"Take your items, and let us not cross paths again!"
Before the timber doors of the village storehouse, the crew tasked with distributing the provisions watched the departing locals with masks of cold indifference. Their gazes were flat and detached, as though they were staring at a line of total strangers who meant nothing to them.
The villagers receiving the bundles no longer wore the triumphant, arrogant smiles they had sported hours prior. Instead, they offered awkward, pleading grins to their former neighbors, desperately hoping the workers might slip a few extra portions into their sacks.
Such hopes were nothing more than a pipe dream. The rations set aside for these departing souls had been weighed to the ounce; every sack was identical, demonstrating a meticulous commitment to fairness.
As for whether these provisions would sustain them, that depended entirely on how they chose to manage their new lives. If they squandered what they were given, even an entire granary wouldn't suffice.
But if they rationed their meals wisely and combined the bundles with the private stores they had already hoarded, the supplies could easily sustain them for a week or two. Beyond that, their survival would be left entirely to themselves.
Once the exiles secured their bundles, they slipped away from the settlement that had sheltered them through the bitter seasons. Not a single one of them bothered to offer a word of farewell to Talulah or Jeanne, the very women who had built the village from nothing.
Then again, even if they had sought an audience, the inner circle would have refused to see them. Granting them dry traveling rations and allowing them to walk away with their lives was already an act of staggering benevolence within the borders of Ursus.
Had they attempted to abandon any other settlement in the empire, the local authorities would have pinned them to a grinding stone, rotating the wheel until the last drop of marrow was squeezed from their bones.
To a foreign observer, this split might look like a simple difference of opinion resulting in a peaceful departure, but in this frozen wasteland, it was a betrayal in all but name—even if no one voiced the accusation aloud.
"How many have left the gates up to this hour?" Talulah stood beneath the pitch-black night sky, gazing down at the rows of residential tents. The lanes that should have been bathed in the warm glow of hearth fires were now swallowed by darkness, leaving a bitter ache in her chest.
"Roughly three hundred have walked out tonight," Jeanne replied, stepping up to stand beside her companion. She looked down at the quiet lanes, her voice calm as she shared the registry data. "By the time the ten-day window closes, we estimate about eight hundred souls will have broken away. Less than half of the population has chosen to march with us, meaning the group remaining behind to tend this valley will be remarkably small."
"To think so many would choose to turn their backs on our path..." Talulah's voice trailed off, her tone heavy with a profound melancholy. "Though I know their reasoning, hearing the numbers still makes me wonder... did I fail them as a leader?"
Jeanne looked at her friend and found herself momentarily at a loss for words. When dealing with an individual who possessed a relentless habit of turning every external crisis into a personal shortcoming, generic platitudes were entirely useless.
"They simply desire a different way of life, Talulah. You will experience this kind of parting many times in the days ahead," Jeanne offered, her mind working furiously to construct an argument that might lift the Draco from her spiral of self-reproach. "A division of paths is not a reflection of your failure. You cannot force every soul to share your vision."
Again, comforting a leader prone to intense self-reflection was an exceptionally difficult task. You could never anticipate which angle they would use to pile the weight of the world onto their own shoulders.
"I am fine, truly. I simply find the waste of it all incredibly tragic," Talulah murmured, her eyes tracing the outline of the rooftops. "We poured our blood and sweat into building this haven, laboring through the darkest months, only for it to fracture like glass..."
"Which is exactly why you must stop blaming yourself!" Jeanne interrupted, reaching out to plant both hands firmly on the Draco's shoulders.
She understood the ache of seeing months of collective labor splinter in an instant, but as the architect of their entire movement, Talulah could not afford to sink into a swamp of indecision.
As the person who handed down the ultimate commands, she had to remain unyielding. Once a choice was made, a leader had to accept the consequences and continue marching forward without looking back.
"No matter what path you chart, there will always be those who dissent," Jeanne insisted, locking eyes with her. "Those who wished to leave were never truly yours to keep. If you allow your spirit to break over those who abandoned us, how do you expect the loyal souls who chose to stay to trust your resolve?"
Gazing into Talulah's eyes, Jeanne saw a swirling mist of self-doubt. The Draco was genuinely questioning whether her grand design was flawed.
In her youth, she had managed a sprawling city, but during those days, the looming shadow of Kashchey had always dictated her boundaries. Her actions had been confined by the old duke's parameters, leaving her very little room for independent choice.
Consequently, when she finally shattered those chains and took charge of this settlement, she had poured twelve tenths of her heart into the community, desperate to prove she could build a better world without the old man's manipulative whispers.
But looking at the dark tents now, she knew that if the ghost of Kashchey didn't had jobs elsewhere and were still lingering within her mind, he would be laughing hysterically at her current plight—mocking her both for allowing the villagers to defy her and for granting them grain upon their exit.
"This valley was merely our proving ground," Jeanne continued, determined to shatter the stubborn wall of anxiety surrounding her friend. "It is entirely natural to stumble during a first attempt. We will gather the hard lessons learned here and ensure we do not repeat these missteps during the grand migration..."
