Chapter Text
The night began badly. That wasn’t surprising - Marinette Dupain-Cheng hadn’t come to Chloe’s 13th birthday party expecting a good time. The mayor’s daughter had advertised the event with her usual spiel, promising a night of adventure and excitement that would change everyone’s lives forever.
Well, even Chloe could get it right sometimes.
These parties tended to be excuses for Chloe Bourgeois to lord her wealth and opulence over the rest of the class, hence inviting Marinette despite their mutual hatred. She was neither expected nor encouraged to enjoy herself, and her gift - a pair of hand-knit gloves Marinette had put together at the last minute, not wanting to give Chloe her best effort - was summarily tossed into a pile with the others upon her arrival.
This year Chloe had chosen to throw her party in a different hotel from the one her father famously owned. Tonight everyone got to enjoy a visit to Hotel Particulier Montmartre, one of the ritziest and most exclusive establishments in Paris. As Marinette and her classmates passed through Le Grand Salon, the hotel restaurant, they saw the staff putting the finishing touches on the admittedly delicious-looking birthday cake, but Chloe hustled them past it.
“Yeah yeah, I know the cake looks mouth-watering just like it should, but it can wait!” Chloe said, as she and Sabrina half-pushed, half-pulled the other kids through the restaurant and out a side door. “There’s something you people need to see to understand why I chose this hotel for my party. And then you’ll get to sing Happy Birthday and watch me enjoy my delicious cake!”
“And we’ll get to have some too, right?” Le Chien Kim asked, looking pointedly back towards it even as Sabrina did her best to shove him out the door.
“I said what I said, now MOVE IT!”
The group was shepherded into a private alleyway behind the hotel. The birthday girl and her crony led them down a cobblestone path, eventually stopping at an old half-cylindrical stone structure that stood nearly two meters tall, overgrown with ivy. Marinette wasn’t sure what to make of it - the walls, such as they were, seemed too tall for this to be an abandoned well. So what was it?
And why did she feel drawn to the old rock?
“You rented out one of the most expensive hotels in the city just to show us an old well?” Max Kanté asked, fidgeting with his glasses in bemusement. “That hardly seems cost-efficient when your father already owns a high-end hotel of his own.”
“Can it, geek!” Chloe snapped. “Cost-efficient. That just shows the difference between you peasants and someone like me! When you’re as rich as I am, you don’t count every cent like you’re afraid of losing it. Besides, this isn’t just an old well. It’s so much more than that.”
She clapped her hands.
“Sabrina, the exposition!”
Sabrina Raincomprix scurried to Chloe’s side, always eager to be at the richer girl’s service.
“This stone structure is known as the Witch’s Rock!” Sabrina said. “They say that in the 19th Century, an old woman named Margaux Guèvremont lived in this neighborhood and would come out to frighten the local kids if they got too close to this rock. The rumor was that Mme Guèvremont was a witch, and the mysterious rock was somehow the key to her powers!”
The class broke out into whispering, divided on whether or not to buy into the story.
“A witch used to live here? That sounds amazing!” Rose gushed, clapping her hands together.
“I guess that sounds pretty cool,” Juleka muttered grudgingly from her usual place in the back of the group.
Alix Kubdel scoffed.
“Witches? Magic rocks? Sounds like a bunch of fairy tales to me,” she said.
Sabrina seemed undaunted by Alix’s skepticism, and began bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.
“You may think that, but Margaux Guèvremont was a real person!” she told them. “There’s official documentation and everything. And the records also say Guèvremont visited the Far East for a couple years before she came back to Paris and bought a property here in Montmartre. We think she might’ve found some sort of treasure on her travels, something she wanted to keep safe once she’d returned home!”
Marinette felt oddly torn listening to Sabrina’s story. Her rational mind was ready to call bullshit, and yet…
“That’s an awful lot of ifs, Sabrina,” she said aloud before turning to the birthday girl. “Chloe, you’d better not have invited us here just to rope us into a stupid treasure hunt.”
Chloe let out a short, sharp laugh.
