered behind a veil of knotted, crimson bangs, appearing to shift between their guild master and the goings-on of the arena.
Kier, who’d been grumbling menacingly under his breath since Rhett’s introduction had caused a stir among the teenage populace, pouted now, his brow furrowed and chin resting on his knuckles, elbows on his knees. Kier and Hawthorne weren’t friends, exactly, but Kier respected Hawthorne — he was one of the few people who went out on jobs with Rhett that Kier didn’t protest.
And Nova, well… she was a bundle of nerves from the outset of the games, high-strung and buzzing with boundless energy that made Oren’s head throb just looking at her. Hearing the news about Falkner had only upped the level of her tension, and for once, she clamped her mouth shut, utterly silent.
“He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?”
Oren couldn’t say who Sage was posing the question to. Her fingers were white-knuckled against the railing, her face pinched into an expression of such abject concern that she looked on the verge of tears.
The reality of the situation settled coldly in the pit of Oren’s stomach. This wasn’t just something that Hawthorne could brush off and laugh about, like he did with most troublesome matters. The only consolation was that he had Gideon down there with him, to reign him in. But Hawthorne had a one track mind about these things. He was going to have to make a decision — put his all into the tourney, or confront Falkner. If he turned his attention to his brother, he’d be damning Starry Rose to most likely losing whatever game he was in, which could jeopardize their chances of moving onto the individual duels.
This wasn’t going to end well. Whether that applied to the tourney, Hawthorne, or - more worryingly - both, he wasn’t sure, but there was no way for everything to work out - none that Oren could see, in any case.
“He’ll be fine.”
Every Starry Rose mage within hearing distance snapped their head around to stare inquisitively at Varya.
Her somber look hadn’t lessened; rather she looked more grim than only a few moments ago. But there was genuine conviction lacing her words as she went on.
“Hawthorne’ll be fine. Trust him. He cares more about Starry Rose than most anyone. Besides, we’re his family. Right?”
Well, Oren thought, letting his gaze flicker from Hawthorne to Sia and the others, it’s hard to argue with that when it’s coming from our master.
He just hoped she was right.
༺♥༻❀༺♥༻
If not for Lock clapping a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his stupor, Hawthorne might have missed the wide green banner that unfurled from the balcony where the royal family sat in a shower of ethereal sparks. A schedule of the day’s events was etched onto the silk surface in gold thread, and Hawthorne squinted up at it, trying to make out what games they were to participate in. At this distance it was difficult to see in any great detail, but before anyone could complain, the green-skinned djinn — Aaramis — cleared his throat at a nudge from the attendant at his side and addressed the crowd and the competitors once again.
“There are four qualifying games, and each team will pick two members to participate in each of them. They’re…” He paused, listening to whatever the attendant said, then sighed, dismissing the attendant’s clear and growing concern. “They’re childish, so I’d try not to embarrass yourselves out there. It’s an elimination game, a mirror maze, a coliseum fight — whatever that is — and an obstacle course. Two members to a game,” he repeated in that booming voice, his gaze sweeping over the gathered competitors below, expectant. “Choose wisely. You’ll earn points for your team based on how well you perform in each game.”
He made to turn away, but the attendant caught him again, whispering something that made the djinn roll his eyes and step back up to the railing.
“The games are taking place in different stadiums. Recording crystals have been set up so that those who choose to remain in the main stadium can watch the action from here.”
With that, Aaramis finally stalked off, disappearing behind the curtains the prince had emerged from earlier. The hush that had settled over the crowd vanished with him, and a near-deafening roar erupted from around them, far more oppressive than it was flattering.
