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Xia Dynasty, China; 1654 BCE

Feiyan had never been particularly interested in her country’s legends or mythology, despite her younger sister’s insistence that it was all true. She’d never bothered searching for her red string of fate, unlike Jia Li, who was sure her soulmate would show up any day. Feiyan’s days were spent practicing her writing and preparing for the day when she would be married off– one that was coming closer and closer every day. In fact, at seventeen, she was already older than the average girl getting married. 

Her parents had held off as long as they could, but Feiyan knew that it would be any day a suitor came knocking at their door, and they wouldn’t be able to say no. 

It was because of her practicality that she was particularly surprised to see a strange black and red box sitting on her bed, along with a note from a person she’d never heard of, someone called The Mage. 

“Jia?” She called out, searching for any sign of her sister in their small shared bedroom. 

When no one responded, Feiyan picked the box slowly. At first glance, it could easily pass as an average jewelry box, but upon further inspection, the strange glow coming off it and the fact that the Chinese character on it wasn’t one she recognized made it seem strange. 

However, it didn’t seem dangerous and she turned back to the note, inspecting it further. 

Miss Wei Feiyan, 

I’m sure you’re confused as to why there is a strange box on your bed, along with a note from a man you’ve never met, so let me explain. I’m a mage, and for the past two decades, I’ve been attempting to find a way to harness the powers of abstract ideals to fight for the good of humanity, and I think I’ve finally figured it out, using– 

Feiyan couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that came out of her mouth, shaking her head in amusement. 

The Mage, whoever he was, clearly didn’t know what he was talking about. And even if he had managed to harness these powers, she couldn’t think of a single reason why he would think she wanted anything to do with it. 

As she rolled her eyes, she picked up the box again. Especially considering the contents of that letter, she couldn’t help but be curious about what was in there. She cautiously pried open the lid.

There was a flash of red light, growing in size before bursting like a bubble only to reveal a pair of earrings and a strange flying creature. 

She slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a rather loud gasp.  

The creature floated toward her, holding out their arms, “Oh, don’t worry. Everything’s okay!” 

“That is not exactly how I’d describe this situation!” Feiyan exclaimed. 

“My name is Tikki,” they said patiently, “And I’m kwami–” 

“A what?” 

The creature– Tikki, apparently– gave her a bemused smile as they went to pick up the earrings still resting in the box. 

“A kwami,” they explained, “We’re creatures that embody an abstract ideal, concept, or emotion. I’m the embodiment of creation or luck,” 

Feiyan frowned, her eyebrows pulling together, “What does this have to do with me?” 

“When you put on these earrings and call your transformation phrase, you become a hero with my powers,” 

When Tikki registered the confused expression still remaining on Feiyan’s face, they sighed, “It would be best if you go and see the Mage. He’ll explain this more,” 

“Are you insane?” Feiyan hissed, “I can’t leave the house without my father!” 

Feiyan had left the house without her father. 

She blamed it on Tikki, who could be very convincing when she wanted to be, but in all honesty, she had always hated being restricted to only going outside with her father. 

As she clutched her bag closer to her, she turned to whisper into her shoulder, where Tikki was hiding in the folds of her dress. “This is a horrible idea. What if I get caught?” 

“You won’t,” her kwami assured. “The Mage is very close now,” 

Despite her kwami’s reassurance, Feiyan’s nerves were not quelled. If she were caught without male accompaniment, she would surely get in a great deal of trouble. Not only that, but her father would be very upset with her. 

Her feet stopped of their own accord as she stood in front of a jewelry shop. 

“Is this it?” 

Tikki nodded, “Yeah, it is,” 

Squaring her shoulders, Feiyan lifted her head and walked through the doorway. She was immediately greeted by the smell of sage and incense, taking in the sights of traditional Chinese jewelry. 

“Hello?”

A short man walked from the back of the shop, a small smile flitting across his face. “Ah. Welcome, Miss Wei. We were wondering whether you were going to show up.” 

Feiyan frowned in confusion, “We?” 

“Well, surely you didn’t think you’d be fighting alone,” The Mage said, “Come in, I’ll introduce you to your partner,” 

She followed him into the back of his shop until they came into a small sitting room, where a man was talking animatedly with what Feiyan could only assume was his kwami– although his resembled a cat, whereas Tikki resembled a ladybug. 

The man turned to face her where he heard the door close, a grin lighting up his face.

“You must be Wei Feiyan. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Fa Xian,” 

And as she stepped closer to him, unable to keep the smile off her face at his boyish enthusiasm, Feiyan desperately tried to ignore the flashes of red string she saw tying his little finger to hers. 

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Feiyan said slowly, staring down The Mage. “You want me to fight King Jie with a yo-yo,” 

Her partner of two months shrugged, “It’s not that bad. I have to fight him with a stick.” 

The Mage sighed in exasperation, flipping through the pages of a bound book he’d brought out. “Xian, it’s not a stick. It’s a staff,” 

“Same difference,” he shrugged, ignoring Plagg hissing in his ear.

The small black cat frowned, “Kid, we are destruction. Black cats, bad luck, all that. We are fighting with a staff. It’s not a stick!” 

Feiyan bit back a grin, stroking Tikki’s head absentmindedly. The Mage had called them over for their first transformation, helping the kwami’s to practice holding them for longer periods of time. “What’s our first mission?” 

“You are going to intercept of shipment of powerful weapons that King Jie ordered for the new army that he’s training,” 

Xian raised his eyebrows, “Won’t that be heavily guarded by the king's men?” 

As her nose wrinkled nervously, Feiyan bit her lip, “I don’t see how it wouldn’t be. Especially if these are stronger and more powerful weapons,”

“It will be very protected,” The Mage nodded. “That’s why I called you here to use your transformations. You’ll need to practice holding them for long periods of time, and learn how to use your weapons.” 

She crossed her arms, brow furrowing, “You want me to fight them?” 

“Of course, I do,” 

“I can’t fight!” Feiyan exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “And definitely not with a yo-yo! What am I even supposed to do with it?” 

Honestly, as a seventeen year-old-girl, Feiyan had never been trained in anything other than cooking and cleaning. Sure, she had grown up on a farm and could ride a horse well, and knew how to wield a pitchfork– albeit for reasons entirely different than fighting– but a fight between a trained soldier and her would be no competition. Feiyan would be down before she could even call for a Lucky Charm.

“That’s why you’re training,” Tikki explained patiently, “So you’ll learn how to use your weapon and powers,” 

Xian shrugged as he leaned up against the wall, “A yo-yo does seem like a random weapon. At least I know that I’m supposed to whack people with the stick.”

She muffled a laugh at that– throughout the two months they’d spent learning about their Miraculous, Xian had been very aware of her nerves and was always making jokes to help ease the tension. One of his most frequent anecdotes was his insistence that his weapon was a stick, much to the chagrin of his kwami. 

“For the last time,” Plagg hissed, flying up to hover right in front of Xian’s face. “It is not a stick. And I do not recommend whacking Jie’s soldiers with it,” 

Her partner just shrugged, sending her a trouble-maker smile, “Whatever you say, Plagg,” 

Feiyan was very quickly discovering that Xian didn’t take orders from his kwami well, as they ambushed the soldiers guarding the shipments. Around midnight, the pair had arrived on the coast, where dozens of containers were being guarded by Jie’s men. Unfortunately, the ambush hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped, and their positions had been revealed earlier on than they planned.

“Everything going okay over there, Hēi Māo?” 

She swung her yo-yo around, acting as a shield, and Xian swung his staff across the back of the soldier's head, watching as they crumpled to the ground. Their armor clanged lightly, alerting more guards to their fights. 

“I’m alright! I don’t know what Plagg was talking about,” he called to her gleefully, twirling the staff between his fingers, “This method works perfectly!” 

Feiyan bit her lip to hold back her laughter, pulling her yo-yo back to wrap it around her wrist as she inspected the battle. It was just the two of them against about a dozen of King Jie’s men, with six more passed out on the ground. 

One of the guards lunged at her, and Feiyan deflected the hit with her yo-yo before wrapping it around his foot to pull him off balance.

She shared a quick smile with Xian, whipping her yo-yo against another guard, “You take the ones of the left? I’ll take the right?” 

“Sure,” he gave her a quick nod, twirling the baton between his fingers. 

It took a great deal more self-restraint than Feiyan had anticipated not to focus on how the movements pulled at the string tied to her smallest finger. 

Instead, she launched her yo-yo at the nearest soldier, securing it around their ankle. She tugged on it once, watching as they tumbled into the other guards who had been next to them. The whole group tumbled to the ground and Feiyan quickly threw a broken beam of wood across the lot of them, keeping them pinned to the ground. 

Turning back to her partner, she grinned at the sight of Xian fighting the last two of the guards. She engaged one of them, leaving him to fight the other. Her foot swept under his, sending him crashing the guard down to the ground. 

“All good over here!” she called out, turning back just in time to see the end of the fight.

The last soldier passed out as Xian cracked his baton across the back of their head, and they crashed into the shipment crates, spilling golden, ornate swords and daggers over the ground. 

He shot her a quick smile, walking to stand next to her. “We did a good job, huh?” 

“I’d like to think so,” Feiyan said, smiling back at him. 

And as the two went around collecting these weapons– whatever it was they did– Feiyan did her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach every time she tugged on that impossibly thin red string only to get no response. 

* * *

But that had been years ago. Feiyan shook her head, driving those thoughts away. Even after all these years, it seemed Xian wasn’t able to see their red string– ironic considering he wanted one so badly, and she had never even believed in them.

She sighed, burying her face in her palms. 

Now wasn’t the time for her to be thinking about soulmates, especially since even the slightest distraction could be catastrophic for their mission. 

As she anxiously paced on the outskirts of King Jie’s palace, Xian was inside, trying to steal a map that– once deciphered properly– could lead someone to the ultimate power. Not that Feiyan or Xian wanted that power; they just wanted to keep it out of Jie’s hands. 

Ignoring the nervous tick in her fingers, Feiyan bit her lip and stared towards the area of the palace he was supposed to be in. 

Feiyan begged Xian to let her go in with him, but he’d refused, and The Mage had sided with him. They’d argued that it was too dangerous for both of her to go in with him, but she would have given anything to be by his side.  

King Jie was known for many things, but having mercy and compassion for trespassers wasn’t one of them. 

Nerves rolled in the pit of her stomach, and Feiyan knew that if– gods forbid– her partner got caught, he wouldn’t be coming out alive. 

Just as she was about to go in– orders from The Mage be damned– she caught sight of the comforting black fabric cat ears poking out from over a stone wall. A sigh of relief passed through her lips as all her muscles relaxed. 

The figure steadily made its way closer until Xian was standing in front of her, a cheeky grin on his face. 

“Awww, did you miss me, My Lady?” 

Feeling the familiar pang in her chest at the nickname, Feiyan hoped her blush wouldn’t show in the dark and shook her head playfully at him, “You wish,” 

 Despite the statement, she quickly pulled him into a tight hug. His familiar warmth enveloping her as he pulled her closer to him. Feiyan’s hands rested at the nape of his neck as his pressed against her back. For a second, she almost felt normal; a normal girl hugging the guy she liked. But that would never be the case and she knew it. 

Their lives were dangerous, and Feiyan was hugging him because she wasn’t sure whether he’d make it back from a mission. 

“Did you get the map?” she whispered against Xian’s shoulder. 

He nodded, “I did,” 

Xian drew away from her slightly and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of parchment before placing it back in his bag. 

“Do you think anyone noticed that it’s gone?” 

Her treacherous heart began beating faster again when Xian tilted his head to the side, scrunching his nose like he always did when he was concentrating. “Not yet. But probably soon,” 

Treading carefully on the grass, Feiyan began retracing her steps back away from the palace. After one glance behind her to make sure Xian was following, she quickened her pace, although she didn’t get far before she heard him gasp. 

She turned back around, eyes darting across the landscape for any sign of opponents, but couldn’t see anyone. In fact, it didn’t seem like Xian’s gasp had been of fear, more of surprise. 

“Red string…” he muttered dazedly.

Feiyan’s eyes widened, “I’m sorry, what?” 

Xian’s voice grew stronger, but still quiet enough so as to not draw attention to them, “I can see our red string. We’re soul–” 

That was as far as he got before a knife went through his stomach. 