“Ha! As if,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward to give Marinette a death glare. “If we all went hunting for the witch’s treasure, then one of you losers might find it! And you can bet your stupid bakery I’d never let you touch something that special before me, Dupain-Cheng! The very thought of your filthy paws on the treasure is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!”
She stepped back to address the group as a whole again.
“But fortunately that’s never gonna happen,” Chloe declared. “The property Margaux Guèvremont owned was, in fact, the very hotel we’re partying at tonight! And as of last week, Hotel Particulier is the property of the Bourgeois family. I convinced Daddy he should expand his empire by buying this place up, so I’ll have all the time in the world to hunt for the witch’s treasure -”
“Her old man’s employees will do the actual hunting,” Nino Lahiffe muttered under his breath.
“But don’t worry! Once the witch’s treasure is in the hands of its rightful owner, I’ll be sure to let the rest of you behold its glory!” Chloe finished, giving the group a mocking half-bow. “Look but not touch, obviously. Now with that out of the way, let’s get back to the restaurant so I can enjoy my cake!”
“So we can enjoy your cake, right?” Kim pressed as everyone filed back down the alleyway.
“I know you heard me the first time, meathead!”
Marinette sighed as she watched the others shuffle off for a riveting night of not enjoying delicious birthday cake. She could catch up afterwards, but for now she had the mysterious Witch’s Rock all to herself. Something about the stone structure had been drawing her in, and so she crept forward for a closer look.
It was dark out, and even with her phone’s flashlight active Marinette struggled to make sense of the entire structure, obscured as it was behind a thick curtain of green ivy. As she scanned the inner wall, she failed to spot any writing or marks that would validate Chloe and Sabrina’s story about the rock’s significance. Marinette realized it was silly of her to take an old urban legend this seriously to begin with, but playing pretend by herself was still more enjoyable than a night as the butt of Chloe’s stale jokes.
She took another step forward and let out a yelp as her foot failed to find a solid surface. Desperately, Marinette reached out to grasp the ivy on the far wall with her free hand, but the foliage couldn’t support her weight. And so she fell.
Maybe the old structure had been a well after all, Marinette thought for a second as she tumbled down the shaft. Externally, she was of course screaming her lungs out. She struck the ground back first and rolled sideways on impact. Thankfully the bottom was packed with soil instead of solid rock, or Marinette was sure she’d have broken her spinal cord. The pain was intense but short, quickly giving way to a dull ache.
Marinette lay there at the bottom of the shaft for a long while. She’d kept a tight grip on her phone until the final landing, which knocked it out of her hand and several feet away. She crawled over to find the screen had cracked, but the device was mercifully intact, including the flashlight.
Turning it up to view the rim of the well, Marinette estimated she’d fallen about four or five meters. The walls were too smooth for her to climb back up easily, and she’d seen how little use the ivy was as a handhold. There was nothing for it but to wait for someone to come by and rescue her. That shouldn’t be long in coming, considering her screaming.
So Marinette decided to kill some time by inspecting the stone walls surrounding her. The ivy didn’t extend this far down, so she had an easier time of it than up at the top. She stood up, ignoring the renewed pain shooting through her joints, and looked around. Unsurprisingly, there was little for her to see. No symbols, no secret messages from some long-dead witch that would - wait.
She’d missed it on her first look, but upon further inspection, there was something there. It was near the bottom of the wall, and Marinette had to crouch down for a proper look. Carved into the stone, there were faint and shallow grooves only a few millimeters deep. Initially she thought they weren’t written characters, until she took a step back and made the connection. This was a message - not in French, but in Chinese.
“I am nature as it was, and as it will be again,” she read. “What is this, a riddle?”
Marinette laughed. The absurdity of the situation was simply too much.
“Well isn’t this something!” she said to herself. “Here I am, stuck at the bottom of a well at night. Nobody’s around because this whole street is closed off to the public, I don’t know if anyone’s coming to help or if I’ll be stuck down here until morning. I’m aching all over because I fell down here like a klutz and apparently someone thought it’d be funny to write some stupid Chinese riddle down here where nobody could read it unless they were a klutzy idiot like me!”
