Chapter Text
The final bell had rung nearly an hour ago. The library of François Dupont was empty and silent, save for one tired old librarian and one final-year student. The tall boy with black hair and a blue hoodie sat at one of the smallest tables, eyes buried deep in his history textbook, ears plugged and filled with music.
If someone sitting across from him had asked him to leave, or asked how his day was going, or told him they loved him, he wouldn’t have heard them. He expected no such conversations anyway. He’d learned not to, after a while. It was simply a fact of life: people did not talk to this boy, and that was fine by him. He’d never felt any sadness over it, at least not for ages. Perhaps that was why he’d never been akumatized.
The library lights flickered, then shut off. Quentin Dufont looked up with a start. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the silhouette of the librarian heading towards the door. Quentin sighed, giving himself a mental flick on the wrist. Lost track of time again. He cleared his throat, alerting the librarian to his presence. As the old woman glared at him with a huff, Quentin gathered his things and scurried out of the darkened room.
The late November sky was dark already, and Quentin pulled his scarf tight as he shivered in the wind. He walked his familiar route back home without needing to think, timing his steps to the beat of the music as he nodded along. He was alone on the sidewalk – the cold had driven everyone indoors. It’s nicer this way, he thought, as he walked. Quieter.
He looked every which way as he walked, taking in the peaceful beauty of the city. Words crossed his mind. Serene. Frost. Chills. Glittering. Sparkle. They whizzed around in his head, competing to describe the magnificence of Paris in winter, flitting in and out of thought in time with the rhythm of his steps.
He finally turned from the sidewalk to cross through a small park, rendered brown by the cold, but covered in a dusting of snow. The crunch under his boots added a new bit of percussion to his song, and he inhaled, tasting the sharp winter air.
Suddenly, Quentin stopped. Something was wrong with this picture.
On a bench by the side of his path lay an old man, huddled under a spread newspaper. This in itself wasn’t surprising – Quentin had seen many poor souls seek refuge on this bench – but it had never been this man, and never in such cold. Even the homeless found better places to take shelter in this weather, and Quentin didn’t have to imagine why. Besides the newspaper, the man had only a tattered flower-print shirt to keep him warm. He could see the old man’s teeth chatter, and his small frame quake violently, wracked with chills. Did this man really have nowhere else to go, not in all of Paris?
Quentin stared, but the man’s eyes were closed, and the boy went unnoticed. It wasn’t until he felt the warm fabric of Quentin’s scarf wrap around his neck that the man’s eyes snapped open.
“W-what is this?” he stuttered, teeth still chattering as he pushed himself up to look Quentin in the eye. “Y-young men like you sh-shouldn’t be out in such c-c-cold. And they esp-pecially shouldn’t p-pay any mind to empty old shells like me.” He tentatively touched the gift that now sat on his shoulders. “W-why?”
Quentin wasn’t sure he knew why he’d done it, why he’d approached this utter stranger and handed over his scarf. At least, he couldn’t put it into words. But this man had asked him a question – the first question he’d heard that day. He deserves an answer, he thought.
The boy managed a thin smile, even as the wind whipped his exposed neck and his teeth began to clench. “Keep it, please,” he whispered, knotting the scarf and pulling it snug. “You need it more than me.” As soon as the scarf was secure, Quentin turned and hurried away, running now, to make it home before the cold became too much for him.
The old man watched him go, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Slowly, his shivers subsided, until he sat calmly, holding the scarf gently.
“Thank you very much, young man,” he smiled.
If Quentin had looked back, he might’ve seen a flash of green, and a discarded newspaper where the old man had been. But he had already turned the corner, alone once more.
CRACK
Quentin slammed the front door shut against the wind, listening to the echo as the sound shook the house. The lack of response told Quentin that his mother wasn’t home. Sure enough, pinned to the fridge was a familiar note.
Left for work early tonight. Food in the fridge. XOXO Maman
Quentin sighed, shrugging off his coat. He immediately scrambled to put it back on as the chill that had followed him inside caught up to him. If only he had his scarf –
His scarf.
Quentin groaned. I shouldn’t have done that, he thought, kicking himself for having given his best source of warmth away. Money was tight as it was. Maman is going to use this as her excuse to get a third job, I just know it.
It’s not like a third would make much difference, another part of him reminded himself. I barely ever see her anyway.
Besides, said yet another part, I’m glad that man will be a little less cold. That was the most impactful thing I’ve done in weeks.
Hey, look, a positive thought. That should last me a few days.
Re-zipping his coat, he climbed the stairs to his room. He wasn’t hungry yet, and the looming specter of tomorrow’s history exam had him pulling out his textbook before he’d even reached the top step.
