Oren regarded the unlocked gate with fond exasperation — as fond as he ever got, anyway. Exasperation with the barest hint of fondness. A drop of fondness in a lake of exasperation.

Gods, was he tired.

They'd only been home in Wisteria a few days in the wake of their extermination job, all of them scrambling to get their things together and repacked before they set off in the morning for the capitol. Sera had cautioned all the tourney participants to get as much rest as they could now, because no one knew exactly how grueling the tourney would turn out to be. He'd only enter the games should one of their members have to drop out, but he should've been asleep regardless. Sia really should've been asleep. But she wasn't, and so neither was Oren.

This was why he didn't have other friends.

The wrought-iron gate (shaped into curling vines and delicate leaves, on brand for the guild) led to a clearing behind the guild that Varya had cultivated with training in mind. The enclosed area wasn't overly large, but spacious enough a few pairs of Roses could spar together at the same time. Multiple people had keys, with all of them sourced through Sera and traded off whenever someone had need of the space. Oren guessed Sia had either gotten hers from Sera directly or borrowed it from Hawthorne. That is, if she didn't have a permanent key already; Oren couldn't really be sure one way or the other.

Slipping past the gate, Oren didn't have to look too hard to locate the wayward cleric. Her magic was impossible to ignore, and she was the only person out this late in the training field, a pale pink ghost among Varya's moonlit blossoms.

"Passing out on the train ride tomorrow is a guarantee you're going to wake up with something unsightly drawn on your face," he said in lieu of a greeting, settling with his back against one of the wooden posts they used for target practice.

The squeal Sia let out was shrill, and Oren scrunched one eye closed in a wince as she spun towards him, hands clapped over her mouth as though that would prevent him from acknowledging the startled noise that had escaped her. He relaxed his expression as their eyes met; he could make fun of her for getting so lost in her head she hadn't noticed his approach another time, when he wasn't running on fumes.

"Is that a forewarning or a promise?" she joked through her fingers, before clearing her throat and dropping her hands. "Should I be rethinking my choice of travel partner?"

"More like a reminder that Cross exists and will take advantage of a moment of weakness," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he took in the clearing. There was evidence of Sia's magic in every corner, which meant she'd been at this awhile. Longer than he'd anticipated, honestly. She was going to be such a pain tonight, he knew it just by the way she was standing now, feet planted just so, body coiled tight with tension and magic alike.

"And no, you shouldn't, unless you want to give Cross total access to your vulnerable... everything," he said, with a vague hand gesture at her person. He wasn't good at quips on less than eight hours of sleep, alright?

"Ah, Cross, how could I forget. You it is. Don't forget your advice when I sleep on your shoulder."

The night air was cool, and the breeze that ruffled Oren's hair brought with it the scent of green, growing things that permeated the entirety of the guild (sometimes the whole town, if he got dramatic about it). Sia, though, was coated in a fine film of sweat, her face red with exertion. Not a great look for her, if he was honest.

"Point is," Oren said, lifting a brow at the scrutinizing look Sia had turned on him, " if you don't want this great tragedy to befall you, you should, you know. Sleep. Now. Preferably before dawn."

She tilted her head back, and judging by the widening of her eyes she hadn't noticed just how high the moon had crept while she was out here training. Sighing, she raked her hair away from her face and looked back down at the clearing.

"I won't be out here too much longer," Sia promised after a moment's hesitation. "I just wanted to get some more practice in, is all." She paused, glancing at Oren. "Like you, I presume?"

Oren scoffed and pushed away from the post. "Not really my thing. But it's your thing, and your thing also includes you training so much you pass out. Like I said. Do you know how annoying that is? I'll have to talk to people, Sia. People like Cross. Or Nova. Or Kier."

That last one wasn't likely. Kier was in Waverly mode these days, but he wasn't any more pleasant to be around, in Oren's opinion. He talked less like this, but he also didn't exclusively talk to Waverly the way he was with Rhett sometimes, so there was a chance, however slim, that Oren would have to socialize with him if his usual conversation partner was asleep in her seat.

