Time had a strange way of moving in the Undercity.
It didn't flow — it cycled.
Same tunnels. Same shifts. Same bells marking the hours that never really changed.
But for Luke and Elias, the days between the collapse and the tournament felt different — lighter, somehow.
Maybe it was the promise of a day off.
Maybe it was the thrill of what they were planning.
---
Every morning, they worked as usual — tightening pipes, hauling scrap, patching conduits that hissed like dying serpents. Reina's voice still echoed through the halls, keeping order as best she could while her promotion loomed ever closer.
To everyone else, Luke and Elias were just two reliable miners with scars and humor to spare.
But as soon as curfew lights dimmed and the patrols shifted…
they were gone.
Sneaking wasn't new to them, but sneaking upward — that was different.
They learned the timing of the lifts, which guards napped through their shifts, which routes the service vents connected to the Mid City's lower streets. Sometimes they took the long way — crawling through ducts and climbing cable towers until their boots touched cleaner metal.
And when they emerged into the Mid City's false daylight, it felt like stepping into another world.
The air smelled of spice and fruit instead of rust. The streets glowed with warm panels overhead — imitation sunlight, but brighter than anything below. Market vendors shouted, machines hummed, and banners flapped from every walkway.
"THE GRAND NOVA TOURNAMENT – 7 DAYS TO GLORY!"
The posters were everywhere — showing armored champions locked in radiant duels, their weapons wreathed in golden light.
Elias stopped to stare. "You think we can really pull it off?"
Luke shrugged, pretending not to smile. "Only one way to find out."
They spent hours wandering, watching guards train in the plaza, studying armor types, noting the tournament's banners and checkpoints. Then, as hunger set in, they'd find their favorite spot — a maintenance roof near the market's edge, where the vents blew warm air.
They'd sit there with stolen fruit or half-eaten bread, basking in the light like they belonged.
"Almost feels real, doesn't it?" Elias said once.
Luke tilted his head toward the glow above. "Maybe it is — just not for us."
---
By the fourth night, their escapades turned bolder.
They raided a junk heap near the guard quarters, searching through heaps of discarded gear. Most of it was rusted or broken, but buried under scrap, they found swords — dulled, yes, but intact.
Elias lifted one, swinging it clumsily. "Think it suits me?"
Luke examined another, tracing the faded emblem on the blade — a worn insignia of the Radiant Order. "You swing that thing like a shovel."
"Then I'll dig my way to victory," Elias said with a grin.
They stashed the weapons with their hidden armor, wrapping them in cloth and sealing them inside a vent shaft. Each night, they returned to refine their look — polishing, repairing, imagining themselves as champions rather than miners.
---
Days bled into nights. The Undercity continued its rhythm, unaware of the two ghosts slipping between its cracks.
Reina barely saw them except in passing — too busy with her reports and transfer schedules. When she did, she'd just nod and remind them, "Stay sharp. The Nova values discipline."
Luke would answer, "Always,"
and Elias would suppress a smirk,
knowing full well what they were really sharpening.
---
Then, one night — the sixth before the tournament — they climbed to their rooftop again.
The lights above shimmered in shifting hues, announcing the festival's eve. Music drifted from the plazas below, the sound of a city that didn't know what struggle meant.
Elias bit into a bright red fruit, juice running down his chin. "Do you think the Nova's ever been down here? To the Undercity?"
Luke watched the glow ripple across the false sky. "Why would he? He already owns everything that matters."
Elias laughed softly. "Then maybe we'll make him notice what doesn't."