“Athena!” everyone shouted at once.

  Tania, Epona, and Anpiel immediately assumed battle stance, while Ana summoned her pocket dimension, ready to deploy it at any second.

  “My friends, please,” said Athena, raising her hands. “I’m merely a traveler who happened to be kidnapped by slavers. Is that such a crime?”

  “Athena—the leader of the rebellion against Lel. There’s a tremendous bounty on your head,” Tania answered coldly.

  “Oh? And are you really planning to capture me in this lovely little town?” the Greek goddess said with a smirk.

  “We’ll use an alternate dimension,” said Tania.

  “And then what?” Athena replied mockingly. “When you deactivate it, the people here will see us vanish into thin air. You’d fill this town with ghost stories. Wouldn’t that count as divine intervention in the human world?”

  Her words carried a sharp edge beneath the playfulness. Rodrigo noticed Ana trembling and Epona unable to stand still. Whoever this woman was, he could tell she was a monster—a god among gods.

  “Of course,” Athena continued, smiling with that same wicked charm. “If you still intend to stop me… then by all means, try.”

  An uneasy silence hung in the air. Passersby began to slow down, watching curiously as the strange group argued in foreign tongues.

  Ana closed her pocket dimension and exhaled. “It’s useless. We couldn’t defeat her even if we used our totemas. She’s that powerful,” she said softly, stepping forward to calm Tania and Epona.

  Athena lowered her hands, still smiling. “As expected from my dear disciple.”

  “Even so, we must report this to the authorities in Lel,” said Anpiel, lowering his weapon.

  “I’m afraid that won’t help you,” Athena said. “In fact… I was the one waiting for you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tania asked.

  “Ana, Tannit… I regret to tell you that Lel has placed your heads on silver platters for this mission,” Athena said, turning her back to them. “I’d rather not be forced to bury someone I care about.”

  “What are you saying?” Ana demanded.

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  “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ve already begun to suspect. But if you want more answers, meet me at the inn. We’re attracting too much attention here,” said the Greek goddess as she began to walk away.

  “It’s three blocks from here—‘Le Maison de Hibou.’ I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  And with that, the goddess in white disappeared into the smoky, shadowed streets of Toulouse.

  “We won’t make deals with a traitor like you!” Epona shouted, but Athena was already gone.

  Ana stood frozen in place, her face pale as marble. A chill ran through Tania’s body—the same one she’d felt ever since Anpiel had given them this mission. Epona’s complexion had turned almost blue.

  “Are we going?” Rodrigo asked quietly.

  No one answered.

  He immediately regretted saying anything.

  (Image created with Gemini AI for illustrative purposes only.)

  Ana collapsed to her knees and began to cry. Rodrigo wanted to go to her, but his body wouldn’t move. Tania stepped forward and placed a hand gently on Ana’s shoulder.

  “Maybe we should rest for a while, Ana,” the fire-haired goddess said softly.

  “I’m sorry… I’m fine,” Ana replied, rising to her feet and wiping away her tears.

  “That bitch always knows exactly where to strike—clever as a fox,” muttered Epona through gritted teeth.

  “Shall I find an inn for the night?” Anpiel asked.

  “Yes,” Tania replied.

  The full moon illuminated the cobbled streets of Toulouse, where townsfolk still wandered despite the chill of evening. It wasn’t late—perhaps six o’clock—but autumn made the nights stretch longer in the land of the Franks.

  The city, with its gray stone houses, red-tiled roofs, and winding streets, carried a quiet melancholy. Laughter and music echoed from taverns and inns—Toulouse was alive. Unlike León, Castile, or even Barcelona, this city had survived the storms of war. The Frankish realms were prosperous.

  They were called “the Frankish kingdoms” because they were a mosaic of semi-independent duchies and nations, all supposedly under a central authority in Paris—though in truth, each acted as its own sovereign state. Toulouse was the capital of one such autonomous realm.

  Because of these divisions, each border required inspection by soldiers, leaving the countryside poorly defended—fertile ground for bandits and slavers.

  The cultural contrast was equally striking. Toulouse belonged to a region known as Occitania, whose language and customs were close to Catalan, though tinged with the softer tones of northern France.

  The city itself was vast, bisected by the Garonne River. Its Roman heritage was still visible—ancient ruins and crumbling columns stood alongside sturdy new walls, lending the city a cosmopolitan air.

  At its highest point rose a magnificent cathedral, towering as proudly as the palace Rodrigo had once seen in Tortosa.

  That night, Rodrigo and his companions found lodging at a small inn called Maison de la Lune Bleue. They first entered its tavern, where a warm fire glowed in the hearth.

  “I’m sorry, everyone,” Ana said, sitting down heavily. “I need to get drunk.”

  “Same here,” said Epona.