Blowing out a breath, Oren propped his hands on his hips and met Sia's gaze. "It's not my thing, but if it means you get your ass into bed sooner, I'll help out." He lifted one hand, fingers spread — a gossamer veil of magic flickered around the digits. "So who's it gonna be? My last copy was Rhett — don't ask — so it's either him, or I copy you and you can see how you stack up against yourself."

How that would help her, he couldn't tell you. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd asked to spar against a copy of herself, so he thought he'd offer anyway.

Sia tilted her head, studying Oren for a moment as she considered his offer. "Rhett," she settled on after a moment. "I don't think fighting myself would help me in this situation."

Well, they agreed there, at least.

Decision made, Sia put her back to him as she strode across the grounds to put several paces between them. It was a sight Oren had grown used to in the years they'd been at the guild together. Oren made for a versatile sparring partner, according to Sia, and given they'd joined the guild around the same time, it had only made sense for them to pair up. Oren didn't like training — he considered it a waste of time for himself, for the most part, as he wasn't a fighter and probably never would be. But Sia had dragged him out enough times that they'd gotten familiar with one another's fighting styles.

"...thanks."

He almost didn't hear the quiet word, but it carried in the soft silence of the clearing. Stifling a grin, Oren took a moment to sort himself out before he responded.

He called his magic, and it was barely a flicker of a thought before he'd transformed, his frame shortening but filling out a little in a way Oren didn't let himself dwell on. Rhett's bangs fell into his eyes, and he swiped them aside as he looked himself over. He didn't like copying Rhett, not only because he didn't need Kier thinking he was making a move on the guy, but also because Rhett's blindness didn't transfer with his magic.

It didn't sit right with Oren that he got Rhett's body and his magic, but he also got to see. Oren's fae blood meant he always had his eyes, no matter who he copied, a marker of his heritage whether he liked it or not. Rhett wouldn't have taken offense, he knew that, but usually it was altogether easier just to skip it entirely. But needs must, and all that.

Whatever jacket Rhett had been wearing was a little too restrictive, so Oren shucked it and tossed it over the post he'd abandoned, then settled himself into a loose stance he'd seen Rhett take on jobs before. It didn't feel quite as natural as his movements with Hawthorne's body (it was his go-to copy when he could manage it), but he usually got a handle on things pretty quickly, so he didn't worry about it.

"Don't mention it," he said, more to hear himself speak with Rhett's voice than anything else. Another thing to get used to. "Really, don't. If Sky hears I helped with your dumb training regime she'll start forcing me to go with her when she trains, and I'll literally die."

Sia snorted and brought a hand up to hide her curling ups. "You make a good point. If you die, who would train with me?" she teased agreeably. "No worries, I'll keep your kind side to myself."

Oren wasn't as sensitive to magic as other members of their guild, but he felt the subtle change in pressure as Sia released some of hers. Rhett's own magic helped — it brought with it a newfound awareness of the way the air moved around him and everything in the clearing. Sia's magic butted up against Rhett's, giving Oren a slight warning that Sia was preparing to move.

For Rhett, his senses were so fine-tuned that he could maneuver himself through the world with feedback from air currents alone. Oren wasn't as well-versed with his air magic, but he knew Sia, and he knew how she fought. As practical as she was, she liked her flashy openings.

With that in mind, the moment Sia shifted her weight, Oren gathered the air with a sweep of his hands and propelled himself backwards. Sia unleashed her magic in the same moment, and the overwhelming pressure of it brushed his outstretched hands, knocking them down, which of course fucked with Oren's trajectory and sent him off balance. He hit the ground feet first, still, but the force of his movements had him stumbling onto his ass, palms tearing through the grass.

Cursing, Oren threw out a hand, ignoring the faint throb of pain in his wrist, and drew the winds into a spiral around Sia, throwing up a heady mix of dirt, grass, and flower petals, hoping to give himself a moment to get to his feet before she struck again.