It retreated just as quickly as it entered, and Xian’s knees crumpled as his body fell to the ground. 

Eyes wide, she glanced up to see a palace guard smirking as he twirled the blood-covered knife between his fingers. “So nice to see you, Piáo Chóng.” He glanced down at the ground, towards where Xian was, “And I suppose it’s too late to say hello to your friend here. What was his name? Hēi Māo?” 

The guard’s indifference towards her partner and his referral towards him in the past tense sent Feiyan’s grief giving way like a landslide. 

She gritted her teeth, whipping her yo-yo open. “You’re going to regret doing that,” 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that Piáo Chóng was supposed to be a pacifist first; fighter second. That the Ladybug Miraculous was about creation, compassion, luck, and happiness, and life. But her heart had been destroyed, all her compassion with it; she wasn’t feeling too lucky, she certainly wasn’t happy, and her partner’s life was slowly draining from his body. And so at that moment, as she saw her partner bleeding out in the grass, pacification for her enemy was the last thing on her mind. 

The yo-yo slashed across his face, her fist following soon after as all her feelings turned into cold, unforgiving rage. 

As soon as the guard collapsed, Feiyan ran back over to Xian, kneeling on the ground next to him. 

“Hēi Māo?” she whispered softly, “Are you still awake?” 

He laughed, and she desperately tried to ignore the crimson flowing from his lips as he did so, “Th–that’s one way of saying I’m still alive, yeah…” 

“No, no, no,” Feiyan said quietly, her voice nearly caving in on itself, “You’re going to stay with me, okay? Stay with me,” 

Her hands fluttered nervously around Xian not sure what to do, and he gave her a beautiful smile, “Be careful, My Lady. You’ll tangle our string,” 

“Oh…” 

Crazy as it sounded, Feiyan had almost forgotten about their string. She’d been so panicked as it was, and the panic increased tenfold as she realized that it was her soulmate bleeding out. Her soulmate. 

Tears began welling up in her eyes as her hands landed solidly on Xian’s shoulders, “Hey, you’re gonna be alright. You’re going to be just fine, okay?” 

He shook his head at her, a shaky hand rising to cup her cheek, “We both know that’s not true,” 

“No, no,” Feiyan sobbed, “This is going to be fine. Please, Māo, you can’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t,” 

Slowly, Xian’s thumb stopped its repetitive motions brushing against her cheekbone. Grief bubbled through Feiyan’s mind, and her entire body gave out as she collapsed on top of him. Sobs wracked her body as their red string shimmered and vanished. 

New Kingdom, Egypt; 1334 BCE

When Kesi was reborn, she was born with the name ‘Kafele’ tattooed on the inside of her wrist. She stared down at it sixteen years later, fingers brushing gently over the name. Kesi had been waiting to meet her soulmate since she’d seen her parent’s marks– small hearts on their ribs that pulsed in time with each other’s heartbeats. 

So far, she’d had no luck in meeting Kafele, and she groaned as she sank down on the seating in their common room. Her elbows planted on her knees as she stared dejectedly at the table in front of her. 

It was then that she noticed the dark wood box adorned with an unfamiliar red marking on the top. Kesi’s eyes narrowed in confusion, knowing that the box didn’t belong to her parents or anyone in her extended family.

She lifted up the box, glancing around the room to make sure her family wasn’t around. 

Kesi wasn’t sure why, but something about it gave her the impression that she shouldn’t be around people when she opened it. 

After a final inspection of the box, she opened up the lid. 

Her eyes narrowed at the flash of bright red light the box emitted, and as the light died down, she tilted her head in confusion at the pair of earrings that rested there. 

“Hello!” 

Kesi let out a small squeak of surprise, falling back in her seat when she saw the small red creature floating off to her side. 

She bit her lip to keep any shocked noises from spilling out,  “Who are you?” 

“My name is Tikki, and I’m the kwami of creation!” the creature said, smiling at her. “This must be very confusing for you… let me explain. You’ve been chosen by the Oracle of Ra to fight against the dark spirits infiltrating our rulers.” 

Mouth dropping open in a rather unattractive gape, Kesi leaned forward, unable to help her curiosity. “A– a kwami?” 

“Yes,” Tikki nodded comfortingly, waving her arm in front of her face and summoning an illusion. The air rippled in front of Kesi, and a vision of the Pharaoh appeared, showing him chanting and dark spirits rising from the ground. “And your job is to use my powers to fight King Akhenaten and keep him from bringing his wife back to life,” 

The illusion rippled like a stone thrown on water before disappearing entirely, and Kesi frowned in confusion, “Would that be a horribly bad thing?” 

Tikki nodded gravely, “Unfortunately, it would be. Bringing someone back from the dead causes unbalance in the land of the living. If Nefertiti came back from the dead, someone would take her place in the Afterlife,” 

“But that’s not fair!” 

“No,” Her kwami shook her head sadly, “It’s not. Often, life never is. But, it’s your job to make it as balanced and fair as it can be. Well, with your partner, of course,” 

Almost on instinct, Kesi’s gaze flickered down to the name on her wrist, gently running a thumb over the hieroglyphics. Could it be that her partner was Kafele? “Do we know who my partner is?” 

“Not yet,” Tikki shook her head, “That depends on who Plagg chose. He’s like me, but instead of creation, he’s a kwami of destruction. Whoever he chooses, you two are destined to balance each other out,” 

Her head perked up, “Really? Like… like soulmates?” 

“Hmm,” Tikki tilted her head, “I suppose, yes. My first holder, Piáo Chóng, and her partner, Hēi Māo, were soulmates. It’s possible that you could be soulmates with your future partner. But don’t get your hopes up, just in case,” 

“Yeah, right. I won’t,” 

Kesi nodded absent-mindedly, her mind already wandering in half-formed scenarios of her meeting her soulmate. She desperately hoped that when they met, he ended up liking her. Seeing her parents so constantly happy; their tattoo hearts beating, Kesi had grown to have high expectations about her future soulmate. 

Somewhere the back of her mind, a fuzzy vision of a boy smiling at her appeared, making her heart patter. She shook her head, and the vision shattered like glass from a broken mirror.

* * *

The first time Kesi ran into her partner, her heart nearly stopped in her chest. She had felt the dark spirits rising and transformed immediately, nearly running into him on the way to the burial ground. Her nose collided with his shoulder and as she looked up into his golden-brown eyes a shock jolted through her. 

Her wrist burned, the name on it glowing a bright, acid green through her leather cuffs. 

A gasp tore through her throat, and she bit her lip as visions flashed through her mind at rapid speed.

Her first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man. 

The beautiful boy she’d seen in her dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

Fingers shaking, Kesi ripped the leather cuff off her wrist, revealing the glowing green name. She watched nervously as her partner’s eyes widened, biting his lip. Maintaining eye contact with him, choking down her nerves, she searched his eyes, looking for some sort of recognition. Surely he remembered her the way she remembered him.

“Are– are you Xian? My Xian? I mean Kafele?” she asked, voice soft and nervous. 

He nodded, golden eyes wide. “I– yes. Kesi? Feiyan? Is that you, My Lady?”

“Yes,” Kesi exhaled, “Yes!” She threw herself into his arms, and Kafele immediately caught her, wrapping his arms around her. 

Relief flooded through her body, and her arms tightened around Kafele’s neck. He was here, and he was safe. 

“I’m so glad you found me,” she whispered against his shoulder. 

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple, “I always will. I promise,”

* * *

The battle between the Miraculous wielders and the Pharaoh Akhenaten had been going on for years, and finally, they had defeated all the dark spirits supporting the King’s reign. Now, it was only the Pharaoh and Apophis against the two of them. 

“You will never stop me!” Akhenaten sneered, wielding his crook and flail as Apophis hovered above him in a dark cloud. “I will bring my wife back!” 

“Please, see reason,” Kafele begged, “I know you miss her, I know it’s hard–” 

The Pharaoh shook his head, sneering at him, “You couldn’t possibly know! All I want is my Nefertiti!” 

“Of course you do,” Kesi said placatingly, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture. She remembered the rest of her life as Feiyan, trying to live without Xian. Her parents had eventually married her to a suitor and she lived the rest of her life in a loveless marriage. 

Akhenaten hissed, “I want my wife back,” 

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. “I understand, I do. Losing someone you love is horrible. You feel like a part of you has died with them. But you can’t throw your life away like that. The one you love wouldn’t want you to,” 

“No! I won’t give up,” 

Kafele shook his head, clenching his staff so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You have to. Don’t you see?” 

Dark laughter filled the throne room as dark fog flooded through it, and Kesi felt the black mist wrapping around her throat. Her yo-yo began glowing and she flung it across the fog, watching as it turned gold and retreated. 

Taking a heaving breath in, she bent over in exhaustion as Kafele stepped forward, and through the dark spots floating in her eyes, she could see the rage on his face. 

“Don’t hurt her,”  

She watched as Kafele stood against Apophis, his acid green light struggling to grow against the black mist. Struggling to catch her breath, she stepped forward to stand next to him, her gold light joining his green one standing against the Egyptian god of chaos. 

While the two were distracted by fending off the darkness that threatened to strangle the both of them, Akhenaten turned around and began chanting, holding his crook and flail up to the sky. 

“We’ve got to hurry!” she called out to Kafele, “He’s starting to bring her back already!” 

He nodded and gave her a crooked smile, his golden eyes glowing as he used his remaining strength to force the fog back from the two of them before rushing to the left side of the Pharaoh.

Meanwhile, Kesi rushed to the other side of him, throwing her leg underneath his to trip him. He crashed to the ground, and her partner rolled away from the scene. 

Akhenaten quickly got back up, using his crook to support himself. 

“Think this through, Akhenaten!” Kafele yelped, putting himself on defense between her and the Pharaoh, “If you bring Nefertiti back to life, someone else will die!” 

“I don’t care!” he roared, his arms shaking with rage. 

Kesi shook her head sadly, seeing the pain in Akhenaten’s eyes. She recognized that pain; had lived it back in China. Despite all the horrible things the Pharaoh had done to his citizens, the evil spirits he’d released, she still felt pity for him.

Her partner gave her a questioning look, raising an eyebrow at her. She could tell he was asking her what their game-plan was, but honestly, Kesi wasn’t sure what they should do. 

Eyes scanning the room, she called for her Lucky Charm. She shook her head in confusion as a small heart-shaped talisman landed in her hands. Usually, when her lucky charm required other objects in the room to work, and the items lit up in red and black. 

Unlike other times, all Kesi was able to see was her partner and the talisman. She stored it in the folds of her kalasiris for the time being, pulling her yo-yo back out. 

“Akhenaten, please!” Kafele begged. 

The Pharaoh shook his head, giving the two of them a dark grin as Apophis rose again, taking the form of a dark and smokey snake. 

“Try to stall Akhenaten from raising Nefertiti!” she called out to Kafele, “I’ll hold back Apophis,” 

Her partner gave her a worried look but nodded at her and raised his staff against the Pharaoh. Kesi turned to face Apophis, gold light glowing from her weapon and hands. The Chaos God’s dark smoke began enveloping her, and she could hear his dark and evil laugh surrounding her. 

The snake’s eyes narrowed as the laugh echoed, “Ra was a fool, sending you to stop me. Did he really think his little Red Sun and Dark Star could halt Chaos itself?” 

Kesi shook her head, “Maybe not. But he knew we’d try our best.” 

“As if your best could do anything against me,” Apophis laughed, the dark fog rearing back before pressing against her with more force. 

She could feel the darkness nearly strangling her, and Kesi began backing up slowly, retreating to stand next to Kafele. He gave her a worried look, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before whipping his staff under Akhenaten’s feet, sending him off balance and halting the ritual. 

“No!” Akhenaten screamed, watching as the ghostly image of Nefertiti began fading. 

Kesi looked over at Kafele, his face twisted into a sad grimace and fist clenched tight around his weapon. She watched as grief and rage flashed across the Pharaoh’s face, only noting the lack of Apophis’s dark smoke when it was nearly too late. 

Turning around to look behind her, she spotted the dark snake preparing to strike against Kafele, who was vastly unprepared to halt a blow from the Chaos God. 

