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 favorited.

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 capitol.

"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.