The Blood-Rain was not a metaphor. It was a physical corruption, a heavy, metallic downpour that stained the world a deep, visceral crimson. As the ten thousand newly awakened Hallowed warriors marched out of the Silver Mines, the sky seemed to be hemorrhaging. Each drop that landed on the skin felt like a needle-prick of sorrow, a cold, cloying reminder of the lives Selene had sacrificed to fuel her ascension.
I walked at the head of the vanguard, the white-gold light of my skin acting as a beacon through the dark, red mist. But the light was flickering. Every time a drop of that cursed rain touched me, I felt a shudder in my soul. It was the High Queen's influence, reaching out from the Frozen Sea, trying to drown the sun.