Just as Apophis reared his head back; fangs preparing to dig into Kafele’s throat, Kesi jumped in front of him, his teeth instead digging into her chest. Pain flashed through her and she struggled against it briefly before falling limp. 

She was about to hit the floor when Kafele’s arms wrapped around her, lowering her gently to the ground as she leaned against his chest. 

Rasping in a deep breath, she held on tightly to his hand. “It’s okay, my love,” 

“Why would you do that?” Kafele sobbed, “How could you take that hit for me?” 

Kesi shook her head, staring up into his golden-brown eyes, “I couldn’t watch you die. Not again,” 

“But now I have to watch you die,” he said softly. 

Through her rapidly numbing senses, Kesi could feel his arms tighten around her, one hand around her waist and another cradling her head. 

Dark spots began dancing across her vision and her hand pressed against the puncture wound, “I l–love… you…” 

The last thing she saw before the world went was her name on Kafele’s wrist slowly scarring over and turning white. 

Classical Period, Greece; 416 BCE

Unlike Feiyan and Kesi, when Calliope found the black and red box resting on her bed, she wasn’t surprised or freaked out. She opened the box, and something in her recognized the situation, although she’d yet to remember her past life– in fact, she wouldn’t until she met her soulmate again. 

Calliope tilted her head, studying a false opponent, and wondered what her soulmate was doing at the moment; something more normal than practicing sword fighting with a mythical being, she was sure. 

Like it always did when she thought of her soulmate, the inky black paw print on the inside of her wrist began pulsing, and she readjusted her grip on the dark iron sword in her hand. 

Tikki floated at her side as she practiced sword fighting in the arena, feinting to the right and lunging toward the left side of the dummy’s torso. She turned to her kwami for approval, and a slight smirk worked its way onto her face when she nodded. 

She turned back to the semi-circle of stuffed straw and burlap, sighing as she noted an imperfect slice across one of the chests.

 “Why are we doing this again?” Calliope asked in exasperation, “I thought my weapon was a yo-yo?” 

Her kwami nodded wisely, “It is. But, for the enemy you’re about to face, you’ll need extra training and a more offensive weapon. And after a little bit more practice, I can introduce you to Chiron– and your partner.” 

“My partner?” she asked, “You mean someone else has a kwami and is training for this right now?” 

Absentmindedly twirling the heavy sword between her fingers– a few weeks of training would do wonders for someone, Calliope had learned– she wondered what her partner was doing at that moment. Training with their kwami, most likely. 

The tattoo on her wrist pulsed again, and she stared at it in confusion. That marking was only supposed to beat when she was thinking of her soulmate. 

“Tikki…” she said slowly, “Could– could my partner be my soulmate?” 

Her kwami’s eyes widened, “I thought you weren’t interested in how your soulmate was.” 

Eyes narrowing at the kwami’s blatant avoidance of the question, Calliope walked closer to her, “Tikki,”  

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Tikki replied, blue eyes slightly fearful, “It could be, but… we won’t be sure until you two meet.” 

Calliope knew that there was something her kwami was hiding from her, but she let it slide for the moment. She sighed, “Alright,” Quiet swept over the arena for a brief second before she spoke up again. “You’ll tell me everything one day, right?” 

Tikki nodded, “Don’t worry. One day you’ll understand.” 

She sighed, heaving the dark iron sword up into her grip once more. “Can you help me with that disarming move again?” 

Her kwami nodded and with a bright red light, a new dummy with a sword hung in its hand appeared in front of them. Calliope’s eyes narrowed, and she lifted the sword up to point at its chest. Tikki raised the dummy’s sword so it was held offensively, nearly against her own.

“What you want to do is use the flat of your blade to push against the enemy’s, which will twist their wrist until they’re forced to drop it,” 

Calli nodded her, doing exactly as Tikki instructed until the blade fell out of the dummy’s hand. 

After five more repetitions of the disarming maneuver, she sighed and let the blade hang from her arm as her grip loosened. 

“You know,” she sighed, running a hand through her messy black hair, “This would be much easier if I knew who I was going to be fighting,” 

“I know. But we have to wait just a little bit longer,” 

A frustrated groan left her mouth as Calliope went to sit down on the sandy floor, “You will tell me who I’m fighting one day, right?” 

“Of course,” Tikki nodded, her eyes wide, “I’ll tell you when you’re ready.” 

“And when will that be?” 

Her kwami shrugged, a small smile on her face, “We’ll just have to wait and see,”

* * *

Nearly half a year later, Calliope spun in a perfect circle with ebony hair swirling around her; each one of the mannequins’ heads falling off as the dark iron sword sliced through each of them with perfect timing. 

She turned back to her kwami, who nodded in approval. “That was wonderful!” Tikki exclaimed. “I think it’s safe to say you’re ready now,” 

“Really?” 

Tikki nodded again, a proud smile on her face. “Really. Now you must journey to Thessaly, where you can meet with your partner and Chiron.” 

“Chiron…” Calliope frowned, biting her lip, “That’s the Guardian, right?” 

“Yes. He’s also in charge of your training.” 

Walking away from the training ring, Calli sighed and began wandering back towards her home. “What will I tell my parents?” 

Her kwami blinked slowly, hovering in the folds of her chiton. “I’m not sure. Getting there takes around four days, and you won’t stay any longer than two days– after that Chiron will move to be somewhere close to both of you. Perhaps you could say you’re off visiting a friend?” 

“I would need chaperoning for that,” Calliope pointed out. 

Tikki sighed, “Oh. I’d forgotten how restricting your society’s rules are. Honestly, I’m sure your parents wouldn’t force you to take someone with you.” 

Calliope shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe they would let me get away with it.” 

“If not, I could always use some of my magic to persuade them,” 

Frowning in confusion, Calliope stopped to pace in front of the doorway to her home. “That’s something you can do?”

That was absolutely something Tikki could do. After her parents had vehemently denied her any chance of ‘visiting a friend’ in Thessaly, Tikki had used her powers to convince her parents to let her leave. 

She now walked along the dirt path leading to the foot of Mount Pellion, throat dry from lack of water along the road. She had been walking for a little more than three days now, and Tikki assured her that she was nearly there.  

“You’re sure I’m almost there already?” Calliope panted, “And how long will your magic last? I don’t want them mad at me when I get back.” 

Tikki smiled at her, “My glamour on them will last until you return. Unless they see something that proves otherwise, they’ll believe that you’re visiting a friend in Thessaly with a male friend chaperoning you. And yes, I’m sure you’re almost there. Look up,” 

Calliope did as Tikki instructed, nearly gasping as she saw the carnivorous opening at the base of Mount Pellion; fog spilling out of it. 

“That’s where Chiron lives?” 

Her kwami nodded and Calliope grinned, “If that’s where I lived, I’d never want to leave.” 

She walked further toward the opening, suppressing a gasp when the fog cleared, revealing a plant-covered opening, flowers blooming across it.

“It’s beautiful,” Calli breathed, stepping into the cave; vines rustling slightly as she passed through the entrance. 

Almost immediately, she was able to fully see the instead– rock walls lined with herbal medicines, weapons resting against the opposite wall, and the two people standing in the middle. As she had suspected, Chiron was the centaur from her mythology who had trained all the heroes, but her heart nearly stopped when she saw the other boy standing there. 

His light grey eyes met hers, and as though drawn together by magnets, the two met each other in the middle of the room. She reached out to touch his hand, and as soon as their hands met, her soulmate mark began to pulse and burn as visions flashed across her eyes. 

Her first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man. 

The beautiful boy she’d seen in her dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished.

Her second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table.

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on her wrist. 

Fangs piercing through her chest, blood staining the tiles. 

Her vision turning dark as her name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over.

Calliope’s fingers began shaking as she ran her thumb over the pulsing paw print on her wrist. She glanced down at it, noticing the paw print was glowing a bright green. Glancing back up, she saw her partner smiling at her, light gray eyes shining with happiness just like Kafele’s always used to. 

“My Lady?” he asked hopefully, stepping toward her slightly. 

She nodded, her hands shaking violently as she threw herself into his arms. “It’s Calliope, now,” 

He grinned at her, “I’m Theseus.” 

Calliope smiled up at him, and he lightly brushed her tears away. “I’m so glad you found me,” 

“I promised I always would,”

* * *

Two years later, Calliope stood on the edge of Athens, staring out at the horizon, just able to make out the orange fog rising in the distance. 

“Ky?” her partner asked as a hand landed on her shoulder. “Are you okay, my lady?” 

She nodded absentmindedly, ignoring the panic settled deep in her chest– a precognition that one of them wasn’t coming back from this fight, “I’m fine, kitten.” Her head snapped to attention towards the distant horizon, seeing a mist of almost orange fog rapidly approaching the city. “We’d better hurry. Keres isn’t going to wait to perform the ritual for long,” 

Grabbing the yo-yo resting at her waist, she swung the yoyo towards the horizon, catching one of the main buildings as she propelled herself towards the orange mist. Theseus was right behind her, and she could hear his quiet mutterings just a few steps behind her. 

As they approached, the two skidded to a halt at the edge of the fog, which had stopped its progression toward the city for the moment. 

“So…” the man drawled out, his hand lying on the hilt of his sword, “What’s the plan, Kyria?” 

She shrugged her shoulders, placing the yoyo back on her hip, “We don’t know what illusions Keres plans on using, so keep on the lookout for anything suspicious. Try not to get too distracted, either. And remember, Keres is just a pawn for Kronos. Our goal is to stop him at any cost. Don’t draw out the fight trying to defeat her. Stop the ritual and then run like Hades is at your heels,” 

He nodded at her, gesturing towards the fog, “Ladies first?” 

“Oh, aren’t you just hysterical, Scaredy Cat,” she deadpanned, but still plunged headfirst into the fog. 

Glancing around, images swarmed her vision: her now gone mother and father, her brother turning against the gods and siding with Kronos, Mount Pellion crumbling, a sword plunging into her stomach, and the feral smile of Keres as she yanked the sword back out. 

She blinked. Once… twice… three times, before the visions started to disperse. In the center of the still hazy mist was Keres dressed in orange and gold, a wrinkled papyrus clutched tightly in one hand. 

Suddenly, Theseus was standing next to her, hand on her shoulder, “We’d better hurry. It looks like she’s nearly halfway through.” 

Nodding at him, Calliope proceeded towards Keres, taking in her surroundings quickly until she was crouching behind a boulder only a few feet away. Meanwhile, Theseus was hidden nearly directly across from her. She held up her fingers, counting down quickly for an ambush. 

As soon as she dropped her hand down, he was rushing towards Keres, his sword in one hand and staff in the other. She did the same, swinging her yoyo with sword drawn. Keres quickly drew up a defense, holding a flute to her lips as hundreds of soldiers appeared in front of them, all looking the same as her. 

“You can’t stop me!” the soldiers taunted, “Kronos will rise!” 

Theseus rolled his eyes– they’d both head this speech a thousand times, “In your dreams, Keres. Kyria and I will defeat you. The gods still live, and I think you’ll find they’re on our side.” 

Keres and her copies grit their teeth, flinging themselves towards him. 

Calliope felt panic flood her system, rushing towards them all, swing her sword as one by one the illusions vanished. 

Lightning flashed in the distance, and Calliope swore she heard a sinister voice laughing from below. Keres laughed, “See? He’s already coming. And you can’t stop it, Panthiras.” 

Theseus froze, eyes flooding with fear, “My Lady, get to the rooftop, and don’t come down until I say so,” 

“Why?” she said suspiciously. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.” 

“Please, Kyria.” 

She shook her head stubbornly, planting her feet on the ground, “I– I can’t. I won’t leave you here alone.” 

“Please,” he begged, “Just do it. I’ll see you again, I promise.” 

Calliope nodded hesitantly as the storm worsened, electricity crackling around her. She swung to the nearest rooftop and watched as Theseus summoned a Cataclysm. 

He turned to her as he dropped to the ground and she could just barely make out his last words, “I love you, Calliope. I’m so sorry,” before he slammed his palm to the ground. 

She couldn’t stop her heartbroken scream as her partner and everything around him– including the ritual, Keres, and all her copies– turned to ash, her soulmate mark along with it. 