He saw Sia disappear in the whirlwind, and it gave Oren the seconds he needed to stand and get his bearings. Once he was upright, though, another surge of magic flooded the air, and a thick fog settled over the clearing. Oren blinked, caught off guard. So much for being able to make use of his vision. Rhett would have been much better off adapting to this than Oren.

The fog disrupted the general awareness he had of the training field, which meant it had to go. Oren sliced his hand through the air, a burst of wind following the movement and dispelling the fog — just in time for Sia, taking advantage of his limited visibility, to leap from seemingly nowhere and land a kick to Oren's shoulder.

The impact knocked a grunt out of him, but Rhett was a little studier than Oren was, and where Oren would have hit the ground a second time, Rhett's body absorbed enough of the kick that Oren was only sent reeling a few feet to the side. Twisting on his heel, he sent another burst of wind into Sia's face with one hand, drawing the other back and collecting the winds around it with the precious few seconds he had. Surging forward, Oren punched out at Sia, letting the winds burst at high speed the moment before they made contact with her torso.

Sia grunted as the impact stole her breath, sending her skittering back. Oren didn't have a moment of respite, though, as Sia caught her footing and sprung right back at him. Her arm went back, so Oren braced for a punch, instinctively throwing up both arms to counter. He knew an instant before she made contact he'd miscalculated — the hair lining the back of his arms and neck stood on end, the air tinged with the smell of ozone, and the electricity Sia had channeled along her arm jarred Oren's senses enough that he didn't notice her outstretched leg until it swept into his ankles, knocking him off his feet. He bit out a curse as he went down, but he had enough presence of mind to bring both arms down from their crossed position, sending out twin slices of wind aimed at Sia's torso.

He hit the ground again, the impact driving the air from his chest, but he saw Sia spin herself away from his attack, using her own winds to propel herself a safe distance away from him. Rolling into an upright position, Oren pressed a hand to his sternum, trying to catch his breath. Sia, of course, didn't give him the luxury, already moving to strike at the earth with a bolt of — lightning. Fucking hell. Oren called the winds again, wanting to insulate himself from the electricity, but the booming crack of thunder that followed the lightning strike felt like someone had clapped their hands over his ears with vicious intent.

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He dropped to his knees, hands curled over the back of his head as he gasped into his knees, bent over nearly double. Fuck. Sia could do that? And fucking goddamn, Rhett had sensitive fucking ears.

Disoriented, Oren forced himself to drop one hand and curl his fingers inwards, channeling all the wind that he could into a tight, swirling ball around himself. Rhett's magic pulsed, a reaction to his own near-stifling adrenaline, and the winds responded, rushing to him that much faster. The surge of air into his lungs woke up his senses a little, but his ears were still ringing and he couldn't figure out exactly how far the magic was reaching.

It took a moment, but the ringing finally died down, and Oren dropped both hands with a heavy exhale. The winds dissipated almost instantly, and Oren had a moment to wonder why the feedback was so vibrant and overwhelming, and why Sia had just let him take the breather, before he lifted his head and caught sight of Sia.

On the ground. Not moving. Her hands circled loosely around her throat.

Rhett's form fell away as Oren's heart dropped into his stomach, before catapulting back up into the hollow of his throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what had he done?

Scrambling to his feet, Oren stumbled across the field, his heart beating out a staccato rhythm he heard as blood rushing in his ears, blocking out the sleepy nighttime sounds of Wisteria.

Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead—

Oren crashed to his knees at Sia's side, carefully rolling her onto her back. His hand — shaking like a goddam leaf, fucking fuck — shot out to press careful fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. He nearly collapsed with relief when he found it. Rabbit-quick and thudding against his fingers, but there.

Gods above, Oren was never training with Sia again. Literally ever.

"Wake up," Oren hissed, curling his free hand into the earth next to him, focusing as intently as he could on the soft soil slipping through his fingers, the promise of life. "Fucking told you you'd train until you passed out. How's it feel to prove me right, dumbass?"

