La ballade d'une Ballerine : a Treech fanfiction

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Fourty-one

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In three days, Coriolanus departed for District 2 with unwavering determination, set on locating the group within that timeframe.

As Coriolanus opened his eyes, an officer's voice echoed the suspension of the search in the south. The group was assigned different directions, but a premonition lingered in his gaze – he already knew his path pointed north.

Despite his unwavering determination to locate the four, uncertainty clouded Coriolanus's mind about his actions upon finding them, especially her. The haunting mental image of witnessing her execution lingered, a scene he wished to avoid. The internal struggle brewed as he questioned whether he would take matters into his own hands, sacrificing the others and coercing her into claiming coercion.

However, the woman he had once envisioned as his First Lady had changed. Though remnants of admiration and attraction lingered, the submissive sweetness he had known had given way to a formidable, strategic, and manipulative force. Was this the woman he truly desired as his First Lady? No, the answer resonated within him – she was not.

A visceral desire surged within Coriolanus – he craved her death, yearning to be the instrument of her demise. The thought of her life slipping away under his own hands, witnessing the color drain from her face and the light extinguish from her eyes, fueled an intense need for retribution. It wasn't just about justice; it was a personal reckoning, a demonstration that the consequences of her actions would be met with the same merciless force she had unleashed upon him.

Navigating through the forest, Coriolanus surveyed the surroundings meticulously, determined not to overlook any subtle trace. Amidst the foliage, his discerning eyes were drawn to a weathered locket. Its silver surface, dulled by dirt, barely caught his attention until recognition struck – it was Delyth's.

The tangible proof hinted that the group had passed through, yet Coriolanus chose to withhold the information. Unsure of his actions upon finding them, he harbored a desire for their fate to rest solely in his hands. He craved the pivotal role of being the one to rid them, a decision awaiting resolution as he continued his pursuit.

"If there were any footprint here, the rains washed it away!" He heard Jovian complain loudly next to him and a chorus of agreements erupting, "this is impossible!"

"Blossom, baby," Dubois' voice resonated within the confines of the modest cabin, "we need to keep moving." His words carried urgency as the girl grappled with the relentless waves of morning sickness, an unwelcome companion on their journey. The call to move forward echoed, a reminder that their path was relentless, demanding resilience even in the face of physical discomfort.

She nodded feebly, the strain evident as the relentless walking took its toll on her pregnancy. Dubois, sensing her struggle, gently lifted her from the floor, his comforting touch accompanied by a reassuring shoulder rub. In the shared glances within the room, an unspoken understanding prevailed.

"Two more days ahead of us," declared Old Finn, his voice filled with urgency and a tinge of concern. "The Peacekeepers might be on their way here now. We can't afford to linger— we need to move!" His words resonated with a sense of immediacy, heightening the stakes of their journey.

As the group traversed the forest, Delyth's watchful eyes remained fixated on Blossom, a growing concern etched across her face. Observing Dubois supporting the struggling girl, Delyth's hand instinctively sought her locket for reassurance, only to be met with an unsettling realization—it had slipped away. Her heart sank, a palpable loss that mirrored the weight of the journey they all embarked upon.

The significance of the lost locket weighed heavily on Delyth's mind. Though she clung to hopeful thoughts that others might dismiss it as a mere misplacement, the nagging worry persisted. If found, it could inadvertently reveal their trail, adding an unforeseen layer of vulnerability to their journey. Despite her attempts at optimism, the specter of potential discovery lingered in the recesses of her thoughts.

Hours had passed since the group set out, their journey punctuated by frequent stops to replenish their strength. Despite the intermittent breaks, their pace remained swift, steadily making progress as they pressed onward toward the northern expanse.

Dubois broke the lingering silence with a pragmatic question, "What's the plan when it gets dark? Unless, of course, there's a hidden cabin nearby?" His attempt at humor carried a subtle hope for some form of shelter in the wilderness, injecting a momentary lightness into the serious atmosphere.

Old Finn's response was a sober acknowledgment of their predicament. "Unfortunately not," he admitted, "we'll need to find a suitable spot to rest. We can take turns keeping watch." The reality of their journey demanded adaptability, and Old Finn's pragmatic approach echoed a sense of resilience ingrained in their shared pursuit.

As night descended, Coriolanus retraced his steps, the shadows deepening with every passing moment. His relentless search throughout the day had propelled him ahead of his Peacekeeper counterparts. A sense of satisfaction accompanied the realization that the ground covered today would grant him a strategic advantage when the sun rose again. Determination etched on his face, he moved with a purpose, already strategizing for the progress that awaited him in the unfolding journey.