Aztec Empire, Mexico; 1427 CE

Yolyamanitzin prided himself on being a practical person. He kept his head down, stayed out of trouble, never got into any fights– one thing he had learned throughout his life so far was that his soulmate was no such thing. 

One of his friends had speculated she was one of Moctezuma II’s guards, but considering they weren’t in a war at the moment, it wouldn’t make much sense. 

His parents were lucky, he always mused. Their soulmate connection was being able to recognize each other’s moods from the aura radiating around them. He’d gotten stuck with injuries constantly showing up all over him. 

“Stupid soulmate, stupid bruises…” he muttered, moving to sit back on his bed. 

He looked down at his hands and knees, noticing dejectedly that a new set of bruises had appeared on his knuckles. “Oh for the love of Quetzalcoatl, will she ever stop fighting?” 

It was then that his gaze landed on the strange box resting next to him on the bed. 

Yolyamanitzin moved to pick it up, his eyes narrowing as a red light began pouring out of it. He lifted the lid off it gently, clenching his fists as a small creature flew out of it. 

“Hello!”

He immediately launched off the bed, backing away from the strange thing, “What are you?” 

The creature giggled, lifting a small fingerless hand to cover its mouth. “I’m a kwami. Each one of us represents an essential aspect of the universe. I’m the kwami of creation.” 

“I–” Yolyamanitzin shook his head vehemently. “What does this have to do with me?” 

The kwami nodded knowingly, “Ahh, right. Well, in order for our powers to be accessed properly, we need a holder; a sort of person who channels our powers to help people. My Guardian has chosen you,”

He frowned again, hands digging into the sheets on his bed. “But what’s wrong with the way things are? Why do we need you here?” 

“You know the High Priestess Xiuhcoatl, I trust?” 

He nodded. Everyone knew about their High Priestess– she was one of the most feared people in their lands, and, if he dared say it, a little too fond of human sacrifices. “Oh no. You’re not trying to tell me–” 

“You are fighting against Xiuhcoatl, yes,” Tikki nodded.

Mouth falling into a gape, Yolyamanitzin glanced up at the sky, clenching his hands into bruise-covered fists, “May the gods help me,” 

“Oh you sweet boy,” Tikki whispered, floating above his head. “I’m not sure they can.”

* * *

In the following months, he couldn’t help but notice that his soulmate’s bruises were getting more and more frequent, looking worse and worse as they appeared. Meanwhile, not much had happened with Xiuhcoatl, and though Tikki had told him about his partner, they'd yet to meet. He now sat impatiently waiting at the spot he had his partner had agreed upon for their first meeting. She was already several minutes late, judging by the position of the sundial. 

He couldn’t help but let out a small groan as another bruise bloomed across his chest, wondering what his soulmate could be getting up to. Honestly, if he ever met her– though at this point they’d gone longer than most soulmates did without meeting each other– he’d have to keep an eye on her constantly to keep her from getting hurt.

It was a few minutes later that a dark figure approached him, moving to sit next to him. 

“You’re Micazoyolin, right?” 

Right, Tikki had insisted upon giving his partner his superhero name, not his real one. 

Yolyamanitzin nodded. “Yes. And you’re Mistontli?” 

She nodded back and smiled at him, reaching her hand out in front of her. “Pleasure to meet you,”

“And you as well,” he replied, shaking her hand gently before dropping it after it began to burn. 

Along with her hand, the bruises all over his body began to burn, and Yolyamanitzin felt his vision begin to swim, planting his hands on the ground to steady himself as images began to flash in his mind’s eyes.

His first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man. 

The boy he’d seen in his dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

His second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table. 

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on his wrist. 

Fangs piercing through his chest, blood staining the tiles. 

His vision turning dark as his name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over. 

His third life. 

Dark iron swords in sandy training arenas, Tikki floating next to him.

A centaur hidden away in the mountain.  

Light gray eyes and a cheerful smile, small jokes, and playful shoves. 

A small black paw print on his wrist. 

Ash floating down from the sky, nothing left of his soulmate. 

The paw print breaking apart, nothing more than grey flecks floating along his skin.

“Mistontli,” he gasped, “You’re– you’re–” 

His soulmate giggled, “It’s Citlali. My real name is Citlali.”

“Huh,” he said quietly, still feeling like he'd been kicked in the head a little, thoughts swimming slightly, “You’re a girl this time.” 

“And you’re a boy,” Citlali giggled. “And I think it’s you who found me this time.” 

Yolyamanitzin shrugged, a large smile taking over his face. “Hey, it goes both ways. Always.” 

“Always,” she repeated, moving to him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

* * *

In the following years, Yolyamanitzin and Citlali spent nearly every second of the day together, and true to his word as a teenager, he did his best to keep his soulmate out of trouble– although as superheroes, trouble seemed to find them. After a long and tiring day, the two of them were sitting in their house when Tikki flew out of the bedroom. 

His head snapped up, “What’s wrong, Tikki?” 

“It’s time,” she said, “Xiuhcoatl is preparing her final sacrifice,” 

Citlali shook her head slowly, tapping on the table her arm was propped up against. “You can’t mean that. Xiuhcoatl wasn’t supposed to be ready for another two years. How did she get a sacrifice ready that quickly?” 

“I don’t know,” Tikki said worriedly. “Plagg! Get out here!” 

Said kwami flew out with a grumpy expression on his face, pouting as he cradled cheese in his hands. “Whatchou wan’?” he asked through a mouthful of cheese.

Yolyamanitzin frowned, “Xiuhcoatl is ready. We have to go.” 

“Holy mother of kwami!” Plagg yelped, his cheese crashing to the ground. “But that ritual takes so much preparation! How long do we have?” 

“What time is it supposed to happen? Midnight?” Yolyamanitzin looked to Tikki for conformation, who nodded, then glanced over at the window to see the position of the moon, “Then we’ve got a little less than two hours,”

Citlali bit her lip nervously, pulling at a loose thread in her dress with one hand and clutching onto his hand tightly with the other. “Well, then we’ve got to move now.”  

“We do,” he nodded, standing up and pulling Citlali up with him. “Tikki, spots on!”

 “Plagg, claws out!”

Before their kwamis could blink, the superheroes Micazoyolin and Mistontli were rushing out of their house towards Xipe Totec’s temple. As the two approached the dark temple, they skidded to a halt. 

“Are you alright?” Yolyamanitzin asked, noticing small marks showing up on his arm from where Citlali was digging her nails into her own. 

She shook her head quickly, long braid flying back and forth behind her, “Every time we go to defeat the villain, one of us dies. And we’re so happy this time, Bug. We’re planning on getting married. In a few years, we’ll be having kids. I just want us to get a happy ending this time.” 

“We’ll be okay,” he murmured, pulling Citlali close to him. He kissed her quickly before pulling back, “Let’s live this time, okay?” 

Giving him a teary smile, she nodded, “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea,” 

“Good. Now let’s get going,” Yolyamanitzin smiled at her, moving to grab the yo-yo resting at his waist. 

The two climbed to the top of the temple, peering through the opening in the roof to see  Xiuhcoatl stoking the fire. Her eyes were smudged with dark coal, and she appeared to have written runes on her arms with blood. 

A shiver ran down his spine as he watched her pace back and forth in front of the altar, muttering some sort of chant under her breath. 

Citlali sucked in a deep breath, grabbing the edge of the roof. “What’s the plan?” 

“Why do you always ask me that?” he asked, tapping his fingers.

“Because you’ve almost always got a plan,” 

He shrugged, “I guess. I’d say priority one is to stop the ritual. Our goal isn’t to kill Xiuhcoatl, but it might come to that. And stay alive.” 

“Right,” Citlali smiled, tapping his shoulder with hers, “We’ll both stay alive this time. I promise,” 

An unspoken signal passed between the two of them, and they dropped down from the roof in unison, twisting in the air before landing in front of Xiuhcoatl. Yolyamanitzin landed on his knees before pushing himself up to stand next to Citlali. 

The Priestess bared her teeth at the sight of the two of them, spitting at their feet. “The two of you dare to interrupt my ceremony?” 

“You have done a great injustice to the gods, Priestess,” Citlali explained, “This imbalance cannot be allowed– too many sacrifices and the world will fall into chaos. Micazoyolin and I cannot, will not, let you raise Xipe Totec.” 

Xiuhcoatl shook her head, “Xipe Totec demands his sacrifices. I will give him what is due.” 

She raised her arms and began chanting, midnight smoke rising from the fire as the bloody runes on her arms began to glow. 

Yolyamanitzin nodded at Citlali and she charged, ramming into Xiuhcoatl and pushing her off balance, driving her away from the altar. He rushed over to join the fight, smiling at his soon-to-be-wife and landing a solid punch on Xiuhcoatl. 

“I will not let you succeed,” the dark Priestess laughed, pushing herself back up onto her feet, arms shaking with effort and strain.

Grabbing the yo-yo at his side, he shook his head firmly, “You will not have a choice.” 

The Priestess gave a ruthless grin before crimson smoke surrounded her and in her place stood a night-black wolf. 

His brow furrowed, but before he had the chance to spring into action, Xiuhcoalt leaped forward, and her claws dug into Citlali’s stomach. 

Yolyamanitzin gasped as he felt a weird sensation spread across his own stomach and as he looked down he saw blood spreading across it; though no wound marred his own skin. Without a second thought, he lunged at Xiuhcoatl, pushing her back into the fire and watching as the sparks grew before turning back to Citlali and kneeling on the floor next to her. 

“No,” he gasped, his eyes burning with tears, “No Citlali. Remember, we’re so happy this time. You’re supposed to live. I’m supposed to live. You’re supposed to stay alive–” 

Citlali shook her head, body shaking as her blood spilled to the temple floor. “I’m sorry I couldn't keep that promise. But I think we both know that’s not going to happen this time.” 

“No, Citlali. Stay.” Her eyes slowly drifted closed, and panic rushed through Yolyamanitzin, “Stay.” 

And stay she did. 

This time, they were both happy. This time, they were both alive. 

This time.

French Monarchy, France; 1620 CE

Black and white was all Thomas had ever known. While his parents and siblings could see in color, Thomas was never able to. He would have to wait until he ran into his soulmate in order for color to burst across his vision like flowers blooming. 

His parents had passed on their color bond to him– a rather unusual occurrence, as soulmate identifiers were unique to each couple and frequently no family members would share the same one, and his older sister had recently discovered her own dream bond, which meant she knew exactly what her soulmate looked like. 

Thomas was the only one in the family without a distinct connection to his soulmate. He couldn’t help but feel bitter about it although he knew that he’d meet his soulmate eventually; his parents were living proof of that. 

Some days he swore he could see a flicker of color in a black and white world, but he knew that it was most likely his imagination. 

Today was, however, one of those days, and despite his logical side knowing it was his imagination, Thomas couldn’t help the hope rising in his chest as he could swear he saw a flicker of some warm color– he was pretty sure it was the color his parents had called red. 

It wasn’t anything major, just the flicker of a flower turning a shade other than the monochromatic sights that had been his life for eighteen years. Still, he turned toward the flowers once more but found nothing but grey awaiting him. 

Thomas let out a sigh of frustration, turning to head back to his flat. “You’d think after all these years, I’d stop getting my hopes up…” he muttered under his breath, pulling his coat closer to him. 

Only then did it catch his eye that a middle-aged woman was about to wander directly into the street. Thomas raced across the sidewalk, weaving in between groups of people to catch up with her before a carriage ran her over. 

Just as the carriage was about to hit her, Thomas grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the sidewalk, stumbling backward as she collided into him. 

“Are you alright, Madame?” he asked, steadying her as she struggled to regain her footing. 

She nodded, patting his shoulder, “Oui. Thank you, young man.” She gave him a smile that gave him the impression she knew something he didn’t. “I must be going now,” 

The woman raced off and left Thomas staring after her in confusion.

He shrugged and readjusted his satchel over his shoulder, hugging the strap closer to his chest. The woman’s behavior had confused him greatly and Thomas knew nearly all of the people in his small section of Paris, so seeing someone he’d never met before was a rarity. 

Thomas’s pace quickened as he hurried back home, knowing that his family would worry if he wasn’t home soon. He opened the door to his sister, Genevieve, and mother, Renee, in a fierce argument. 

“What’s going on?” 

His question was ignored as Genevieve stomped her feet, “You don’t understand, Maman! I love him!” 