It was a few seconds at most that he spent staring down at her unconscious form, but it felt infinitely longer, the tension only snapping as Sia began to stir, her eyes flickering beneath the lids and her mouth opening on a quiet curse, more noise than words. She brought her hand to her face, mumbling expletives into the palm of her hand. Her voice was soft but Oren could hear the rawness of it, like she'd been gargling glass.

"Gods. Remind me not to fight Rhett anytime soon," she mumbled hoarsely. She didn't bother to open her eyes or sit up. Oren figured she had to be in pain, a lot of pain, for her to sound like that.

He'd nearly killed her.

It took Oren three tries to get the words out. "I'm — I'm really fucking sorry, gods, I didn't mean to do that. Rhett's... a lot to handle, apparently. His magic just — reacted when my adrenaline spiked."

He still wasn't exactly sure what he'd done. He'd been aiming for a flimsy defense, an air shield that would occupy Sia long enough for him to stop feeling like he'd fall over the moment he tried to stand. But the winds — the air — had kept coming as Oren's panic mingled with his magic, and...

The next time Cross playfully accused someone of stealing the air from his lungs, Oren was going to punch his stupid mouth.

Sia shook her head, then immediately stopped the movement, grimacing. Oren could only imagine the kind of protest her body would be putting up after that experience. She bit her lip, drew in a breath, then slowly dropped her hand from her face.

"You're fine, Oren. I didn't think I'd do that much damage with my attack, either. If you hadn't reacted, I was about to freak myself," she explained, before laughing humorlessly. "Next time we train, I'll keep the thunder to myself."

She paused, waving her hand in his general direction. "It's not your magic, Oren. Unexpected things happen."

Oren caught Sia's hand as it flailed around, partly to keep it from smacking him in the face, partly because he wanted contact. His magical reserves were running low, but as he felt the familiar rush as their hands met, he thought using it to fix his mistake was worth the magical hangover he'd be feeling tomorrow.

Transforming into Sia, he said, "Yeah, the thunder was a dirty move. Rhett's hearing is even more sensitive than Gideon's, and after that last job I didn't think that was possible for a human."

He didn't bother responding to the last statement. He knew it wasn't his magic; it wasn't his fault. Because it was training, and accidents happened all the time. No one had to have the blame placed squarely on their shoulders, and Oren would always be the first to argue he wasn't responsible for someone else's misery unless he'd done it on purpose.

Still.

Sia's magic was always strange to experience as an outsider. A mix of the familiar -- Rhett's winds, for one -- and the alien divinity of her cleric and gravity magic alike. He thought it didn't settle as well as it should when he took her form, but that was his own fault. It was always foreign magic for Oren, whoever he copied, and unless he actually practiced with it, he couldn't treat it fully as his own.

But this, this he'd done before.

Oren murmured the prayer Sia had taught him, laying his unoccupied hand over her throat — gently, trying not to startle her — and the bright, clean healing magic shimmered around his fingers. Sia stilled at the contact and rush of no doubt familiar magic, the tension draining away from her shoulders as the healing took hold. Her lips curled up faintly as she finally opened her eyes.

"Dirty move or no, you got to admit it would have worked if we'd been in the games," she bragged quietly. "Well, against anyone but Rhett."

Amusement flickered across her expression, and she twisted her hand in his grip to clasp him back, her smile turning into a little grin.

"And I suppose this is another thing I should keep to myself—-how you went soft and healed me after soundly thrashing me with an unfamiliar magic. If someone heard, they might think we were friends—or that you deserved your own spot in this troublesome tourney."

Oren's face went scarlet at Sia's words. Or pink, probably — Sia blushed pink, from what he'd seen, a softer hue of embarrassment than the sunburnt look his own skin favored.

Once he was sure the last of her injury was healed, he hesitated, then squeezed her hand once and extricated himself from her grip.

"Lucky for me, no one would believe you," Oren muttered, sitting back to give Sia room — and to give himself room, as much as didn't want to admit it. "And gods forbid someone gets it into their heads I belong in that tourney. Someone probably would die, and that someone would be me."

