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The suns warmth is a blessing in a place like Nod Krai where it's absence spells death to any and all. It's light wards the abyss for a moment giving Illuga and his comrades little time to recuperate from the wild hunt while preparing for their next encounter.
The life of a lightkeeper runs like clockwork: heal and prepare with the sun, fight and protect with the moon. Illuga holds his lantern, a pale fragment of light compared to their incandescent glory, steady watching from his post outside their shelter in the rain for any signs of undying life.
It's a shoddy attempt of a shelter made up of stacked crates and sheets of metal with whatever cloth they could spare but it will have to do with the sudden downpour. Lightkeepers are prepared to deal with the rain and keeping one another and any civilians safe within it as well. What difference is keeping a sun god from fizzling out?
A lot in truth. Far more than any mortals should ever have to handle but Illuga and everyone playing their part around him knows that things must be done regardless if they're qualified or not.
His eyes flicker from those repairing the transport vehicles engine, another group carefully maintaining a fire to dry and warm up the god's damp clothes and a blanket. Illuga glances to the blanket curtaining the shelter barely seeing a shadow of their form inside. Their light may be weak as it brightens and darkens with even timing but it is still bright enough that none can make out their body just the light of it.
The echo of their sneeze silences the camp, everyone holding their breath as their light flickers. The tension leaves everyone's shoulders the moment the light stabilizes Illuga feeling their warmth radiating onto his back from the curtain. They'll get them to safety, anything to protect that light that has helped keep them safe for so many centuries.