The rain continued without pause, like a relentless downpour announcing the end of an entire era. Droplets struck the castle ruins with force, creating a constant, heavy sound—like distant drums setting the rhythm of the battle. Water gathered in cracks and broken surfaces, flowing in small streams that carried ash and blood mixed together.
Azel kept his bow trained on the princess, but when she leapt to another rooftop between the castle towers, he lost sight of her. Her figure vanished into the rain and the shadows of the structures, like a specter impossible to pin down.
He frowned and turned his attention to Monar, who lay weakened over the crimson magic circle. Its light flickered faintly under the rain, as if it could go out at any moment. The strain on his face was genuine—what little blood he had left had already spilled from the stump of his amputated forearm, mixing with the rainwater and forming a dark puddle.