“But you can’t marry him,” Renee said calmly, “You know that you’ve been betrothed to Jaques since birth. It’s your duty to this family to marry him.” 

Genevieve let out a muffled scream. “But Jaques isn’t my soulmate!” After a pause, she continued, “… Oliver is.” 

Renee just shook her head sadly before busying herself with cleaning the table, ignoring Genevieve’s continued sobbing. 

His sister stormed off to her bedroom, tears streaming down her face. 

Frown deepening, Thomas dropped his bag to the floor. Walking over to his mother he gently tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped slightly and turned to face him. 

“Thomas! You gave me a fright!” 

He shook his head, giving his mother a disapproving frown. “You’re not allowing Vivi to marry her soulmate? That’s ridiculous.” 

Renee did a double-take, backing up. “You know as well as I do that she’s been betrothed to Jaques since she was six. Unless Jaques decides to call off the engagement to search for his soulmate; it’s Genevieve's duty to marry him.”

Having half a mind to find Jaques and hit him very, very hard in the face, Thomas took some deep calming breaths.

He shook his head again, crossing his arms. “Maman, you married your soulmate, I’ve got no such obligations to do anything but, and yet for some reason, Genevieve knows her soulmate but is being forced to marry someone else. Don’t you see how unfair that is?” 

“Life isn’t fair,” Renee chided, “And besides, you know that King Louis XIII has decreed that if two betrothed people aren’t soulmates, only the male can call off the engagement to be with their respective soulmates.” 

Thomas sighed, sitting down across from his mother. “You know as well as I do that Genevieve won’t stop fighting this. Even if you don’t allow her to marry Oliver, she’ll do it anyway.” 

His mother’s expression turned sad, “I’m very sorry, Thomas. But there’s nothing I can do. You ought to go to your room; get some reading done. I’ll talk with your father when he gets home. If anyone can fight this, it’ll be him, but for now, Genevieve’s betrothment with Jaques remains intact.”

“Alright. But I’m holding you to that,” Thomas growled, stalking back to his room. 

On his way, he knocked on Genevieve’s door, only to receive no answer. 

Once he arrived back in his small, corner room, Thomas was struck by the glowing box resting on his bookshelf. Again, he could swear he saw a flicker of color coming from the box, but he shook his head and it was gone.

He walked toward it slowly, carefully prying open the box. A burst of light flashed across his eyes and he squinted. 

When Thomas opened his eyes again, a small creature was floating in front of his face. “Ahh! What are you?!” 

“Calm down,” the creature placated, holding its hands out. “My name is Tikki and I’m a kwami. I represent and help control creation. It’s now your job to help fight against corruption and keep the universe in balance.” 

Thomas snorted, “Yeah right. That’s a good one.” 

“I’m not kidding,” the kwami said, “We need you and your partner to help fight against one of the aristocrats who’s attempting to take over the throne.”

 His brow furrowed, and Thomas tapped his foot against the floor. “My partner?” 

Tikki nodded, “Yes, your partner.” 

A smile lit up Thomas’s face and in his happiness, he completely missed out on his kwami’s next words. 

“Please. Please let them be happy again. Let them stay alive this time.”

* * *

If Thomas had been confused about his purpose as a Miraculous wielder before, it was nothing in comparison to how confused he was now, two hours into his kwami’s explanation.

He frowned, staring up at the ceiling, “You’re telling me that this man; Claude what's-his-name,–” 

“Rohan.” Tikki reminded him patiently, “His name is Claude Rohan.” 

“– Yeah okay, sure, that one. You’re telling me that he started a cult and is now trying to kill the king?!” 

Tikki nodded, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” 

Thomas sighed and slammed his head against the desk. When he received the small black box containing his Miraculous, he’d never once thought he’d be fighting a secretive cult hidden in the depths of the aristocracy. He shook himself out of his thoughts, turning back to face his kwami. “Okay then. And what’s this about my partner? Am I going to meet her soon?” 

“That depends,” Tikki shrugged, “On how soon Claude strikes, and when you two happen to run into each other.” 

“So there’s no guarantee of when I’m going to meet her? I’m just going to have to wait around and see?” 

“Yes,” 

Thomas pouted, “That’s not fair! I want to know what she’s like! How does she take her tea? Does she even like tea? What’s her favorite book? What color are her eyes? Wait, what color are my eyes?” 

Tikki giggled, “They’re dark blue. Sort of like the Atlantic at midnight,” 

“You forget,” he pointed out, “That I can’t tell what color the Atlantic at midnight is, either,” 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Tikki said calmly. “Now, back to Claude for a second. This is really important, Thomas, listen up.” 

Thomas groaned and slammed his head back against the desk. “You know what, Tikki? I really don’t like you sometimes.” 

His kwami just giggled in response. 

Luckily for Thomas, his first encounter with his partner came sooner rather than later; only a few weeks after he received his Miraculous. He had been in the middle of yet another family argument– unfortunately for Genevieve, their father had sided with Maman, and her engagement with Jaques stood firm– when a loud crash had sounded from the town square. 

His head snapped up and he peered out the window to see a trail of feathers fluttering by. Turning to Tikki, Thomas stood up from the table abruptly. 

“I’m sorry guys, I just realized I have a… uh… previous engagement that I need to attend to. Right now. So love-you-guys-sorry-Vivi-see-you-soon!” 

He raced out the door, finding a secluded spot behind their home to hide in before transforming. Taking only a moment to inspect his outfit– was he dressed in green and navy blue?– before leaping up on top of his building, he very quickly ran right into another person. 

A quick inspection of her costume– similar to his, a more feminine version of a musketeer outfit, caused color to burst across his vision. Thomas’s eyes locked with hers, and in that moment thousands of memories flashed through his mind. 

His first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man. 

The boy he’d seen in his dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

His second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table. 

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on his wrist. 

Fangs piercing through his chest, blood staining the tiles. 

His vision turning dark as his name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over. 

His third life. 

Dark iron swords in sandy training arenas, Tikki floating next to him.

A centaur hidden away in the mountain.  

Light gray eyes and a cheerful smile, small jokes, and playful shoves. 

A small black paw print on his wrist. 

Ash floating down from the sky, nothing left of his soulmate. 

The paw print breaking apart, nothing more than grey flecks floating along his skin. 

His fourth life.

A dark Priestess with crimson runes and smoky eyes. 

Bright smiles and chocolate eyes, hugs, and promises of always. 

Bruises in his youth, cuts on his cheek.

Blood on his stomach with no wound to match. 

A happy ending this time, a wedding and love and children.

Holding hands in old age, one last smile before they exited their world together. 

“It’s you!” he called out cheerfully, pulling her into a hug, “Uh sorry, what’s your name this time?” 

His partner muffled a laugh in his shoulder, “Emilie. My name is Emilie,” 

“I’m Thomas,” he replied, tugging her ever-closer. 

He pulled away, only to remember that color had burst across his vision. Emilie’s eyes were green; hair dark as night. And his suit– he wrinkled his nose– 

“My suit is red and black?!” 

Emilie nodded, her brow furrowing. “What did you think it was?” 

Thomas winced, “You don’t wanna know. Let’s go defeat our newest villain, shall we?” 

He offered his arm out to Emilie and couldn’t help the smile stretching across his face as her arm intertwined with his. 

“Always,” she replied, giving him a smile he swore could melt his heart. 

“Always,” Thomas repeated, visions of death fluttering across his vision. 

Please, let us be happy. 

Please.

* * *

Emilie’s green eyes really were beautiful, Thomas thought to himself, staring into them as they stood together at the altar, hand in hand. Only a year and a half after the two of them met, Thomas had proposed, knowing he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Emilie. Just a few months after that, they were ready to be married. 

She stood across from him, donned in a white dress trimmed with lace and a light blue flower pattern along the hem of the skirt. A long white train drifted out behind her like an ocean of chiffon. 

“Do you, Thomas Caron, take Emilie St. Martin to be your lawfully wedded wife?” 

Thoms nodded, gazing lovingly into Emilie’s eyes, “I do,” 

The priest turned from Thomas to Emilie, droning on in a dreadfully boring voice; one much too somber for such a happy occasion. “And do you, Emilie St. Martin, take Thomas Caron to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do,” Emilie said earnestly, squeezing Thomas’s hands. 

Despite his monotone voice, the priest sent both of them a bright smile and nodded at them. “Excellent. You may now kiss the bride.” 

Emilie smiled lovingly at Thomas, her dimples endearingly lopsided. 

He kept his hold on one of her and moved the other to her waist, dipping her down and kissing her gently. Thomas and Emilie’s families clapped politely as he pulled away, hugging her close to his body. His attention briefly turned to his sister Genevieve, sitting next to her husband Oliver. 

“Je t'aime, Em,” 

She snuggled further into his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “Je t'aime, Bugaboy,”

The two proceeded back down the aisle, never taking their eyes off each other the whole time. Emilie kept herself close to his side, and just as they were about to have their second kiss as a married couple, a loud crash sounded from the Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais Church. 

“Merde,” Emilie muttered under her breath. 

Thomas rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, pulling her closer to his side, “It’ll be alright, ma moitie,”  

A flurry of peacock feathers fluttered down from the sky and Thomas groaned, gently shaking Tikki and Plagg awake from inside his pocket. 

“This had better be good,” Plagg grumbled, flying out and resting on the palm of Emilie’s hand. “I was having an excellent nap.” 

A frown flickered across Emilie’s face as she crossed her arms, causing Plagg to hover in the air as he hissed lightly at her, “You’re always having a nap. Now come on, it seems that Le Paon couldn’t let us have our wedding day off.” 

“I’m sorry you guys,” Tikki pouted, “You two really deserved the day off. You haven’t been able to relax in a long time.” 

Thomas shook his head. “If everything goes well, this will be the last time we have to do it. Rohan has gone on too long manipulating the aristocracy. It needs to end now.” 

The kwamis exchanged nervous looks but nodded and the couple quickly transformed. 

Emilie’s eyes were a near luminescent green after her transformation, and she clutched on tightly to Thomas’s arms, eyes boring into his. “Stay safe okay? We’re both staying alive, remember?” 

“Don’t worry. We’ll both come back safe and sound,” Thomas reassured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“You’d better, or I’ll kick your butt.” 

Thomas stifled a laugh with the back of his hand, “I know you would. But don’t worry, okay Em? We’ve defeated our villain before while staying safe. We can do it again.” 

Although Thomas could still search her eyes and see the prominent worry in her eyes, determination had taken over them. Emilie nodded, pulling out the baton from behind her back. “Let’s go,” 

The pair took off, rushing over the streets of Paris and following the trail of blue and green feathers. 

They landed in front of the church and Le Paon stood waiting for them, leaning up against one of the archways. “So lovely of you two to come. I was worried you two wouldn’t bother.” 

Emilie rolled her eyes, planting the baton in front of her on the ground and leaning against it. “As if we’d let you get away with your plans, Rohan,”

The villain growled, “How many times have I told you guys not to call me by my real name when I’m transformed?” 

“Oh I’m so sorry if we don’t particularly care what you think,” Emilie drawled, “What with you trying to kill the king and all,” 

Le Paon sneered, pulling out his feathered fan with one hand and clutching tightly to his rapier with the other. Meanwhile, Emilie clutched her own sword lazily, still leaning on her baton, sending Thomas a smirk. 

He quickly pulled out his rapier, attempting to lash it across Le Paon’s cheek, but he was deflected in the blink of an eye. 

“You don’t honestly think you can beat me, do you?” he smirked. “You’ve been fighting me for years, and I’ve bested you at every turn. I’m superior in every way, and I will rule France!” 

Thomas shook his head sadly, “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” 

“I’ll believe what I want,” Le Paon snarled, “I have bested gods among men. I will be king!” 

While Le Paon was distracted, Emilie lashed out, managing a decent blow on his side. Le Paon immediately retaliated, slicing her cheek open. A sentimonster quickly appeared in the form of a masked fencer, taking on Emilie while Le Paon went directly for Thomas. 

The first half of the battle was a blur, blade against blade and silver against iron, a series of lunges and parries until Thomas was briefly knocked off balance and caught underneath a heavy pile of rubble from the church. 

Emilie shot him a panicked look but continued on, using her baton to fight against the sentimonster and her blade against Le Paon. 

