Kathleen's eyes darted around the square, her breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps. She had seen the battle from her hiding spot, had watched as the creature had been defeated and the false prophet had been brought to a bloody end. She knew that she had to act fast.

Dragging Sam's unresponsive form through the shadows, she had felt a cold dread settle into her heart. He had been a coward, so fiercely cowardly in the fight, but in the end, the chaos of it all had consumed him. A stray bolt of energy, a misplaced blow - it could have been anything. But it was clear that he had been caught in the crossfire, a casualty of the frenzied melee that had unfolded before her eyes.

Kathleen was about to continue her covert trek forward when she saw them. Feet, right in front of her in warm furry boots. They were Arteus's boots.

Her heart stopped in her chest, and she froze. She was caught. The warmth of the firelight spilled out from the open doorway of the tavern, illuminating the fur-lined boots of the very people she had been trying to avoid. Arteus.

And yet, he was not alone. Ava's bare feet, stained with the grime of the city and the blood of their enemies, soon accompanied him.

"Shit!"

The word tore from Kathleen's lips, a furious whisper that seemed to hang in the air like a curse. She had been so careful, so precise in her movements, and yet here she was, trapped by the very people she had hoped to slip by unnoticed. Her heart hammered in her chest like a caged bird, desperately seeking a means of escape from the iron bars of fate that had closed around her.

"Ahh..." Sam groaned, waking up in the most inopportune of times. His eyes fluttered open to a world that had gone mad—his head was pounding, his body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and the smell of burning wood and blood was thick in the air. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to remain prone.

Above him, Kathleen's eyes grew as wide as saucers as she looked up to see her inquisitors. Ava, stood tall and unscathed, with a look on her face that was a curious blend of relief, anger, and a hint of amusement. The sarcasm in her voice was palpable as she greeted them, "Well, isn't this just delightful timing?"

And with that, as if the heavens themselves had conspired to add a dash of comedy to the grim scene, a large mound of snow that had been precariously balancing on the edge of a nearby rooftop, gave way under the weight of its own melting burden. It plummeted down, a silent spectator to their tension, and landed with a wet thump at their feet, sending a spray of slush flying in all directions. For a brief moment, the gravity of the situation was forgotten, the comical timing of nature's intervention cutting through the tension like a knife through butter.

Ava's gaze, however, remained as sharp as a hawk's. She stepped closer to Kathleen, her bare feet unbothered by the cold, her eyes never leaving the trembling woman. "We need to talk," she said, her voice low and measured. There was no anger in her tone, no accusation, just a simple statement of fact. But the weight of those words hung in the air like a sword of Damocles, poised to fall and cleave the tension in two.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Later, in the tavern.

The warm embrace of the tavern's hearth was a stark contrast to the frigid embrace of the morning they had left behind. Ava sat at a table with Sam and Kathleen, her legs crossed and a mug of steaming liquid cradled in her hands. The light from the fire danced across her features, casting shadows that seemed to highlight the gravity of the conversation they were about to undertake. Arteus stood beside them, his frame a silent sentinel of tension, his axe propped against the wall, a grim reminder of the battle that had just concluded.

"So," Ava began, her voice as smooth as the tea that swirled within her mug, "What do you two have to say for yourselves?" Her eyes, once filled with warmth and friendship, were now as cold and unyielding as the ice outside. Sam's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that did not exist.

"Nothing," Kathleen whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "We have nothing to tell you." Her words were a lie, a desperate gambit to buy time, to find a way out of the snare that had closed around them. But the fates had other plans.

The tavern door swung open with a bang, sending a blast of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes into the warm, candlelit interior. Castrol, his face a mask of grim determination, stumbled in, dragging a line of chained nobles behind him. His eyes widened at the sight of the small group by the fireplace, his breath hitching in his chest as he took in the scene—Arteus, the axe-wielding hero of the hour, Ava, the fiery goddess whose power had turned the tide of the battle, and the traitors he had been sent to find.

The whisper of a crowd grew into a murmur outside, the shuffling of many feet and the murmur of hushed voices a stark reminder that the world had not ceased to turn in their absence. The residents of Sovereign were returning, drawn by the promise of safety and the hope of new beginnings. They had seen the creature fall, had felt the tremors of its demise ripple through the very fabric of the city. They had seen the fiery spectacle that had been the false prophet's end, and they had come to lay eyes upon the heroes who had brought about the salvation of their city.

Kathleen's heart sank as the shadows grew denser, the cold seeping into her very bones. There was no escape from the reckoning that was to come. The warmth of the tavern, the light of the fire, it was all a prison, a cage of their own making, and she could feel the bars closing in around her with every second that ticked away.

The warmth of the fire kissed her frostbitten cheeks as she met Ava's piercing gaze. "Fine," she said, her voice a brittle snap of ice in the air. "It was all him."

With a suddenness that belied her fear, Kathleen's hand shot out, slapping the back of Sam's head with a resounding crack. He yelped in pain, his eyes snapping wide open as he stared at her in disbelief. "What the—"

Karma's a cold, furry, bitch...

The year, 1799 BC (Before 'The Collapse') had been one of tumult and upheaval for the people of Sovereign. Yet, as the first tendrils of dawn stretched over the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow upon the scarred landscape of Sovereign, it was clear that the battle for the city's soul had reached its crescendo. The cobblestone square, once a stage for bustling commerce and joyous celebration, now bore witness to the aftermath of a cataclysmic struggle.

1799 BC, the Battle for Sovereign comes to an end.

-To Be Continued-