Threading a hand through his — Sia's — sweat-soaked hair, Oren grimaced at the twinge in his wrist. Whatever injuries he got while transformed stuck with him. Another annoying flaw in his magic.

"And don't get cocky," he said, shooting her a reproachful glare. "I'm C-Rank, and you said it yourself — I kicked your ass. Dirty moves won't be all that impressive against A-Rank mages."

She shook her head, grin turning fond. "You don't give yourself enough credit," she told him. "Just watch, one of us is gonna bow out for some reason or another, and then you'll have to become the hero."

She swept her hand out to bat at him once again, and Oren snorted at the attempt, though he let Sia take his wrist. The soothing pulse of magic was already at her fingertips, he might as well let her go through with it so he wasn't nursing a sprained wrist on their ride to the capital.

"And I won't. I saw what that other team could do while we were out—and I've seen what Lock and Sky are capable of. I know I don't stand a chance against any of them—but, it'll be fun to try, don't you think?"

She turned her eyes up to the stars, stretching her free hand up as she did. Kind of a childish move, but Oren couldn't begrudge her for it. He'd spent his own nights laid out beneath the guild's wisteria tree, staring up through the twining branches at the sky and letting his mind go blissfully blank. He wasn't going to tell Sia about that, but he'd let this moment pass.

"Aaramis is only famous because he's strong--you saw that. Imagine what would happen if, just if, one of us could topple someone...maybe not like him, even though he deserves it, but...someone like them. Wouldn't that be a surprise?"

"Yeah, and next thing you know, Cross'll marry that Atlas guy. Because that's about how likely it is that a Rose is going to win the tourney and take down some monster mage. You sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?"

It would be a hell of a surprise, though. It's what Hawthorne was aiming for, and Lock, Sky. Everyone competing was going into it with the belief that winning wasn't some distant, unreachable impossibility. It was the type of helpless optimism Oren sneered at, much preferring his realism, even if got grouped in with Ilias more often than not.

And yet...

"You know, now you have to show someone up," he mused. "Can't let your reputation slip after losing to me. You gotta prove I only surround myself with the best, because clearly I'm secretly the greatest mage in all of Starry Rose."

Sia laughed. "Well, head injuries aside, Cross and Atlas did look chummy for what little I saw of them when checking in on the guy after he got hurt. Cross looked thrilled. So, maybe you should get your wedding speech ready, and I'll work on a strategy for toppling a giant."

She paused, letting that sink in, before continuing with less joke, and more sincerity. "I'll win at least once, Oren, if just to prove to you that you're better than you think you are."

Oren couldn't help the flinch as Sia's words registered. Cursing under his breath, he released Sia's form and let himself flop backwards into the grass, arms spread out to either side of him.

"Do what you want," he said, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline finally clearing from his system.

It was a nice thought — too nice for him. Oren was a copy, an echo of real power. Borrowing from others and giving nothing back aside from a bad attitude and grudging thanks. Oren's magic wasn't like Sia's — he wasn't like Sia.

This wasn't even his real—

Oren cut the thought short, dragging a hand down his face as he stifled a sigh. Who cared about his maudlin bullshit. He definitely didn't.

"...you'll win, though. You're good, Sia. Sera nominated you for a reason, and the rest of us accepted for a reason. Don't get too twisted up in your anxiety, and just... do what you always do."

Sia smiled and rolled onto her side to face him. She propped her elbow up against the earth, supporting her head as she purposely leaned in to catch his eyes. "If I get worried, I'll just remember that you said I can do it," she assured him.

Oren could've looked away, but Sia was stubborn; she'd get her precious eye contact eventually, so it was better to just give in to now.

"Doesn't sound like something I'd say at all," he said, his mouth curling into a slight smirk. "But don't let me ruin whatever imaginary me you've got in your head. Sounds like he knows what he's talking about."