Thomas tried summoning a lucky charm, but was left with only a knife, which would be no help while stuck under a pile of rubble. 

What were only minutes felt like hours and as Thomas struggled against the weight holding him down, he could see Emilie getting tired. Le Paon began backing up as she summoned a cataclysm, and Thomas smiled. 

They would win, and she could get him out of here, and they would be happy. 

It was only when Le Paon dodged and Emilie’s palm landed firmly on the building that Thomas screamed. 

Rohan had managed to dodge out of the way and Emilie stood under the section of the church that was collapsing, eyes wide in panic. 

A heartbroken cry wrenched its way out of Thomas’s throat as his world began to lose color, and the last thing he saw before it changed entirely to black and white was Emilie’s spring green eyes, filled with terror. 

He clutched the knife tightly in his hand for a moment before throwing it towards Le Paon. 

His eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he collapsed to the ground in Thomas’s black and white world. His blood began pooling on the ground, although Thomas couldn’t see its color. 

Red. That was the color it had been.

His hands would forever be stained red, although he would never see the color again.

For hours, Thomas lay curled up under the rubble and sobbed.

Jazz Era, New York; 1923 CE

Helen had grown up with scribbles covering her arm– part of them hers, part of them her soulmate’s. As a kid, she’d scribbled flowers and messily drawn bumble-bees, receiving drawings of kittens and little notes of ‘hello’ in return. 

Later life, as teenagers they’d exchanged names– William, her soulmate’s name was Will– but never anything more than that. Occasionally, as she wandered around Manhattan she’d see little notes appear on her forearm; clearly not meant for her. 

One day, it had been ‘Piano performance at Chelsea Music Hall’ 

Another time, it was simply ‘Visit Mom’

She’d always reveled in little reminders, although never intentional, that her soulmate was somewhere out there. Even somewhere in New York, from what Helen had gathered from the little notes. 

Today was a day when the two directly communicated, as opposed to small notes. 

As Helen walked along the chilly streets dusted with snow, she pulled her coat jacket up slightly to reveal William’s latest message. 

I’m doing well, although I’m a bit chilly. Currently, I’m waiting to see a new vocalist for my piano playing. How are you? 

Helen smiled. As someone who’d always loved music; in fact, she was on her way to meet a pianist in hopes they’d let her accompany him, it was nice to know that her soulmate loved music as much as her. Although, in all honesty, every time she met with a pianist, she hoped it would be William.

So far, it hadn’t been, but she kept hoping. 

Her heel hit a patch of ice, and she nearly slipped, struggling to regain her footing and leaving a scribble of lines across her arms. She quickly wrote out a response, standing still in the street for a moment. 

I’m alright! Sorry for the scribbles, I slipped on ice. I’m actually a singer, myself. 

She scrawled out a heart next to it before tucking the pen back behind her ear, ducking and weaving her way through the busy streets. 

The pianist had agreed to meet at The Flaming Phoenix, Helen’s favorite speakeasy in Manhattan, and although it was a relatively long walk, she appreciated the crisp winter air. 

Only a block or two away, Helen hastened her pace, patting down her carefully styled finger wave before she arrived at the orange-tinted doors, disguised as a simple soda shop. 

The bold-faced words stared back at her: Harbor's Cream Soda. 

An inconspicuous man stopped her at the door, patting her arm gently. He gave her a questioning glance and Helen smiled at him, pretended as if they were merely stopping for a conversation.

He leaned towards her slightly, “Password?” 

Helen handed him her personal card before lowering her voice to a mere whisper, “Rebirth,” 

The man nodded at her, pulling upon the doors as though it was a mere gentlemanly act before following after her. He pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked the basement door, soft jazz music pouring out. 

She walked down the stairs, heels clacking against the metal-plated flooring. The music got louder and louder as she reached the bottom of the stairs, clutching her purse tightly as she scanned the room for a pianist. 

Her eyes met one man who seemed about the same age as her, sitting in a booth by himself, a glass of whiskey held loosely in one hand. 

He sent her a crooked smile and Helen made her way over. 

“Excuse me,” she said politely, “But are you the pianist who was hoping to find a singer to accompany him today?” 

The man nodded, sticking his hand out, “Yes. It’s nice to meet you. I’m William,” 

“Helen,” she replied, grabbing his hand and stifling a gasp as moments in time flashed across her vision. 

Her first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man.

The beautiful boy she’d seen in her dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

Her second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table. 

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on her wrist. 

Fangs piercing through her chest, blood staining the tiles. 

Her vision turning dark as her name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over. 

Her third life. 

Dark iron swords in sandy training arenas, Tikki floating next to her.

A centaur hidden away in the mountain.  

Light gray eyes and a cheerful smile, small jokes, and playful shoves. 

A small black paw print on her wrist. 

Ash floating down from the sky, nothing left of her soulmate. 

The paw print breaking apart, nothing more than grey flecks floating along her skin. 

Her fourth life.

A dark Priestess with crimson runes and smoky eyes. 

Bright smiles and chocolate eyes, hugs, and promises of always. 

Bruises in her youth, cuts on her cheek.

Blood on her stomach with no wound to match. 

A happy ending this time, a wedding and love and children.

Holding hands in old age, one last smile before they exited their world together. 

Her fifth life. 

Parisian walkways colored only by black and white.

Fencing swords and peacock feathers. 

A world bursting into color, greens, and blues and pinks coloring her sights for the first time.

Green eyes, happy and loving, now startled and terrified.

A building crashing down on her soulmate, their eyes the last thing she saw before black white enveloped her vision again. 

Staring at the world around her, black and white again after two beautiful years of color.

“William!” she gasped, “Oh, oh! It’s you!” 

William pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It’s me. I won’t leave this time. I promise you.” 

Tears began pooling her eyes as Helen looked up into his eyes, “You promise?” 

“Promise, promise, promise,” he chanted, “Always.”

* * *

Only a few weeks later, Helen and Will stood nervously in front of a store neither of them had ever been to before, hands intertwined. 

“You sure this is it?” Will asked, “It seems… normal.” 

Helen paused for a second, staring up at the storefront. 

At first glance, it seemed average– nothing particularly special or interesting about it; just an antique shop with pieces of jewelry and furniture strewn about the display window. But the more Helen focused on the shop, the more the air seemed to swim in front her, small details flickering and changing. 

She blinked her eyes and suddenly the black cat logo painted on the wooden sign had a ladybug perched on its nose, once silvery eyes now green. 

She nodded. “I’m sure. This is where we’ll find the guardian.”

“If you say so,” Will shrugged, stepping forward into the store and dragging Helen in behind him. 

As the two of them walked in, Helen was immediately greeted by the scent of jasmine and orange perfume, old book pages, and wood. 

There was a young man sitting on one of the chairs, a shell bracelet on his wrist as he flicked through a book who immediately caught Helen’s eye. Something about the bracelet, in particular, caught her attention and she pulled Will over to stand in front of him. 

“Excuse me?” she asked gently, “Would it trouble you to speak with us for a moment?”

The man looked up from his book and gave a secretive smile like he knew something they didn’t. “No trouble at all,” he said calmly, standing up and brushing off his pants. “If you would follow me to the backroom, please,” 

Will gave her a questioning glance but when she fixed him with her glare, followed her into the back of the store nonetheless. 

The men reached into his pocket and took out a key, twisting it and pulling the door open, revealing a comfortable sitting area. “Tea?” he asked, pulling out a few mugs and gesturing to a tea kettle on the stove. 

Both Helen and Will shook their heads and he shrugged. “If you’re sure.” he sat down in front of the two of them, “It’s nice to meet you two. I’m Wang Fu,”

“I’m Helen,” she smiled politely, “This is Will,” 

Fu’s lip quirked up on one side, pouring himself a glass of water, “And you’re sure you wouldn’t prefer Kesi and Kafele? Calliope and Theseus? Thomas and Emilie?” 

Helen’s mouth fell open. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said faintly, “I was sure you already knew that I was aware of your past lives. You merely came here intending to reveal them to me?” 

“You know?” Will asked, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

He nodded, “Of course. Every guardian since the very first has known of you two. Surely you didn’t think it was simply by chance that every time the world truly needed superheroes, it was you two who were chosen?” 

Will tilted his head, propping his chin up on his fist. 

“Although,” Fu elaborated, “I wasn’t expecting to see you two here. I’m not sure why the world has called for you two now. We must be in greater danger than I thought before.” 

“You don’t know what the threat is this time?” Helen asked nervously, tapping her fingers on the wooden table.

Fu placed two of Miraculous Box on the table in front of them and shook his head, “I suspected that it was Lucky Luciano, which might still be the case, but I’m not sure. There’s always danger in the mafia. By no matter what the problem is, it’s clear we need you two. Take your Miraculous and use them wisely.” 

She smiled at him, “Thank you,”

He nodded, “Now go. I’ll call you two back if I have something I need to tell you. But for now, train. Practice. And keep your eye out for danger.”

The couple smiled at him and walked back out the doors and into the crisp winter air. They had each other and their Miraculous again; what more could they possibly want? 

* * *

Helen was not having a great day. Now, one might assume that merely a few days after bringing your first child into the world, you’d be happy. Tired, but happy. In this case, one would be wrong. 

Although, this had a great deal less to do with Helen’s child than it did the fact that Lucky Luciano was wreaking havoc on New York at the moment. 

It was this, along with the sleep deprivation that came with having a newborn, was the cause of Helen’s not-great-day. Ever since Lucky had stolen the Bee Miraculous from Fu, he’d been attempting to draw Spots and Black Cat out into the city to steal their Miraculous.  

He seemed to have gone on a spree, freezing different people around the city with Venom, recharging his Miraculous between each one. 

This was why, at 8 pm that night, Helen was currently running around the city with William next to her, yo-yo strapped to her thigh. 

She knew it was in style at the time, but she couldn’t help but curse at her high-heeled boots and fringed dress as she ran down the streets. Although everyone in New York commented on how stylish Spots was, setting trends throughout the whole city, her outfit most certainly wasn’t comfortable to fight in. 

“You alright, Spots?” Will asked, using his staff to propel him slightly further ahead to catch up with Wasp. 

Helen nodded, slightly out of breath. She had been waking up every few hours last night to take care of Evelyn, and her brain was practically throbbing in her skull. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired, Evelyn was fussy last night.”

“I know. Don’t worry, we’ll be home to her soon.” Will said, sending her a comforting smile.

“We’d better be,” she muttered, “Or I’m going to come back to life just to kick Lucky’s butt into next week.”

Will snorted, “Of course, Sweetheart. Lucky’s no match for us. We’ll do just fine.”

She nodded, slinging her yo-yo and launching herself up onto the rooftop, Will following close behind. Lucky was in their sights now, yellow and black stripes standing out against the fading sunset sky.

Helen flung her yo-yo at Lucky, pulling it around his torso to drag him back toward them. 

He clawed at the gravel rooftop as she pulled him back, her arms trembling for the effort. 

“What do you want from me?” Lucky hissed, hands grasping for the spinning top attached to his waist. 

Will shook his head, “You have to leave, Wasp. Your days of tormenting New York are over. Give us back your Miraculous and leave. Go back to Italy, travel to California– I don’t care. Just as long as you’re not here.”

“Oh come on,” Lucky rolled his eyes. “Surely it wouldn’t be that much trouble if I stayed here. Blondie agrees with me, right?”

Helen glared at him, “Blondie thinks you should stop calling her that before she punches you so hard your teeth fall down your throat. Give us your Miraculous or I’ll make you.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a choice,” 

“No,” Helen agreed, “It’s no choice at all. Now hand it over, or I’m afraid you won’t like what comes next.” 

“You idiots have been getting in my way for years,” Lucky hissed, his calm demeanor vanishing, “If you two hadn’t been so stubborn I’d be ruling this city by now! This is my city! Not yours, mine! I’m the one in control here!”

“Really?” Will asked, raising his right eyebrow, “Because it seems to me that you’re a little preoccupied being tied up in my wife’s yo-yo,” 

Lucky grinned, throwing off the yo-yo as it unravelled around his torso. “You were saying?” 