Quentin opened the door to his room and breathed deeply, the smell of aging paper clearing his mind a bit. He took a fond look at the bookshelf that spanned the far wall, before quickly turning on his desk light, swiveling his seat, flipping open his textbook, and sitting down.
On something hard.
Quentin yelped, leaping up as if stung by a bee. He never left anything on his chair. His mother never came into his room. So what…
His mental question train derailed as he turned around to see a small black octagon on the cushion of his chair. An ornate symbol, painted in red, was carved into the top.
A box.
Quentin blinked. He tapped the box tentatively. Nothing happened.
A gift? No, it’s nowhere near Christmas yet.
His brow furrowed. He picked it up slowly. Still nothing.
A bomb? It would’ve gone off by now.
He sat down on his bed and turned the box around in his hands, inspecting it. He found a clasp on one side. It came loose.
Unlocked. Whoever put this here really wants me to open this thing.
He took a deep breath.
Curse my curiosity.
Quentin opened the lid. His eyes widened.
A… jewel?
His glimpse of the contents of the box lasted exactly half a second. With a flash, the box erupted in violet light.
OH GOD IT IS A BOMB
Quentin flung the thing as hard as he could and dove behind the bed. Flat on the floor, he squeezed his eyes shut.
I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead Oh god I’m so dead I’m so unbelievably dead So horribly, awfully, unfathomably – Wait.
Quentin inhaled. He was pretty sure dead people couldn’t do that. He relaxed a bit, and took a few more breaths.
But then… what was in that –
“Master? Hello?”
He froze. He couldn’t breathe anymore. Someone was in the room with him. Now he really was going to die. His only hope was to stay absolutely still and maybe whoever it was wouldn’t notice.
“Master! Are you okay?” came a voice directly above him.
In pure, abject terror, Quentin’s left eyelid inched open to reveal… something. Something purple, with butterfly wings, floating above his face.
“Master? Are you okay?” the thing repeated.
Quentin gaped. “So I am dead.”
The thing blinked, then sighed, looking relieved. “Oh, thank goodness you’re all right!”
“A-a-are you sure?” Quentin stuttered through his dry mouth. “I’m pretty sure I’m dead.”
“With all due respect, if you were dead you could not have just replied to me.”
“…so I’m dreaming, then.”
“You are also not asleep.”
“Hallucinating?” Quentin’s hands slowly disengaged from their shielding positions. “Have I been drugged? Is this what acid is like?”
“No, no, and I’m not sure what you mean,” the thing replied. “From what I can see, you are in the peak of health and are in no danger.”
That sounds like something a face-eating butterfly monster might say to get me to expose my face, Quentin thought, but he forced himself to keep breathing. “So… who… what… are you?”
“Oh!” the thing started. “My apologies! Let me start over.” It took a deep breath, and when it opened its eyes again, it wore a smile. “Greetings, Quentin Dufont. My name is Nooroo, and I am a kwami. You have been chosen to wield my power for the greater good of the world, and to become a hero of Paris.”
Quentin stared. “H-hero?”
“I trust you’ve heard of Ladybug and Chat Noir?”
Quentin wasn’t quite sure whether to (1) laugh, (2) scream, or (3) just stop breathing right then and there.
“So wait a minute,” he started breathlessly, pulling himself up onto the bed, “What kind of power…” He trailed off.
His bed was completely covered in white butterflies.
OPTION 3 IT IS.
Nooroo yelped as Quentin fell face-first onto the bed. The butterflies, startled, fluttered off the bed, settling onto the desk instead.
“Master! Master, wake up!” Nooroo moved to poke him, but as he did, Quentin’s head snapped upright, his face ash white.
“I – buh – that’s not – you – guh – wha -” the boy stammered, weakly pointing at the butterflies, then at the box that had landed on the desk, then finally back at Nooroo. “HAWK MOTH?”
Nooroo shuddered, worry turning to pain in his eyes. “I… I am not Hawk Moth.”
“Buh – akuma -”
“These are my friends,” the butterfly spirit said, turning to the twenty or so butterflies perched on the desk. “Like me, they were used by Hawk Moth for the purposes of evil and greed. But akumas are not evil, and neither am I. We are meant to serve the greater good, and we only want to do so again.” Nooroo’s sad eyes turned back to Quentin’s bulging ones. “I know it must be… horrifying… to see us… but please hear us out, Master.”
Quentin tried to gulp, but couldn’t. It was just too much. He was overwhelmed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He certainly couldn’t respond to Nooroo’s plea.
The kwami noticed, and sighed. “Actually, no. Let us show you.” He closed his eyes, and the spiral on his forehead began to glow.
A single akuma flapped its wings, rising from the desk and flying slowly towards Quentin. He could do nothing but watch as it touched down, ever so lightly, onto his outstretched pointer finger.