She laughed and dropped back down, spreading her arms much like he had. "Sometimes. Other times, he's stubborn and crabby, liking to pretend he doesn't secretly like us all," she teased.

"Nope, not ringing a bell," Oren replied. "Although maybe that's the newfound hearing loss. You know, from when you summoned lightning during a training match."

Sia giggled. "C'mon, you got to admit that was pretty badass. If not, you do it when your magic is back up."

Oren waved a hand airily before letting it drop to his chest. "Yeah, I'll pass. Wouldn't even know how to replicate it."

He paused, mulling that over. He still knew so little about Sia's magic, but with more practice...

Ugh. No. Too troublesome.

"...it was badass, though, I'll give you that."

He saw her pass her fingers over her hair clip, the one he'd never seen her without. She breathed in, then released it slowly, her fingers still laid over the clip. Oren didn't quite understand her sudden nerves, but he wasn't going to say anything. Sia forgave a lot when it came to him; he could return the courtesy every once in a while.

"It's divinity, like the healing," she explained hesitantly. "So, if you ever want to give it a shot and be badass, too...well, you can do the first, so the second should be easy."

Ah. That explained a lot, actually. The divinity was the hardest for Oren to grasp when he copied Sia, and his healing spells were shoddy at best because of it. Divine magic like that — it almost had a mind of its own, and it didn't like being handled by someone who hadn't actually been gifted it. It worked for him, sure, the same way Ilias' familiars were willing to obey him while he wore Ilias' face. But he wasn't connected to them, to the divinity. It wasn't the same as living with it.

"Ask me again once you win a round in the tourney," he said after a moment of thought. "You can drag me to one training session and try to teach me the lightning. But only if you win, got it? I don't come cheap, Sia, you know that."

Sia laughed again, before peeling herself out of the dirt. "I remember. Every win is an afternoon of your time... Does that mean if I win the lot I get a week?"

As she spoke, she dusted off her clothing, then offered Oren her hand.

"Gods, a week..." Oren took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet. "What, is that a week of training? Sia, I'm being nice and you're rewarding me with torture." He rolled his eyes as he set about pushing his sleeves back to his wrists. "I'm better off sticking with being an asshole at all times."

"It's not my fault you don't enjoy sweating," she joked. Then she turned on her heel to collect her things as she continued talking. "And I only said an afternoon of your time. Perhaps I'll use one of the days for other things...such as finally forcing you to come drinking with me and Sera."

Thank the gods, she was done for the night.

"That's worse," Oren pointed out as he stood by, waiting for her to finish. He hadn't brought anything with him, and the jacket he'd thrown down had vanished the moment he'd let go of Rhett's form. "I'll take the training if those are my only two options, thanks."

"Aw, c'mon Oren, are you saying you don't want to have fun with me to celebrate me managing what you consider the impossible?" she teased.

Oren fell into step beside Sia as she walked towards the gate, hands in his pockets, posture more relaxed than it had been when he'd walked in here after her.

"You have low standards, Sia, if that's what you're weighing against beating some monster mages." He let out an exaggerated sigh, hanging his head, before glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Fine, fine, you've worn me down. Drinks it is. Better learn how to hold your liquor before then, though, or else Sera will drink us both under the table."

Sia shot him a confident smile as she pulled out her key to lock it after letting them through. "I should be the one saying that, Oren. You're the boring one in this friendship. Sera and I...okay, more me than her, drink together all the time. I have a tolerance."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Oren's jaw dropped open wide in a yawn he didn't bother trying to suppress. He really did not want to know what time it was and how little night there was left for him to get some sleep. At this rate, they might both pass out on the train, Cross' antics be damned.

"A promise is a promise, I'll make sure you do," she quipped. "Now, let's get you into bed so you don't rip off any heads in the morning."

And with that, she turned to lead the way, far more relaxed than she'd likely been upon arriving at the clearing.

Oren counted it as a win, and contentedly followed her lead.

Sleeping on the train wouldn't be so bad, really. They'd just have to lock Cross out of their compartment.