He raised his spinning top, and Helen quickly threw her yo-yo to deflect the blow. She shared a look with Will, who immediately knew what she was trying to say and crept up towards Lucky. Meanwhile, Helen continued deflecting his frontal assault. 

She shook her head, “Lucky, this doesn’t have to be hard. Just hand over your Miraculous, and we’ll let you be. Make the Mafia retreat from New York. We won’t hand you over to the police.” 

“Or,” Lucky said, shaking his head, “I could take both your Miraculous and do whatever I see fit.” 

While Helen worked towards fighting him offensively, Will snuck up on him from behind, tackling him as Will’s arms wrapped around his neck.

Lucky crashed to the ground and rolled over, struggling against Will’s arms. Helen raced towards him and ripped the Bee Miraculous off, sighing with relief as his transformation fell, revealing a rumpled suit and torn hat. 

“We’re done here, Lucky,” Helen said tiredly, flicking one of the drooping feathers out of her eyesight. “Just… go home.” 

She clutched the Miraculous tightly in her fist and began swinging home, Will right behind her. Swinging through the open window of her bedroom, she made a quick stop next to Evelyn’s crib, seeing that she was still sleeping. 

Helen dropped her transformation and cradled Evelyn in her arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re safe now, my lovely girl,” She didn’t even flinch as Will’s arms wrapped around her, “We did it.” 

“We tried to make the world a better place for you,” Will added. 

Helen smiled up at him lovingly, pulling Evelyn closer to her. “I love you, Will. And we both love you, so much, Evie,” 

And for the rest of their lives, their arms were covered in matching notes and drawings from their kids. Helen and Will never once minded the mess. 

World War II, London; 1941 CE

As soon as James was born, the timer on his wrist began counting down from 19 years, 1 month, 24 days, 6 hours, 32 minutes, and 8 seconds. 

In exactly 19 years, 1 month, 24 days, 6 hours, 32 minutes, and 8 seconds from the very millisecond he was born, James would meet his soulmate, whoever she was, wherever she lived. It was part of the soulmate magic; no matter how far away your soulmate lived, if you were truly meant to be together, you’d meet. And so from the very moment, James understood what the numbers on his wrist meant– at which point the timer read 13 years, 5 months, 35 days, 1 hour, 47 minutes, and 29 seconds– he’d looked forward to that day more than anything. 

He’d counted down the years, months, days, and weeks impatiently, mapping out the day he’d meet his soulmate, although he could never quite manage to get the exact time. James would write about his mystery soulmate in every journal, on every spare sheet of paper. He’d try in vain to guess her name, pestering his parents about soulmates every spare moment. 

A gentle soul, James spent his days writing poetry and playing the violin, content to live a simple life.

This was why it made it that much more heartbreaking for his family and friends when he was conscripted into the British army the minute he hit eighteen. They had hoped that perhaps James would be asked to simply work in engineering or strategy, but his fitness and ability with a firearm had propelled him right into conscription priority one. 

His parents had wept at the train station, his baby brother tucked under his mother’s arm, tears gathering in his eyes. 

“I’ll be home soon,” James promised, hugging his family and ruffling his brother’s hair. “Don’t worry too much, okay?” 

His mother merely sobbed in response and James grabbed her shoulders gently. “Oh, don’t cry, Mum. It’ll all be alright. I’ll be back before you can say…” he checked the timer on his wrist, “1 year, 2 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 54 minutes, and 43 seconds.” 

The train whistle blew, forcing James to speed up his goodbyes. He gave a final hug to everyone before backing up and slinging his knapsack over his shoulder. 

“I love you all,” 

He forced himself to not glance back and boarded the train, curling up on his seat as it left the station. James stared at his wrist, wondering what sort of cruel world he lived in, where he’d most likely meet his soulmate on the battlefield. 

And as the train disappeared from sight, heading to some unknown location, James’s mother whispered to herself, “1 year, 2 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 54 minutes, and 43 seconds.”

But still, her son wasn’t back.

When James arrived at the training base, he was immediately pulled into one of the compartments, completely stocked with firearms and shooting targets. As he walked through the building, groups of soldiers marching in perfect order walked by him. 

The Major led him through a series of doors and hallways until he was dropped off in an entirely wooden room. “Stay here,” the Major ordered in a rough voice. 

James nodded and sat down on the dusty red couch, not sure what or who he was waiting for. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wooden table in front of him, staring at the countless paintings and tapestries hung on the walls. 

He glanced around the room, looking at paintings of ancient Chinese palaces, the pyramids of Egypt, Greecian temples, and quite a few involving complex swirls of red and black, masked people, and a dark wooden box with red markings on the top. 

Time seemed to stand still as he sat there until the door opened once more and a middle-aged man walked in, taking a seat across from James. 

“Hello,” the man said, leaning forward, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Wang Fu. I’ll be your instructor,” 

James frowned, “Uhhh, no offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the, uh… military type.” 

To his relief, Fu just laughed, “No, I’m not the military type. I am what you might call a specialized instructor. I’ll be training you for your missions; which are integral to the defeat of the Nazis.” 

“And what are my missions, exactly?” 

Fu leaned back in his seat, hands woven together on his lap, “You are part of an elite task force with only one other person, who you will be introduced to at a later date. All other information must be withheld until you directly agree to your responsibilities.” 

James hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room again. Something about the tapestries and this man was calling him to them, and he couldn’t help but feel like this was where he belonged. Like he was meant to end up here. 

“I agree. I’ll do whatever needs to be done.” 

“Good,” Fu smiled as though he’d seen this coming, “Well then, if you’d follow me, please,”

He stood up and James followed, ending up on the other side of the room. Fu stood in front of a bookcase and pulled out a few books in an odd order, and the bookshelf peeled open, revealing a secret room. 

At a table in the center of the room stood a gramophone, where Fu again pressed certain buttons and patterns. 

“What is this place?” James whispered, staring as the gramophone cracked open to reveal the box he had seen in some of the paintings. 

Fu turned back to him, box in hand, “This is my best-kept secret.” 

He opened the box and pulled out a set of earrings, to which Jame’s wrinkled his nose. “I hope you’re not expecting me to wear those,” 

His instructor merely smiled, pinning the earrings to James’s aviator jacket. 

To his surprise, the earrings began to glow and something flew out of them. 

“Hello!” the creature chirped, “I’m Tikki, the kwami of creation! When I bestow my powers upon you, you become a superhero with my powers!” 

James’s jaw dropped, “I’m a– I’m a superhero?” 

Fu nodded, and James couldn’t help the sinking feeling of dread in his stomach.

* * *

Approximately 1 year, 2 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 49 minutes, and 25 seconds later, James was sitting in a briefing room, waiting for Fu and his partner to arrive. He had been training with Tikki for more than a year now, and Fu had decided that he and his partner– whoever she was– were ready to go out into the field. But before that, they obviously had to meet. 

He checked the timer on his wrist nervously. 

5 minutes and 18 seconds. 

Surely that meant his partner was going to be his soulmate, right? He stared nervously at the clock in front of him, noting that the meeting was supposed to have started nearly 6 minutes ago. 

It was then that Fu rushed in, a pile of documents in his arms. “Sorry I’m late,” he chuckled, “Some of the kwamis were being rather stubborn this morning.” 

“It’s alright. My partner isn’t here yet either,” James said. 

Fu smiled, “Her name is Catherine, in case you were wondering.” 

Catherine

James mouthed the name, testing it out on his tongue. It was a beautiful name. 

“Well,” Fu said, shaking his head, “We might as well get started now. You’ll be able to catch Catherine up later. I imagine you two will be spending a great deal of time together.” 

He nodded in agreement, and Fu passed him a photograph of a severe-looking man in Nazi uniform. 

“This,” Fu said, “Is your target, Hans Gundwille. He is the Nazi’s best strategist and fighter, which makes him a formidable opponent by that alone, but he also wields the Snake Miraculous. It was stolen from me a long time ago, and it seems to have fallen into the wrong hands.” 

James’s brow furrowed, “And what does the Snake Miraculous do?” 

“It allows the wielder to go five minutes back in time for an unlimited amount of time. As you can imagine, this benefits the Nazi party greatly.” 

As he started to take notes, James looked up again, “And what part of the military does he work for?” 

“He works for a secret branch called the Dark Ouroboros.” 

James was about to ask another question when the door burst open and a panicked voice echoed through the room. 

“Crap, I’m so sorry I’m late, Plagg was being absolutely ridiculous, you wouldn’t even believe–” 

She trailed off her sentence as she and James both looked down at their wrists, noticing that the timer had run down and the zeros were blinking green. 

James got up and she met him in a hug, which was when hundreds of thousands of memories flooded through his mind.

His first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man.

The boy he’d seen in his dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

His second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table. 

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on his wrist. 

Fangs piercing through his chest, blood staining the tiles. 

His vision turning dark as his name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over. 

His third life. 

Dark iron swords in sandy training arenas, Tikki floating next to him.

A centaur hidden away in the mountain.  

Light gray eyes and a cheerful smile, small jokes, and playful shoves. 

A small black paw print on his wrist. 

Ash floating down from the sky, nothing left of his soulmate. 

The paw print breaking apart, nothing more than grey flecks floating along his skin. 

His fourth life.

A dark Priestess with crimson runes and smoky eyes. 

Bright smiles and chocolate eyes, hugs, and promises of always. 

Bruises in his youth, cuts on his cheek.

Blood on his stomach with no wound to match. 

A happy ending this time, a wedding and love and children.

Holding hands in old age, one last smile before they exited their world together. 

His fifth life. 

Parisian walkways colored only by black and white.

Fencing swords and peacock feathers. 

A world bursting into color, greens, and blues and pinks coloring his sights for the first time.

Green eyes, happy and loving, now startled and terrified.

A building crashing down on his soulmate, their eyes the last thing he saw before black white enveloped his vision again. 

Staring at the world around him, black and white again after two beautiful years of color.

His sixth life. 

Smoke-filled speakeasies and glasses of whiskey in piano-player hands. 

A thick Italian accent and well-pressed suits. 

Constantly ruffled hair, joking eyes, and the slightest quirk of a lip. 

Music notes on his arm, small notes interchanged throughout the day. 

A baby girl with his hair and their eyes, cradled tightly in his arms. 

Children’s scribbles drawn on his skin with markers, chaotic and happy and never once regretted.

“Cath,” he breathed out, hugging her closer to him, “It’s you,” 

Catherine smiled up at him, “And it’s you, James.You,” 

* * *

The year was 1945 when James and Catherine called out their transformation, boarded their fighter jet, and went on a mission to the Dark Ouroboros’s home base in Nuremberg. 

Cold air whipped through their hair as James led the two of them through the back.

Their Miraculous suits were disguised beneath standard grunt Nazi uniforms as they hid in the crevices and behind doorways. 

Cautiously dodging the Dark Ouroboros security guards, they snuck through grey concrete hallways and into Hans’s personal room. Decorated in ornate ancient swords and gold foil wallpaper, it was by far the most expensive room they’d seen so far. James shook his head in disgust. Some soldiers were starving and army doctors couldn't afford medicine, but Hans was able to decorate his office in teal velvet furniture. 

In a container in the corner of the room was a snake, hissing at the two of them as it threw itself at the glass, trying to attack them. It was only then that James noticed the snake’s fangs were inlaid with gold. 

“It’s disgusting,” Cath whispered, shaking her head. “What he’s doing here.” 

James nodded and squeezed her hand, “It’ll end soon. Don’t worry, we’ll put an end to this today.” 

“Hmmm, will you now? I will say, you’ve been trying for years with no success.” an arrogant voice announced, a door closing and locking as they entered the room.

James and Catherine whipped around, face-to-face with Hans Gundwille, and their eyes widened as they looked at the teal bracelet around Hans’s wrist. 

He tapped his wrist, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Catherine. 

Hans tilted his head, “You do realize what a serious disadvantage you’re at, right? At any point, once the battle starts to turn in your favor, I just twist this bracelet, and I change what happens,” 

Cath shrugged, “Well then I guess we’ll have to take that bracelet away from you,” 

“Well, I wish you the worst of luck in that endeavor,” 

James’s lips quirked up in a lazy smirk, “Not very sportsmanlike, Gundwille,” 

“Well let me enlighten you,” Hans sneered before transforming into Golden Fang, “Sportsmanship is for games, and this is not a game. Games are for children. This is a war . In war, whether you’re sportsmanlike or not, you just might die a painful death,” 

Attempting to stifle his gasp of shock, James winced at his altered appearance. Although Hans’s look was always slightly unnatural; his bright teal blue eyes ensured that– the one eye that was now luminescent gold seemed to glow in the dark light. 

