The crowd was already screaming when Luke and Elias stepped into the arena.
The sand burned under the false sunlight—light projected by the crown's prisms high above. Forty fighters stood in a loose ring, armored in steel, leather, or whatever scraps they could find. The air was thick with heat and nerves.
Luke swallowed hard. "So this is it?"
Elias cracked his neck. "Looks bigger when you're not the one standing in it."
Above them, a voice boomed through the loudspeakers, distorted but commanding.
"Round Two! The Royal Rumble! Forty contenders will enter. Only twenty will advance!"
The gates clanged shut. Chains rattled.
Luke exhaled. "...a rumble, huh? Sounds easy."
Elias smirked. "Maybe they'll actually allow us to hide throughout the whole thing."
A horn sounded—long, deep, final.
And then, everything erupted.
---
The first clash came from the left. Two soldiers in polished armor slammed into each other, shields cracking like thunder. Sand sprayed up in waves. Another fighter swung a hammer the size of a door, sending three men flying.
Luke ducked under a spear, shoved his attacker into the dust, and ran. "Not dead!" he shouted, half laughing, half panicked.
Elias parried a blade and countered before running, his movements sharp and instinctive. "Keep talking and you might be!"
They moved together through the chaos—years of mine work making their coordination natural, almost wordless. Hit and run,that was their plan for this round. Luke would draw attention, Elias would strike. Luke would stumble, Elias would cover. They weren't graceful, but they survived.
For now.
---
Far below, in the Undercity, dozens gathered around the flickering broadcast screen embedded in the plaza wall. The image was grainy, colors unstable, but it was enough.
"That— that's them, isn't it?" a miner whispered.
"Looks like them," another said. "The loud one with the messy hair— that's Luke."
"No way they're up there. It's impossible."
"Then what do you call that?"
The screen flashed, showing Luke hurling a bucket of sand in an opponent's face before ducking a sword swing. The crowd laughed, even cheered. For a moment, the Undercity forgot its dust and hunger.
Someone muttered, almost reverently, "Maybe we ain't as worthless as they say."
In the stands above, Reina watched. She hadn't meant to care—she told herself it was just curiosity—but when she saw the two of them fighting like idiots in that sea of killers, her stomach dropped.
"...You idiots," she whispered.
She didn't know whether to be furious or impressed.
---
Back in the arena, the sandstorm of combat had thinned. Some of the contenders were down. Medics dragged the fallen out through side gates, while the rest circled warily.
Elias wiped blood from his lip—not his own—and glanced at Luke. "We're still alive. How?"
Luke grinned through the grime. "I'm guessing luck loves stupid people."
"Then we're gods," Elias said, raising his blade again.
---
From the royal balcony, the Nova sat motionless. Luke looked up, squinting at the golden glow where the Nova sat like a god among men. For a second, he forgot the fight, staring at that distant light as if it could see him back.
Elias shoved his shoulder. "Eyes on the fight, sky boy!"
Luke blinked. "Right. Yeah."
They turned just in time to see a hammer descending.
The impact sent both of them flying.
When the dust settled, Luke groaned and pushed himself up, every bone screaming. Elias was beside him, coughing sand. Around them, the battlefield was chaos.
The announcer's voice cut through the noise:
"Fight until only twenty stand!"
Luke staggered to his feet, grinning through the pain. "We're still in it."
Elias spat blood, smirking. "Barely."
They lifted their blades again, the crowd roaring, the false sun blazing down on their broken armor and reckless smiles.