Marinette held her phone up again, ready to text Nino for help. Chloe wouldn’t be alone in laughing her ass off over this mishap, but it beat spending the night down here.
“Stupid well,” she muttered. “Stupid witch. Stupid clumsy feet. Stupid Taoist mumbo-jumbo…wait.”
Marinette paused. Now that she thought about it, there was something familiar about the phrase. Returning to the natural state of the universe was a core concept of Taoism as she understood it. That concept of a primordial state - Ziran - was associated with creativity, enlightenment. And that state of nature could be expressed metaphorically by…
“Pu. The uncarved log,” she murmured, squatting to face the inscription. To her disappointment, nothing happened.
“Maybe if I trace the character on the wall,” she thought aloud. Marinette raised her left hand and ran it along the wall above the existing words, tracing out the Chinese character for Pu.
樸
No sooner had Marinette finished than the wall section she’d touched began to glow, illuminating the word she’d written.
“What in the?!”
Whatever magic she’d unleashed wasn’t done. Twin lines of purple light shot upwards from the floor before curving to intersect two meters above the Chinese characters, forming an archway.
“Holy shit,” Marinette whispered, staring in awe at the display in front of her. She’d never have believed Chloe’s story about Mme Guèvremont could be true, but that was before she’d discovered a magic glowing archway at the bottom of an old well.
“But there’s no knob,” she noted, reaching out for the arch. “So how do I open…”
Marinette trailed off as her fingers brushed the doorway, only to pass through it with no resistance. It seemed she could simply step right through. Her rational mind was screaming at her not to do it, to text Nino for help like she’d been considering before.
But that would mean letting the others know what she’d found. Letting Chloe know. Marinette’s rational mind was no match for her emotional and impulsive teenage mind, not right now.
“Looks like my filthy paws will be touching some treasure after all,” she said to herself, smirking. “Too bad for you, Chloe.”
With that satisfying thought in mind, Marinette stepped through the doorway.
As soon as Marinette passed through the archway, she was greeted by inky blackness. Her phone was the only source of illumination in what looked to be a long, snaking tunnel.
The teenage girl’s common sense seized the opportunity to reassert itself. Marinette turned around immediately to go back the way she’d come. Unfortunately her sanity had been too slow on the draw - before she could react, the glowing purple arch faded from view. Marinette put her hand on the wall through which she’d just entered and met solid rock.
“Hey, wait!” she cried, pounding on the former archway. “Nobody said this was a one-way ticket! I’m not Lara Croft, I’m not cut out for exploring old tombs full of curses and deathtraps and stuff!”
It took a moment for Marinette to remember the incantation that got her into this mess. She quickly traced the character for Pu on the doorway in the same position it had been before. Nothing happened. Feeling her heart pounding, she used her phone’s light to scan the archway for more Chinese messages, but the wall was blank.
“Okay, okay,” Marinette said to herself, trying not to hyperventilate. “You’re trapped underground in an old witch’s secret magical lair. Nobody knows you’re down here, you’ve got no idea what’s up ahead because magic isn’t supposed to be real and yet here we are, and the only way out is forward. If there’s a way out at all. No problem, no problem.”
What was the old saying? If you’re going through hell, keep going? Marinette took a few deep breaths to steady herself as she turned for a closer look at the path ahead. The tunnel seemed to have been carved into a single continuous expanse of otherwise unworked stone. As Marinette crept cautiously forward, she failed to spot any tripwires, pressure plates or other signs of an imminent deathtrap. But then, she hardly expected to notice such things even if they existed. She was no Lara Croft, after all.
She continued down the tunnel for about ten minutes before it opened up into a cavernous underground space.
“Whoa,” she said softly. A sense of childlike wonder crept over Marinette as she took it all in. Whatever cramped and squalid abode she’d initially envisioned fell far short of what stood in front of her.
Although Marinette could only see as much of the place at a time as her phone’s flashlight allowed, it quickly became clear that the place she’d stepped into was split into three levels and a multitude of different rooms. Overall, it looked to dwarf her family’s humble bakery in size.
The room Marinette had entered appeared to be a central hub of sorts, the tunnel she’d walked through being one of several branching outwards like spokes on a wheel. At the room’s center stood a stone spiral staircase leading to the upper levels.