And then… Quentin felt it. An electric shock, racing down his finger, up his arm, through his chest and into his heart. He gasped as his lungs sprang to life at the feeling, and he could breathe again. His panicked muscles loosened, and he shivered at the sudden tingling in his body.
Quentin’s mind began churning once more, and words began to appear in it. Warm. Hearth. Home. Love. Hope. Calm. Happiness. He’d seen the words countless times, but in this moment, he felt them. He felt those words radiating from the butterfly, the beautiful white creature sitting silently upon his finger.
As Quentin sat, drinking the feeling deeply, Nooroo smiled and motioned to the others. One by one, the akumas flew to the boy, perching on his arm, on his shoulders, in his hair. With each new landing the feeling grew stronger, and Quentin’s gasping breaths slowed, becoming deeper and calmer. As even more came, his back relaxed of its own accord, and he reclined until he lay softly on the bed.
Quentin’s mind raced, abuzz, aglow, as the words and the feelings mingled and swam around it. He didn’t have to think to make sense of them. Even as they swarmed chaotically, they were harmonious. Their movements coalesced like the most elegant of dances, the sweetest of songs, the tastiest of soups. All coming together to form one utter, absolute feeling.
Good.
As the last akuma settled into place, Nooroo opened his eyes to see Quentin lying in bed, covered head to toe with butterflies, the most peaceful of smiles on his face.
Nooroo smiled too. Hope was not lost.
Quentin’s eyes fluttered open. How long had it been? He yawned, sitting up and stretching. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he’d just had the best sleep of his life. What was I dreaming about again? he smiled, opening his eyes.
To see a smiling purple kwami and thirty butterflies.
Quentin blinked. “That wasn’t a dream?”
“All as real as you, Master,” Nooroo beamed. “Do you understand now?”
“I… think so,” Quentin answered, feelings flowing back into his head. “I could believe these things are good guys now. Absolutely.”
“I’m glad, Master.”
“Wait,” Quentin started, “did I say that out loud?” He looked down at himself.
“Certainly.”
“Huh.” He did it again. The words were flowing so easily from his mouth. “What did you guys do to me?”
“We simply helped you to feel more comfortable,” Nooroo explained. “To feel our good will. It seems the process also loosened your tongue alongside your other muscles.”
“That makes sense,” Quentin said. He said! “This is freaky. I’ve never talked so much before. Come to think of it, I’ve never really been this comfy before either.”
“I’m glad we could be of assistance, Master.”
Quentin’s brow furrowed. “Why do you keep calling me Master?”
“We kwamis are bound to serve our wielders,” Nooroo explained. “It’s an ancient and unbreakable tradition.”
“Wielder?” Quentin started.
Oh yeah.
Super powers.
“As if this night couldn’t get any more ridiculous,” Quentin grinned. But something was different. He didn’t feel overwhelmed. He felt… excited.
Nooroo laughed. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but let me explain.”
- One long, long explanation later –
“So, to recap, I wear this brooch,” Quentin said, pinning the purple jewel to his collar. “You fly into it, I get all your powers, and then I join Ladybug and Chat Noir and fight villains?”
“Fundamentally, yes,” Nooroo confirmed, settling on his shoulder as the two looked into the mirror on the wall. “You will be able to channel my abilities and communicate with the akumas. Remember, they’re the most crucial part of your power.”
“Right, since they let me give people superpowers and do telepathy stuff.”
“And act as extra eyes and ears.”
“Okay. I have two questions left.”
“Anything, Master.”
“…okay, three. One, could you call me Quentin instead of Master? It’s a little too, uh, fancy for me.”
Nooroo looked surprised. “Why, certainly, M- I mean, Quentin!”
“Thank you. Two, how do I know no one’s going to find out who I am? You know, behind the mask?”
“In superhero form, you are protected by a glamour. All Miraculous holders are. It makes it quite difficult for anyone to see through your disguise, unless you choose to reveal yourself.”
“Good to know. Three… I have to ask, am I gonna look like Hawk Moth too? I mean, no offense, but he looked pretty lame.”
“None taken. Mr. Agreste didn’t have the best taste in costume.”
“Wait, he consciously chose to look like that?”
“Well, the costume stems from your own desires. He wanted to look somewhat like that and the rest fell into place.”
“Okay, okay. Please make me look cooler than he did. More heroic.”
Nooru grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.” He flew up from his perch and turned to face Quentin. “So, are you ready?”
“Wait… right now?” Quentin gulped. “I feel like I need to write this all down, I mean you just told me a ton of rules, I don’t know if I -”
“Just remember, Quentin,” the kwami pressed, staring into the boy’s eyes. “I am the kwami of generosity. With my power, you will see the feelings of those in their darkest hour, and you will be able to give them hope. You can give them strength when they are weak. You can give them purpose when they have none. This is your duty. The rest will follow naturally.”
