Eros was the second to spot it.
Something was inside the thunderclouds.
His step faltered for just a heartbeat. He looked around at the others, fear surging in his breast, and shouted, his voice tight with fear, "We have to get out of here! Now!"
Nira turned to him, confused. "Why?"
Eros pointed a trembling finger at the churning storm behind them. "Look."
All but Riven froze where he stood. He had taken flight the moment Eros spotted the enormous shape hiding behind the clouds.
The others turned to look.
Their blood chilled at what they witnessed.
They did not see all of it not fully. The beast was too far away, too massive, and partly hidden by the storm. But what they could see was enough.
Something in the thunderclouds moved.
It was massive. Larger than anything they had ever experienced. It had what seemed to be four wings, and its shape had two heads—or maybe one with two twisted faces. The details didn't matter. Its size did. The weight of its presence. Even at a distance, it filled the sky like a nightmare pressed against the world's membrane.
Firstborn or Veiled, none of them stood a chance against something like that.
A Firstborn screamed she was a lady, young not much older than riven.
The wind rose with her scream, and the storm above crackled, distant lightning ripping across the sky.
The figure was moving with the clouds above and it seems has though it got faster. The air pressure increased. The scent of ozone and something acidic burned their lungs.
They could not outrun clouds. Not forever. And if that thing was coming in their direction…
They had to find cover. Now.
"Run!" Varik shouted at the top of his lungs.
They did not stop this time.
They ran.
Boots pounded against broken stone as they tore through the city, the kept pace with every bolt of lightning. Riven was still in the lead—his advantage had placed him at the forefront. He ran as if he wasn't going to stop, as if the storm had already caught up with him.
The storm wasn't natural.
The clouds writhed overhead in unnatural spirals, veins of faint lightning pulsing like fleshly veins. The thunder was cadenced, a distant heartbeat pulsing through the wreckage. It did not just rumble. It spoke.
Something was coming.
Riven did not look back.
He could not.
His breath came in ragged gasps, chest ablaze, arms pumping. His coat flew out with every stride, the wind pulling at him like invisible hands. Dust devils swirled around his feet. Ash capered in the air.
The city appeared to be holding its breath for them. Judging them.
Behind him, they followed. The Firstborn—some swift, some staggering, some barely holding on. Breath was rough, torn, desperate. Weapons slapped against armor, and someone coughed between steps.
The Veiled were still at the back.
Silent. Unperturbed. Sealed, smooth masks caught the stormlight in faint gleams. They did not shout. They did not falter. They moved like shadows made solid, and not even the chaos behind them shattered their rhythm.
But even they couldn't ignore what was coming.
Lightning flashed again, this time more brilliant. It rent the sky wide open, spilling a dying star's light across the devastated city. Tower rubble loomed around them like broken bones, and their shadows stretched out across walls streaked with dust and forgotten names.
Riven sidestepped under a fallen stone archway. His foot slipped on spilled rubble, but he caught himself and didn't lose speed. The ground trembled beneath them, a low grumble that wasn't earthborn.
A shout followed him, "Where do we go?!"
Nobody answered.
There wasn't the time.
The wind shrieked through the ruins, curling around corners and through broken glass like a live entity. Again, the thunder bellowed—closer now. Its weight pressed against their skulls. Thoughts became hard to hold onto. Fear distilled everything.
But they ran.
Along streets time had entombed. Beyond altars no one remembered. Through the shell of a city that was supposed to be still.
Riven did not stop.
He wouldn't.
Because he knew—down deep—that if he did, that thing in the clouds would come for him. And he wasn't ready for that.
In front of them, Eros glanced at Varik.
"What do we do?" he said, his voice strained, his breath coming fast.
Varik hadn't donned his mask yet. But maskless, he was moving just as fast as the other Veiled. His headplate still obscured his face, so Riven hadn't gotten a look at him.
"There's a tunnel," Varik said, not glancing at him. "At the end of this street. It leads to the sewers. We can use it to get out of the city And the storm."
Eros slowed, still breathless. Then nodded. "Okay."
They didn't break stride.
Minutes passed—or maybe only seconds. Time had grown distorted.
But then, finally, they saw it.
A wide, black opening yawning from the side of the street. Broken stone and rusted metal lined it and descended into shadow.
The old city sewers.
Their only hope for escape.