The open sky didn't feel like a relief.
It felt like a trap.
Elara hit the cobblestones of the royal courtyard hard, tumbling across the wet stone until her shoulder slammed into the base of a marble statue.
She gasped, coughing up a mouthful of smoky, bitter air.
Above her, the night sky was completely ruined.
The clouds were gone, replaced by a thick, heavy downpour that wasn't water. It was pitch black nectar, thick as oil and smelling of old blood, pouring down onto the capital.
"Is everyone alive?" Lucien's voice cut through the darkness.
He was already on his feet, his silver hair plastered to his forehead by the black rain. He sprinted over, grabbing Elara by her arms and hauling her behind a thick stone wall.
"I'm functional," Varic groaned from somewhere to their left.
He was flat on his back, lazily wiping a thick layer of black sludge off his face.
"Though my favorite coat is officially a biohazard. So that's a tragedy."
