The night had settled over Vel'Tharn like an old, tattered cloak—threadbare in some places, smothering in others. The stars were out, cold and distant, indifferent to the suffering below. The moon, as unreliable as the gods people once prayed to, hung high in the sky, bathing the slums in a pale, silver glow that made the filth look almost poetic.
Almost.
Thorn stepped outside the warehouse and, unsurprisingly, found Elias staring up at the night sky again. It was a habit of his—one of those quiet stuff he did that suggested he still had something dangerously close to hope left in him. A fatal flaw, really.
Thorn crossed his arms, leaning against the broken doorway. "Alright, princess, what's on your mind?"
Elias flinched, his gaze snapping down from the stars. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Thorn."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
Elias groaned. "Stop calling me that."
"But it suits you," Thorn said, smirking. "All that star-gazing, all that 'one day, we'll rise above this' nonsense? Very fairy tale protagonist of you."
Elias huffed, crossing his arms. "I swear, one day you're going to choke on your own sarcasm."
"Highly unlikely," Thorn mused. "It's my primary food source."
Elias shook his head, exasperated but unable to hide a small smile. He kicked at a loose stone. "Seriously, though. Can you not call me that?"
Thorn considered it. "Hmm. Fine. I won't call you 'princess'… until winter."
Elias shot him a suspicious look. "That's, like, two weeks away."
"Exactly. You get a temporary break. Enjoy it."
Elias rolled his eyes but extended a hand. "Swear it."
Thorn raised an eyebrow. "You want me to swear not to call you 'princess' for two weeks?"
"Considering how much you enjoy annoying me? Yes."
Thorn sighed theatrically but clasped Elias's forearm anyway. "Fine. I, Thorn, solemnly swear that I will not call Elias 'princess' until the first snowfall."
"Good," Elias muttered, though he still looked skeptical.
Thorn tilted his head. "So, what's actually on your mind?"
For a moment, Elias didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out something small, round, and metallic. It glinted in the moonlight—a rusted locket, held together by sheer stubbornness.
Thorn knew that locket. He'd seen Elias fiddle with it before, though the other boy rarely spoke about it.
Elias flicked it open with his thumb. Inside was a faded, water-damaged picture of a woman with soft eyes and golden hair, her smile frozen in time.
"My mother," Elias murmured, voice quieter than usual. "Before she—" He swallowed. "Before the fever took her."
Thorn didn't say anything. What was there to say? That sucks? Yeah, death's a bitch? He knew better than to try and offer comfort. That wasn't how the slums worked. Loss was just another part of life.
Elias traced his finger over the image. "I wonder… if any of us will ever be awakened as heroes."
Thorn snorted. "Really? That's what you're thinking about?"
Elias looked up at him, blue eyes filled with something frustratingly earnest. "If we were heroes, we wouldn't have to live like this."
There it was again. That ridiculous hope. That Elias-ness.
Thorn let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, for someone who lives in the slums, you're dangerously optimistic."
"It's not optimism," Elias said. "It's… curiosity." He closed the locket with a soft click. "Heroes get awakened all the time. Mages, warriors, knights… Even people from the slums."
"Name one."
Elias hesitated.
Thorn smirked. "Exactly."
Elias scowled. "You don't know that. Maybe there was someone. Maybe they just didn't stick around to tell anyone."
"Or maybe," Thorn drawled, "the world just doesn't care about people like us."
Elias fell silent at that. The only sound was the distant murmur of the slums—voices arguing, a dog barking, the occasional clatter of something breaking. The sounds of survival.
Elias let out a slow breath, eyes now fixed on the sky. "I just… I don't want this to be it, Thorn."
Thorn scoffed. "This? You mean the part where we fight over rotten bread and sleep with one eye open so we don't get our throats slit? Yeah, can't imagine why you'd want something better."
"I'm serious," Elias said, shaking his head. "Think about it, we could change all of this."
Thorn frowned. "You mean for us?"
Elias hesitated, then shook his head. "Not just us. Everyone."
Thorn crossed his arms and sighed.
This wasn't the first time Elias was spitting this nonsense, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last but Thorn was tired of it.
"Again with this save everyone crap? Look, Elias, we're barely surviving as it is. Heroes belong in stories, not in the stinking gutters of Vel'Tharn."
Elias next words were calm, yet that had this feeling of passion.
"Imagine a world where people don't have to suffer like this, where even the forgotten get a chance to live without fear."
Thorn scoffed lightly, his eyes narrowing. "You really think that's possible? You're talking about helping people who aren't even your friends—those who'd probably stab you in the back for a scrap of bread. Why would you waste your power on them?"
Elias's gaze finally locked with Thorn's, a look of frustration and resolve burning in his eyes.
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because if we're meant to be more than just survivors—if we're meant to be heroes—then we have to fight for everyone, not just ourselves."
Thorn's expression softened for a fleeting moment, though his tone didn't. "Every time you say that, it sounds like you've seen some light in the dark, and I'm here trying to find my way in this abyss. You really believe that, don't you?"
Elias nodded. "I do. I know it sounds absurd, but someone has to believe in a better future. And if we ever get those powers, if we ever wake up to being heroes, wouldn't you want to use them to lift everyone out of this misery?"
The air between them was filled with something Thorn couldn't quite name—irony, certainly, that someone could still believe in fairness in a world that had done nothing but grind them into the dirt.
But there was something else, too.
A reluctant feeling of admiration, buried deep in his heart.
"You know, for someone who's always spouting that same old line, you still manage to surprise me. I might even consider taking back my promise not to call you 'princess' until winter."
Elias's eyes widened. "But you swore—" he blurted, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
Thorn smirked, shaking his head. "I'm joking, of course. But seriously, don't you find what you're saying a bit… absurd? Dreaming of being a hero while we're stuck in a cesspit?"
Elias's smile was small but heartwarming. "Maybe it's absurd, but it's the only spark we've got. Someday, when the cold really gets to us and hope seems like nothing more than a memory, I want to believe that there's more than this endless cycle of theft and despair."
Thorn's gaze drifted to the stars, his voice low. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you? But… I can't help but respect that. Just don't expect me to start wanting to be a noble hero too."
"Yeah, it wouldn't suit you."
"I know."
They both laughed.
The two boys fell into a reflective silence, the cool night air carrying the weight of their shared dreams and unspoken fears.
In that moment, under the same vast sky that had witnessed their countless struggles, their conversation wasn't just about heroes or destiny—it was about clinging to the hope that even in a broken world, change was possible.