Morning came slower in the Mid City.
No bells. No Overseers shouting from metal walkways. Just the hum of distant engines and the faint chatter of merchants setting up stalls.
For Luke and Elias, it felt unreal — waking to filtered sunlight instead of the moan of pipes.
They'd found a safe nook beneath a bridge, hidden between conduit pipes that bled warm air from the power ducts.
Luke sat cross-legged, sharpening a small pickaxe — the only tool he still carried from the mines.
Elias was beside him, brushing dirt from a piece of dull, dented metal.
"Think this'll pass for armor?" Elias asked, holding it up.
Luke squinted. "If we squint hard enough."
Elias grinned. "Good. I've got half a chestplate, one glove, and… something that might've been a boot once."
"Perfect," Luke said dryly. "All we need now is a death wish."
Elias laughed, tossing the plate aside. "We already signed up for that when we climbed out of the pit."
---
The day passed like a blur of stolen moments.
They slipped through alleys and markets, blending into the flow of workers and guards. Elias kept a lookout while Luke scavenged near the old barracks, digging through piles of discarded scrap and maintenance gear.
Sometimes they got lucky — a cracked shoulder guard here, a dented helmet there. Other times, they ran for their lives.
"Go, go, go!" Elias hissed as a pair of guards shouted behind them.
Luke vaulted a fence, armor pieces clanging in his sack. "You said they wouldn't notice!"
"I said probably!"
They ducked into a drain tunnel, panting, laughter spilling out between gasps.
"Was that worth it?" Luke asked, still catching his breath.
Elias held up a single pauldron, chipped but gleaming under the pipe light. "Tell me it's not beautiful."
Luke smirked. "You're insane."
"Takes one to know one."
---
By evening, they returned to their bridge hideout — sweat-streaked, hungry, but triumphant. Their stolen treasures lay scattered before them: a mismatched mess of armor plates and half-working gear.
Elias ran a hand through his hair, staring at their collection like it was sacred. "You realize what this means, right?"
"That we're idiots?" Luke said.
"That we're idiots who look amazing."
He strapped a forearm guard to his arm, pretending to strike a heroic pose. "Sir Elias, champion of the Undercity."
Luke couldn't help but laugh. "You look like a knight who lost a bar fight."
"Then I'll win the next one."
Luke leaned back against the bridge wall, still smiling — but quieter now. "You really think we could do it? The tournament?"
Elias hesitated. "Don't you?"
"I don't know," Luke said softly. "We've never even seen the sky."
Elias turned toward him, eyes bright despite the dim light. "Then we'll fight until we do."
They hid the armor carefully — buried beneath scrap and crates, deep enough that no one could stumble on it by accident. The hum of the city overhead faded into a calm rhythm.
For a moment, the world felt simple again.
Two boys, dreaming under borrowed light.