“Let’s try the upstairs first,” Marinette told herself, ascending the stairs with trepidation. “If I’m underground, there’s more likely to be an exit higher up.”
The second floor landing also featured a series of doorways branching off in every direction. Marinette waved her phone around her in a circle to take them all in, hoping to catch something that’d single out a door as more promising than the others. While doing this, she noticed a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, and whipped her head and phone around to see…a butterfly?
…Yes. Even though she was trapped in a subterranean…something or other, she was indeed seeing a small, paper-white butterfly hovering over one of the doorways. It didn’t make any sense, but sense had left this place a century and a half ago from what she’d been told. Marinette strode towards the insect, which darted forward to meet her, fluttering about the girl’s face.
“Are you lost, little butterfly?” Marinette asked. “Because that makes two of us. I fell down a well and somehow stumbled into this place and I’m trying to find a way out and - hey, wait!”
The butterfly veered away from her, flying straight through the doorway it’d appeared from. Marinette raced after it, the possibility that this was bait for a trap not crossing her mind.
No Lara Croft.
The insect led her into a study. Bookshelves twice Marinette’s height lined the outer wall, while an armchair and a small wooden writing desk sat off to the far side of the room. The center was occupied by a circular glass table, upon which sat a small marble pedestal. The butterfly hovered over the pedestal, which held a plain white brooch with a purple gemstone at its heart.
Marinette reached out for the brooch, but hesitated. If this had belonged to Mme Guèvremont, then would it be right for her to take it even if its original owner was long-dead? And was it safe? Sabrina’s story had painted the witch as a paranoid individual who didn’t want others touching her stuff, so might there be a curse or something upon the brooch?
As if sensing her concern, the butterfly approached Marinette and perched on her outstretched hand for a moment before fluttering back to the brooch, landing on the table next to it. It almost seemed…expectant.
“Are you saying…this is mine now?” she asked the bug. It didn’t respond, but Marinette suspected its answer would’ve been ‘yes’ if it could talk. This seemed like one of those nights when listening to butterflies was the way to go, at any rate. So Marinette reached forward and grabbed the brooch.
No sooner had she touched it than an orb of purple energy appeared in front of Marinette, momentarily blinding her. Once she opened her eyes again, she caught sight of a small floating creature. It had pink skin, four wings and a purple spiral at the top of a large, bulbous head.
The creature opened its mouth -
“A giant bug!” Marinette screamed, backing herself straight into a bookshelf and getting caked in dust for her trouble. “A, a mouse! A…bug-mouse!”
“There’s no need to be afraid,” the bug-mouse said, in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. “I’m not going-”
“Ah! Bug-mouse talks!”
The creature was forced to dodge as Marinette grabbed one, two, three books off the shelf and threw them.
“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise! Now please just calm down…” the creature continued as it ducked and wove through the air to avoid Marinette’s steady stream of projectiles. Finally Marinette noticed a musty old glass on the writing desk, grabbed it and lunged, trapping the bug-mouse.
It sighed.
“Okay, if this makes you feel safer,” it said, making no move to escape. The creature’s resignation was enough to quell Marinette’s fight-or-flight response finally.
“Who are you?” she demanded, getting down on her knees to inspect the bug-mouse. “And for that matter, what are you?”
“My name is Nooroo, and I am a Kwami,” the creature said. “I’m linked to the Miraculous you just touched, and I grant powers. Yours is the power of transmission - you can grant superpowers of your choice to other people, turning them into your loyal followers!”
Marinette tried to follow along, but this was too much, too fast.
“Kwami?” she asked blankly. “Miraculous? The superpower of giving other people superpowers? Sorry, but I’m a bit lost here.”
Nooroo nodded.
“I understand. In that case, let me start from the beginning. The Miraculous are a set of magical pieces of jewelry…”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Marinette said, her head feeling like it had taken a trip through the extreme spin cycle. “There are seven Miraculous out there, each with their own Kwami granting different powers. You and your Miraculous got separated from the Guardian who’s responsible for you, and you ended up in the hands of Margaux Guèvremont. She’s dead, so now I’m your new owner?”