Jeanne pushed her eloquence to the limit, resolved to tame the stubborn pride of the dragon through sheer persistence. If Saint Martha could tame the fearsome Tarasque through unyielding conviction, surely she could guide a single Draco back to the light. She refused to bring shame upon the legacy of the maidens who came before her.
I, Jeanne, shall guide this dragon tonight through words alone!
"Pfft—!"
Watching Jeanne twist her features into an expression of intense, agonizing concentration as she racked her brain for arguments, Talulah suddenly burst into a genuine laugh. The suffocating gray clouds that had choked her spirit for days seemed to scatter instantly at the sight of her friend's comical intensity.
Jeanne, of course, did not miss the shift. She crossed her arms, staring flatly at the laughing Draco with an expression that clearly demanded a formal explanation for the sudden amusement.
Seeing the abrupt change in Jeanne's posture—as if she were preparing to use physical coercion to make her point—Talulah chuckled, marveling at how quickly her companion could alter her demeanor. It was a terrifyingly swift transition.
"Forgive me," Talulah said softly, her laughter fading into a serene smile. "I simply had a sudden realization. This settlement was forged by your hands, my hands, and the collective strength of our fighters. As long as the core companions who believe in my vision remain by my side, I cannot truly call this a failure."
Looking out over the darkened lanes, she recalled every trusted ally who had joined her banner. To see them standing unshaken beside her through the storm was all the proof she needed that her labor had borne fruit.
"Well, that is a relief," Jeanne huffed, relaxing her shoulders. "I was worried I would have to employ a more physical approach to bring you to your senses. I recall the holy maid of history possessing a specialized bonus when it came to correcting draconic stubbornness through force."
Though Talulah sensed a distinct, playful malice hidden within the remark, she simply shook her head, knowing better than to press for details.
"In any case, let me grant you a piece of genuine glad tidings," Jeanne said, her expression softening. "Among the civilian laborers who possess no infection, not a single soul has requested to leave the gates. Your grand dream has already proven its viability right here in this valley."
She had intentionally held back this piece of information until Talulah's spirits stabilized, and the reaction was instantaneous. The Draco's eyes widened in profound astonishment.
She had never anticipated the uninfected choosing to stay. After all, those untainted by the crystal disease possessed far more options in the outside world; they had no logical reason to bind their fates to a vanguard of outcasts.
Unless, of course, they had developed a fundamental sense of trust and belonging within the movement. This single truth proved that her core philosophy was correct: the Infected and the uninfected could indeed coexist in perfect harmony.
The current bloodbath across Terra was not an inevitability; it was a manufactured horror kept alive by rulers who profited from their mutual hatred.
If anyone dared to claim their coexistence was an impossibility in the future, Talulah could simply call upon her uninfected followers to stand before the cynics, delivering a silent, devastating blow to their biases.
"Is that so... that is wonderful news indeed..." Perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion, or perhaps it was the overwhelming realization that her long nights of toil had produced a beautiful miracle, but Talulah felt a sudden warmth gather at the corners of her eyes.
"What is this? Crying from joy?" Spotting the unshed tears glistening in the starlight, Jeanne offered a gentle, teasing smile. "Do you require a shoulder to lean on to release all that bitterness?"
Before the words could fully leave Jeanne's mouth, a heavy weight crashed into her chest. The tall, formidable Draco threw her arms around the slender girl, gripping her with a desperate, trembling intensity. Talulah buried her face against Jeanne's shoulder, finally allowing the suffocating grief, the exhausting betrayals, and the sudden wave of profound relief to spill out of her heart.
Jeanne froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sudden embrace. But as she felt the tremors shaking the dragon's frame, her expression transformed into one of absolute, maternal gentleness. She raised her hands, softly stroking Talulah's hair and rubbing soothing circles into her back.
"Let it out," Jeanne whispered into the wind. "There are no eyes out here in the dark to witness your vulnerability. Cleanse your spirit of the poison you have been carrying."
Beneath the endless, ink-black sky, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the frozen wastes, the leader who had endured betrayal, slander, and systemic hatred finally shattered her stone facade, weeping openly in the arms of her truest companion.
This vulnerable side of Talulah was a sight reserved for Jeanne and Alina alone. In the entire world, Jeanne and Alina were the only ones who could look upon her frailty without judgment, allowing the Draco to set down her crushing crown and pour out the silent miseries of her soul.
And Jeanne was entirely willing to lend her strength to preserve this tiny sanctuary, anchoring her friend against the torrent of negative emotions that threatened to pull her under.
Talulah knew she could trust this haven implicitly. No matter how heavy the storm grew, Jeanne always seemed to possess a boundless reservoir of quiet stability, maintaining a hidden space where the dragon could safely lay down the armor she was forced to wear before the world.
Of course, this fragility would vanish with the dawn. Once the waters of her spirit cleared, Talulah would step back into the light as the unyielding leader of Reunion, ready to guide her people toward the horizon.