It barely registered for Hawthorne, though, as the moment Aaramis had finished speaking his eyes had been drawn to where the members of Polar Fox stood beside the Celestials. He’d been distracted by the sight of Polar Fox causing some sort of commotion. The terrifying white-haired girl — Taryn? — was grinning maniacally at the brown-haired boy, whose red face and vehemently furious expression (and the fact that his hands were protectively settled over his rear) left little to the imagination as to what had happened between them. Her eyes slid away from the boy, though, and cold fingers raked down his spine as her eyes lit up with an intense sort of mania the moment they latched onto him. She looked about ready to lunge at him again (and he was already sweating, desperately searching for a way out) when the purple-haired man grabbed her by the hair, jerking her back into the folds of their group, all while she screamed bloody murder — much to the bemusement and subsequent fear of the crowd.
Through it all, Falkner never once looked Hawthorne’s way.
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It was Falkner — there was no doubt about that. Hawthorne would know his brother anywhere, despite the decade between them. The only new addition was the gleaming metal gun slung across Falkner’s back; he turned to speak with the person next to him — gods, was that a kid? They couldn’t have been older than sixteen, and with their stature and the huge pink eyes set into their round face, Hawthorne would have believed they were much younger — and Hawthorne caught sight of three glass globes affixed to the barrel of the gun. Each housed something that looked almost alive — magic, if he had to guess, fire and ice and something else Hawthorne couldn’t identify from here. Falkner hadn’t come into his magic the last time Hawthorne had seen him, and he had no idea what to expect from him in the tourney.
A light touch to the crook of his arm startled Hawthorne, and he glanced down to see Gideon staring back at him, one fine brow lifted. Hawthorne winced; it was an accusation and a warning, a reminder that Hawthorne was here for Starry Rose, for his guild mates. They’d placed their faith in him with this nomination — he’d be a fool to disregard that simply because he’d encountered an unexpected obstacle.
It was his brother, the man he’d spent the last ten years looking for, but he’d also spent those ten years striving to make something of himself as a member of Starry Rose. They took him in when Hawthorne was desperate for a home, gave him friends and a family and the strength to claw his way out of the hellish tragedy of his childhood.
He wasn’t going to be the reason Starry Rose lost today.
Stealing himself with a deep breath, Hawthorne pointedly turned his back to Polar Fox and faced his teammates. Gideon’s eyes twinkled with approval as he did the same, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hawthorne, his comforting weight grounding Hawthorne.
The Roses were in the midst of sorting out teams, it looked like.
“I should totally go! An elimination round is perfect for me — I’ll take everyone out with one move!”
That was Sky, of course, volunteering like, well, everyone knew she would. She was eager to show off, and Hawthorne swore there was literal fire burning in her eyes as she looked around, daring anyone to dispute her going into the first game.
“We should be more strategic about this,” Sia said, frowning. “An elimination game probably means we’ll need to do well with offense and defense, right? And the participants should be able to watch each other’s backs.” Her eyes slid to Hawthorne and Gideon, head cocking to the side in thought. “You guys have the most experience going out on jobs together, don’t you?”
“Ah, I see where you’re going with this,” Gideon said, nodding. “In that case, I agree, Hawthorne and I should take the first game. We’re quite used to covering for one another’s blind spots.”
Hawthorne couldn’t argue with that; he and Gideon had been pairing up since Hawthorne had first arrived at the guild. “If everyone’s alright with that…”
“Sky?” Sia turned to the violet-haired mage expectantly.
She puffed out her cheeks for a moment, childishly indignant, but catching sight of Lock’s even expression, she sighed and placed her hands on her hips, fixing Hawthorne with a steely look.
“Do your best to bring home the gold, Thorny, ‘kay?”
He couldn’t very well refuse after so much confidence being instilled in him, so he swallowed down his nerves and managed a bright smile.
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“Then I’m taking the second game,” Sky announced, chest puffed out, head held high. Her hero pose, they’d taken to calling it. “Sia, you’re with me!”
Sia looked taken aback. “Why—”
“No backtalk! And don’t worry your pretty little head about anything.” Sky bared her teeth in a viciously smug smile. “I’ll wipe the floor with everyone before you have a chance to cast a single spell!”
“In the mirror maze?” Sia questioned, dubious.