Nooroo nodded, the butterfly Kwami’s eyes drooping in sadness.
“That’s right. As the one who holds the Butterfly Miraculous, you’re my master now,” he said. “And I should say I appreciate being out and about again. You’re the first person to enter this place in a very long time, you know.”
Marinette sighed in exasperation.
“Yeah, no surprise there,” she huffed. “Not many people are clumsy enough to fall down an obvious well, smart enough to know Chinese and solve the riddle on the door and yet stupid enough to walk through the glowing magic doorway instead of calling for help. Very specific set of qualifications there.”
Nooroo cocked his head in confusion.
“You came through the door in the well?” he asked. “From what my previous holder said, that place predates the sanctum. She said she’d have closed it off entirely if she could, but it wasn’t worth the effort. So she sealed it behind a password nobody else in France would understand. She always came and went through the regular doorway leading out into Montmartre.”
Marinette had taken a seat in the study’s velvet armchair, which was surprisingly cushy considering its age. But upon hearing this, she jolted to her feet.
“There’s a way back to Montmartre?” she demanded. “Oh, thank God! I’ve been trying to find the exit ever since I stepped in here! Please, Nooroo, can you show me the way? I’m sure my friends are worried sick about me by now.”
“I can show you the way out,” Nooroo said slowly. “I only ask two things in return, master.”
“Okay, what do you have in mind?” Marinette asked. “Oh, and please don’t call me master. It sounds weird.”
“First, take me and the Butterfly Brooch with you.”
“Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem,” she replied with a nod. “And what else?”
The Kwami hesitated.
“My second request is a lot to ask,” he said. “And I don’t expect you to make it happen immediately. But when you can, I was hoping you could help me find the Guardian and reunite with the other Miraculous. I’ve been separated from the others for too long, and the Miraculous belong together under the Guardian’s safekeeping.”
“Um, well…” Marinette began. “I’d love to help you with that, Nooroo, but I have no idea where this Guardian might be.”
“Neither do I,” Nooroo admitted. “Like I said, I don’t expect you to find the Guardian in a hurry. But if we ever come across a lead to where he and the other Miraculous might be, can I count on you to help track them down?”
“As long as it’s not dangerous, I guess,” Marinette replied. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m no superhero, really.”
“It shouldn’t be dangerous,” the Kwami assured her. “The Guardian is wise and kind - they’re trained to be that way so they don’t feel tempted to misuse the Miraculous’ powers. If you can find him, it should be smooth sailing from there.”
“Good. Good good good,” Marinette said, standing up and pinning the brooch to the inside of her jacket. “Hopefully the Guardian decides on a vacation in Paris sooner or later. In the meantime…”
She strode out of the study and back to the second floor landing, looking around at the various doors.
“There’s so much of this place I haven’t had the chance to explore yet,” she said. “But tonight isn’t the time for it. Maybe I’ll come back in the future and you can show me the other rooms. If Mme Guèvremont was a real witch, she’d have studied other kinds of magic besides the Miraculous, right?”
“She did,” Nooroo confirmed. “The study holds a lot of her research materials, and some of the other rooms contain the results of her experiments into different forms of magic. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to look through them later, but for now, the exit is this way…”
Following Nooroo’s directions, Marinette made her way down one of the snaking corridors and through the plain wooden door at the end. Sure enough, it deposited her back into Montmartre only a few doors down from Hotel Particulier. She turned around to view the building she’d just left, noting with surprise that the house looked no different from the others lining the street.
“So Mme Guèvremont’s secret witch hideout was an ordinary house in Montmartre all along?” she asked Nooroo, opening up her purse to see the Kwami. “How is it that nobody’s gone in there since the day she died?”
“There’s a protective enchantment on the house,” Nooroo replied, poking his head a centimeter or two out of the bag to look up at her. “I don’t fully understand how it works, but the spell causes most people to ignore this building and keep walking, thinking it’s owned and occupied like everything else on the street. The magic isn’t completely foolproof, though. Mme Guèvremont told me she had to buy a second property on the street and fudge some legal documents to make sure the government would ignore this place as well.”
