R3alisticF, Chiaroscuro Lighting Style, A pearly light began to bleed over the rooftops, turning the slick cobblestones of the square a shimmering obsidian. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet stone and earth, laced with the lingering aroma of exhaust that had been scrubbed clean by the recent downpour. Wisps of mist clung to the baroque statues lining the edges of the square, their once-proud marble surfaces now glistening like polished jade. A thin veil of fog still shrouded the distant rooftops, obscuring the city's skeletal framework until the first rays of sun pierced through, catching on the spires and throwing shards of gold across the sodden plaza. The rhythmic drip-drip of water from overflowing gutters punctuated the silence. A lone pigeon preened its ruffled feathers on a bench, shaking droplets like miniature diamonds into the puddle at its feet. In the cafe facing the square, a lone waiter emerged from the doorway, pushing open the glass pane with a sigh and wiping condensation off the faded awning, his breath puffing white in the chill air. A shiver of anticipation ran through the city, a collective inhale before the day began. The rumble of a distant tram echoed through the empty square, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the stone buildings that closed in on it like eager fingers waiting to grip the dawning light. The rain had washed away the dust and grime, leaving behind a raw beauty, a city stripped bare and reborn under the nascent sun.