“Just go with it,” Lock cut in. “She’s determined, and there’s no point in dragging this out. And you’re our cleric,” he added, which Hawthorne took to mean he expected Sky to be her usual reckless self. Having a healer partnered with her did probably increase their chances of getting through the event relatively unscathed.
Sia opened her mouth, then just as quickly closed it, nodding in assent.
“As for the coliseum match, Lock and Cross are the best suited to it.” Gideon was unfazed as the Roses’ attention snapped to him. He shrugged, nonchalant. “We don’t know the particulars of the game, but they’re our specialists when it comes to restraining opponents, and their magic is versatile enough that, should the event catch us completely off guard, they’d be able to adapt to the situation with greater ease than the rest of us.”
Cross, who’d been chuckling to himself over Sky’s familiar antics, straightened up with a jolt, his tail going stiff for a moment before it teasingly flicked at Lock’s bare shoulder, earning him a mild look in response. Cross’ smile was eager and blinding, reminiscent of when Lock had nominated him in the first place.
“I’m glad to see you’re all finally recognizing my brilliance,” he said, the wattage of his smile increasing as Lock clapped a hand to his shoulder.
“Leave it to us.”
“What he said,” Cross added. “But with, like, something even more badass thrown in. Not that the stoicism isn’t a good look for you, Lock, ‘cause it is, trust me, but something with a little more pizazz. Sky knows what I’m talking about—”
“That leaves Rhett and Waverly with the final game,” Gideon said, mercilessly cutting Cross off. He looked to the two remaining members of their team, and Hawthorne followed his gaze. Neither of them had spoken up regarding the other games, but then, neither of them were very talkative outside of specific circumstances. Hawthorne didn’t want them feeling pressured, though — if they preferred to compete in another game, they’d work something out.
His fears seemed to be unfounded. Waverly unclasped her hands from behind her back, her gaze roaming the arena for a moment before flickering up to the banner, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then she looked back to the rest of their group and nodded decisively.
“I can do it,” she said.
Rhett smiled at her agreement. “We’ll make a good team. Cover all our bases between the two of us.”
Hawthorne reflexively grinned, his fingers flexing around the straps of his shield. They were all here for the same reason — to prove to the kingdom that Starry Rose was more than the rumors that followed them around like a plague, and to prove to everyone who’d ever looked down on them that they were capable of great things.
They didn’t have to win, Hawthorne reminded himself. Just do well enough to catch the eyes of potential clients and net them future employment opportunities.
But winning the whole thing would be… something else.
“Excuse me! Please, this way! If you’re participating in the first game, please follow me to the Solaris Stadium!”
A young man dressed in kingdom colors had just exited one of the halls they’d used for their dramatic entrances, and now stood waving a hand, his voice magically amplified so that it carried across the whole arena. A few people had already started walking over to meet him — Hawthorne didn’t let himself stare, but he caught a glimpse of the brown-haired boy and the purple-haired man who’d dealt with Taryn earlier. The paladins from Steel Knights and the shifters from Chaos Dogs reached the attendant at the same time as the two teenagers from the Adventurer’s Coalition. Siblings, probably; they shared the same red hair and dark skin, and were dressed like they were preparing for a northern expedition to the ice caps at the edge of the kingdom’s territory.
Hawthorne was sweating just looking at them; how they were surviving the humid summer heat of the capital, he had no idea.
He ran a hand over the silver bracer on his right forearm, feeling first for the guild marker he’d had embedded into the metal and then for the crystal that would allow him to recall his shield from anywhere in a thirty-foot radius. Reassured neither had been disturbed, Hawthorne tapped Gideon’s shoulder, gesturing towards the attendant with his other hand.
“C’mon, Gids, we better get a move on.”
He nodded and they set off for the door that would presumably lead them to the Solaris Stadium, Gideon with his violin in hand, Hawthorne forcing his eyes forward, focused only on the objective at hand.
He’d have time to deal with Falkner, he’d make sure of it.
But for now, he had a game to win.