Trying to play cool, he shrugged, one hand slowly reaching toward the yo-yo strapped to his waist, the other to the pistol on his thigh. “At least if we are sportsmanlike, it will be a noble one,” 

Eyes drifting slowly over to Cath, he gave her an imperceptible nod of his head before lunging at Golden Fang. 

It seemed to have caught Hans by surprise because he stumbled back a few steps. In the blink of an eye, James raised his pistol and aimed it directly at Hans’s chest. 

His voice was cold as he made direct eye contact with Hans, “I wouldn’t move if I were you. Unless you’re suddenly not in need of your vital organs.” 

Hans smirked, “Are you sure about that?” 

He began reaching for the bracelet on his wrist, and James squeezed the trigger. The bullet went wide and instead of hitting Hans’s heart, it hit his shoulder, giving Hans enough time to slide the snake around his wrist. 

James lunged forward, and–

They repeated those five minutes. 

Again…

And again…

And again… 

“At least if we are sportsmanlike, it will be a noble one,” 

He went to give a slight nod to Catherine, but before he could completely get his message across, Hans lunged at him, throwing James to the ground. He landed on the carpet with a thud, and Golden Fang elbowed him in the throat. 

James grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to push him off, but to no avail. He hit Fang in the head, but his arm only pressed down harder on his throat. 

In what felt like a millisecond, the pressure was relieved from his throat and Catherine had tackled Hans and was struggling to pull the bracelet off his wrist, her knee against his stomach. 

Hans struggled against Cath’s wrists and in the struggle, her hair fell out from the carefully styled bun, obstructing James’s view of Hans. 

He raced over to them, assisting Cath in trying to take off the bracelet. 

The two were thrown off of him when he braced his arms against the two of them. James tumbled across the floor, his wrist cracking uncomfortably. Meanwhile, Cath flew into his desk table, hitting her head.

Her forehead began bleeding from where she had collided with the table and her head lolled slightly to the side, eyelids fluttering. 

James trained his sights back on Hans and raised his gun, aiming it straight at his head. 

His voice was steely cold as he stared into Hans’s unnatural eyes, “If you so much as move to scratch an itch, I’ll fire this bullet right in between your eyes.” 

“Bolds words from a man who can’t turn back time,” he smirked, hands staying at his sides. 

James raised an eyebrow, “You forget, a dead man can’t turn a bracelet,” 

To his surprise Hans then toppled over, a gold sword sticking out of his chest and mouth opened in surprise. 

The sword retreated and Hans fell to the ground, Catherine standing behind him with a pleased smirk on her face, “Wise words, Bugaboy,”

James smiled back at her, prying the bracelet off Hans’s wrist. “Well, he’ll never be using this for evil again,” 

“No one will,” Cath nodded stoically.

They shared a glance and began running out of the building, nowhere near as cautiously as when they entered the building. The Nazi guards all called out for them to stop, but Cath and James ran relentlessly before skidding to a halt in front of one of the Dark Ouroboros’s best fighter jets. 

James quickly climbed into the pilot’s seat, and Catherine climbed into the co-pilot, buckling up their seatbelts and firing up the plane’s engines. 

The plane took off and flew into the air, quickly followed by some of the Dark Ouroboros members in their own jets, although theirs were significantly slower than the one James was flying.

He put the speed of the plane at the highest it could go and turned to Catherine. “You okay? You look like that table did a number on your head,” 

Suddenly, he swerved the plane to the right to avoid an incoming blast. 

She shrugged, twirling the Snake Miraculous around in her hands, “I’ll be fine. Fu can help stitch it up once we get back to London,” 

James bit his lip nervously, “If you’re sure,” 

Another burst of hits began approaching the plane and he flew up to dodge the blasts, just barely avoiding a missile clipping the left wing. 

He leveled the plane out again, holding onto the yoke so tightly his knuckles turned white. James chanced a glance behind him, seeing three planes close on their trail. 

Just as he was about to turn his head back, he saw each of the jets fire an anti-aircraft missile. Frantically, he whipped back around to face the yoke, turning to look at Catherine, face white with nerves. 

“Cath, we’ve got three anti-aircraft missiles heading straight toward us,” 

Catherine’s eyes widened, “Trackers on them?” 

He nodded. 

“And we’re sure there’s no way out?” 

James nodded again, his voice flat, “We could try some maneuvers, maybe get two of them to collide with the other, but three? And least one of them is going to hit us, and it’s probably going to be lethal,” 

Catherine closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Well…” she sighed, eyes brimming with tears before she frantically blinked them back, “I guess the only thing for us to do now is send coordinates to Fu. He can do a few searches and get the three Miraculous back. Maybe send word to our families,” 

Throat constricting with nerves, James stared straight ahead, where another line of Nazi fighter jets had risen up to stop them. “Yeah… yeah, that’s right,” 

“I…” Catherine’s voice was faint, “I just wish we’d had more time. We never got to see Paris. You always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower,” Silent tears were streaming down her face as she lightly touched the ring on her finger. “I’m so sorry James,” 

He glanced at her quickly before returning his gaze to the fighter jets ahead, “Maybe in another life,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“In another life,” she agreed. 

They reached out towards each other’s hands, holding on tightly. The two were still holding hands as the first bomb hit and they began plummeting toward the icy ground. 

When James’s family received a box of his remaining possessions they found an engagement ring, carefully nestled in a sea of blue velvet and wept for the gentle boy and his stoic soulmate, neither ever really getting the chance to grow up. 

James’s mother looked down at the engagement ring, dark iron and pure white diamond, and whispered, “1 year, 2 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 54 minutes, and 43 seconds.”

But still, her son didn’t come back.

Modern Day, Paris; 2018 CE

Marinette was born with the words ‘Nice of you to drop in,’ marked on her wrist. 

She’d spent her childhood guessing what situation would prompt that response, imagining scenarios in her head of hosted parties or blind dates, but she’d really never found a scenario that was suitable. 

Her parents would always shake their heads fondly as she wrote down day-dream after day-dream in her diary, considering how and why her soulmate would say those specific words to her. 

“You know that these things always happen unpredictably,” her mother would chide, “Because of my timer, I always thought I’d meet your father because he was in my class. Instead I met him at his parent’s bakery,” 

Marinette always just shrugged, “I know. But still, I just want to be prepared.” 

Even years later, in her first year of high school, she didn’t stop imagining how she might meet her soulmate. In fact, she’d been day-dreaming about that very moment when she found the dark wooden box on the table in her room. 

She opened it up curiously, letting out a gasp of surprise as a flash a red light came out from the box. 

A small red and black spotted creature flew out of the box and Marinette shrieked, “What the heck is that?!” 

“Everything’s okay, don’t be scared! Please calm down,” the creature placated, raising it’s small hands, “It’s alright! My name’s Tikki, and I’m a kwami,” 

Marinette scuttled away from the opened box, a high-pitched squeaking noise emitting her mouth, “Ahhh, please don’t kill me scary-flying-bug-mouse-thing,” 

Tikki shook her head, a gentle smile on her face, “Please, just calm down and let me explain. You’re the only one who can stop Stoneheart!” 

She went through and explained the powers and responsibilities that came with having a kwami and wearing a Miraculous, and Marinette shook her head vehemently, “No way! You’ve got the wrong person! The only superpower I’ve got is super-awkwardness!” 

“Marinette,” Tikki pleaded, “Just try. I’ve walked you through your powers, just say ‘Spots On’ and do your best. I have faith in you!” 

“Okay, if you’re sure. Spots On!” 

She transformed into her super suit and patted herself down uncomfortably, “Um… how does this come off? Tikki, if you can hear me, I’d like my normal clothes back now!” 

Shaking her head to snap herself out of her panic, Marinette tried to talk herself down, “Ok. This is totally fine. I’m a superhero…  with powers,  and this… incredible yo-yo thingy?” 

Marinette pulled the yo-yo out, latching it to a gargoyle statue and tugging lightly on the string. Immediately, the yo-yo whisked her off and she shrieked in fear. 

She just barely avoided crashing into a chimney, but instead crashed into something else. Something warm and… breathing?

An amused voice knocked her out of her thoughts as his arms stabilized her waist, “Nice of you to drop in,” 

“Oh,” Marinette exclaimed, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Her voice fell out halfway through as she took in the importance of those words. “You’re my soulmate,” she said slowly before looking up into spring green eyes. 

As she looked into his eyes, she saw thousands upon thousands of memories reflected in them. 

Her first life. 

A dark wooden box in a shared bedroom. 

A kind older man.

The beautiful boy she’d seen in his dreams so many times, crimson blood on his lips. 

A red string connecting the two of them. 

An ornate, golden dagger studded with jade.

Blood soaking the ground as the red string tied to their smallest fingers vanished. 

Her second life. 

A dark box on a light wood table. 

A cruel king with tears running down his face.

Golden eyes, glimmering with happiness and laughter now teary and pleading. 

The name Kafele tattooed on her wrist. 

Fangs piercing through her chest, blood staining the tiles. 

Her vision turning dark as her name on Kafele’s wrist scarred over. 

Her third life. 

Dark iron swords in sandy training arenas, Tikki floating next to her.

A centaur hidden away in the mountain.  

Light gray eyes and a cheerful smile, small jokes, and playful shoves. 

A small black paw print on her wrist. 

Ash floating down from the sky, nothing left of her soulmate. 

The paw print breaking apart, nothing more than grey flecks floating along her skin. 

Her fourth life.

A dark Priestess with crimson runes and smoky eyes. 

Bright smiles and chocolate eyes, hugs, and promises of always. 

Bruises in her youth, cuts on her cheek.

Blood on her stomach with no wound to match. 

A happy ending this time, a wedding and love and children.

Holding hands in old age, one last smile before they exited their world together. 

Her fifth life. 

Parisian walkways colored only by black and white.

Fencing swords and peacock feathers. 

A world bursting into color, greens, and blues and pinks coloring his sights for the first time.

Green eyes, happy and loving, now startled and terrified.

A building crashing down on her soulmate, their eyes the last thing she saw before black white enveloped her vision again. 

Staring at the world around her, black and white again after two beautiful years of color.

Her sixth life. 

Smoke-filled speakeasies and glasses of whiskey in piano-player hands. 

A thick Italian accent and well-pressed suits. 

Constantly ruffled hair, joking eyes, and the slightest quirk of a lip. 

Music notes on her arm, small notes interchanged throughout the day. 

A baby girl with her hair and his eyes, cradled tightly in her arms. 

Children’s scribbles drawn on his skin with markers, chaotic and happy and never once regretted. 

Her seventh life. 

Military uniforms and targets with bullet-holes riddled through it.

One teal eye and one glowing gold.

A stoic girl, dark hair and eyes and smiles reserved for her.

Green numbers blinking up at her in the middle of a meeting.

Three anti-aircraft missiles, each one heading straight towards their plane.

Holding hands as they both crashed through the ice, the promise of a final life the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. 

Her partner pulled her even closer in his arms as he whispered against her ear, “I’m so glad you’re here.” he pulled back to smile at her, green eyes glowing luminously, “My name’s Adrien.” 

She smiled back at him, raising her hands to cup his cheeks, “I’m Marinette,” 

They stared at each other for a moment, just taking in the fact that they were both alive. 

The last time she’d seen him, they’d been thousands of miles above the ground, just hoping and praying that Fu received their coordinates and was able to retrieve their bodies. She felt relief rush through as she looked at him, here and safe and hers. 

“I love you,” she said, her hands carding through his slightly disheveled hair. 

He grinned down at her, kissing the corner of both her eyes, “I love you too,”

Adrien leaned into Marinette’s shoulder, planting lazy kisses along her shoulder and jawline. 

She halted his progress toward her lips only briefly, her eyes tearing up as she looked up at him. 

“You found me,” Marinette whispered reverently, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek. 

Adrien gave her a loving smile with tears shining in his eyes. He gave her one quick kiss and pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, “Always, My Lady. Always,”