“I, uh… okay, I get it,” Quentin blinked. “But frankly, that doesn’t calm my nerves.”
Nooroo smiled. “It’s all right, Quentin. When the time comes, you will be ready. And when that time comes, all you have to do is say ‘Wings rise.’”
“Got it. Wings rise,” Quentin repeated. Then he jumped as the jewel on his collar flashed violet. “Wait, wait wait wait!”
With an entirely unapologetic grin, Nooroo stretched and zoomed, spiraling into the brooch as four plumes of fabric flared out around the jewel. And then the real magic began.
Quentin felt the feeling once again, the electric sensation spreading out from the Miraculous – but it was different. It was goodness, it was light, but it wasn’t soothing. Instead its softness turned to strength, blazing warmth swirling through his body and all around him. He couldn’t help but move with the energy as it flowed and danced, enveloping him. It was power, it was courage, it was confidence.
And just like that, the energy vanished, zooming back into the brooch. But the feeling was replaced with more. Many more. Joy, sadness, anger, fear, all around him from every angle. Some felt close. Some felt far away. It was overwhelming – or it would have been, to a person who hadn’t just been imbued with magical powers. Slowly, cautiously, Quentin opened his eyes.
Before him stood a tall figure dressed in purple, violet patterns flaring out across his chest. A silver cowl covered his head, tapering into a point in the back. The Moth Miraculous gleamed below his neck, securing a silver cape. Down his back, the cape flowed and spread, forming into the shape of a butterfly’s wings, a glittering iridescent fabric coating the inside. In his right hand, he held a purple cane topped with a glass globe.
He was standing in the mirror.
It was Quentin.
“Whoa,” he said, finally looking downward, “This is much cooler than Hawk Moth.”
Suddenly, Quentin realized he wasn’t alone. The akumas had gathered around him, and although he couldn’t see their eyes, he could feel their gazes.
“Um, hello guys,” he started, waving a hand in greeting. “Can you understand me?”
The akumas did nothing. No sound was heard. But inside Quentin’s mind, he felt an intense notion of YES.
“…Fantastic,” Quentin grinned. He tapped the top of his cane. “I’m told you can hang out in here?”
At once, the swarm rose, swirling and collapsing in on each other, until they all zoomed into the globe. As the last entered, the globe lit up from within with white light.
Quentin couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, that was easy.” He tapped the top again, and with a bright flash, the akumas reappeared, settling back into place.
“Let’s see, I don’t think I can keep you in here forever,” Quentin said, tapping his foot this time. He looked around the room, for the first time finding it rather small. “There’s too many of you to keep cooped up like this.”
Then his gaze fell upon the window. A lightbulb flickered on. “I bet you’d all like to go outside, right?”
As he spoke the words, Quentin felt one bounce around in his mind, growing stronger and stronger as the akumas echoed their sentiments. OUTSIDE.
Quentin grinned, striding over to the window. In one swift, dramatic motion, he threw the panes wide open, inhaling the sharp winter air once again. At once, the swarm lifted into the air and out the window, and Quentin watched as the akumas fanned out, their glowing wings blending with the falling snow and the shining moon as they spread across the night sky.
He wanted to follow them.
Before Quentin knew what he was doing, his feet were on the windowsill.
And he leapt.
And he flew.
Quentin’s eyes grew wide with wonder. He had just jumped fifty feet into the air, and was now casually flying over the rooftops of Paris as if he’d been doing it his entire life. His cape spread itself wide behind him, stiffening and catching the wind like a glider. He felt the cold, but it didn’t bite him.
He was flying.
He was free.
He was a superhero.
Quentin’s laughter rang out above the city, carried by the wind to the farthest reaches of Paris as the new hero leapt and glided from rooftop to rooftop, finally swooping in for a landing atop the Eiffel Tower. He looked down upon the lights of the city below, sprawling around him.
Then he closed his eyes, and he saw even more.
The eyes of every akuma replaced his own, and he saw it all. Every light, every street, every building, all laid out before him. His laughter pealed even stronger as he drank in every detail, every facet of every monument, plain as day. But more than that, he could feel every person, every being, a million hopes and dreams filling every corner of the city. A million words, a million feelings swarmed his mind, all blending into a marvelous sense of wonder.
Quentin opened his own eyes once more, looking down upon the city. He felt like a king, gazing down upon his domain and the subjects he’d sworn to protect.
He paused in his laughter, as an idea struck him.
He felt like a Monarch.
Quentin grinned.
Oh, I like the sound of that.