“And that’d be the property that’s been replaced by a hotel now,” Marinette concluded, pointing towards Hotel Particulier.
“I guess so,” Nooroo said wistfully. “I suppose a lot changes in over a hundred years. That’s where your friends are, right? We shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.”
Marinette nodded. She closed up her purse and started running towards the hotel doors.
In the end, she made it back to the party just as things were wrapping up. Marinette told Nino and her other friends she’d decided to go on a walkabout rather than stick around to feed Chloe’s ego and they seemed to buy it. On the inside, Marinette was brimming with satisfaction knowing she’d uncovered the witch’s treasure and Chloe would never be the wiser.
That was a point Nooroo insisted on, that Marinette tell nobody what she’d discovered. The fourteen-year-old was happy enough to comply, relishing the secret knowledge that she was now the heir to a witch and her years of magical research.
And so Marinette began spending more and more of her free time in Montmartre. Nooroo said Mme Guèvremont had called her home the Nymph Haven, in reference to the butterflies drawn in by the presence of his Miraculous. Nymph Haven quickly became a second home to Marinette as she began to explore the place with her Kwami’s help.
As much as she’d have liked to dive straight into learning magic, Marinette’s domestic instincts compelled her to focus on making the Nymph Haven inhabitable first. Its protective magics had prevented the place from being completely overrun by mold and weeds and insects besides butterflies, but the house was still buried underneath a thick layer of dirt and dust and cobwebs after its long vacancy.
Borrowing cleaning supplies from home would raise too many questions, so Marinette was forced to go out on a weekend and purchase a mop, a bucket, soap, a dustpan and various other cleaning supplies to bring to Nymph Haven. The house still had running water despite everything, so Marinette was able to get straight to the business of cleaning the place from top to bottom.
She quickly realized it would take several weekends to clean every room. And to her own frustration, Marinette’s innate perfectionism demanded that she finish the job before beginning her study of witchcraft in earnest. She returned home on Sunday night exhausted, at once satisfied by the hard work she’d put in and annoyed at how much remained to do.
To make matters worse, Marinette had to return to school the following day. At least summer break was coming up soon. Once that happened, she’d have all the time in the world.
Gabriel Agreste wasn’t a man accustomed to making compromises.
For him this was a question of vision, of commitment to principle. The Agreste name and brand would never have overtaken the fashion world if he’d adulterated his artistic process by catering to the whims and desires of others. After all, who else could judge his approach and his decisions when only he could see the completed project taking shape in his mind? The world simply needed to learn patience, and to trust that his realized designs would be to their liking.
That was what made the challenge of acquiring the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses so frustrating. Gabriel needed the two artifacts to resuscitate his ailing wife, but a year of searching and low-profile inquiries had yielded no fruit. He was left with nothing more than the damaged Peacock Miraculous that had plunged his dear Emilie into her near-death torpor to begin with. He dared not use such hazardous magic himself, so Gabriel was left with no choice but to seek outside help.
The seven Miraculous artifacts bestowed superhuman strength, speed and durability onto their wielders in addition to special powers unique to each. No common mercenary could match such force without a Miraculous of their own, so Gabriel had been forced to search far and wide for a soldier of unparalleled skill and ingenuity to serve as his sword arm.
Now Gabriel was about to meet his newest prospective employee. Nathalie had just texted saying she and the hire were minutes away. He could only hope he’d made the right choice.
It was dark outside as Gabriel waited in his office for the mercenary’s arrival. If everything went according to plan, this soldier would soon become the most notorious criminal in Paris, so it wouldn’t do for anyone matching their description to be seen with him. But he’d need to take the mercenary’s measure before committing to hiring them. It was an unenviable position for anyone, much less a man who prized control like he did.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, Nathalie announcing her arrival with the mercenary in tow. Gabriel bade the two of them enter. Nathalie came in first, looking as composed and professional even late at night. She wore her usual black pantsuit and red turtleneck, whose colors matched her black hair and its red highlights.
Nathalie took quick, efficient steps as she assumed her customary position at Gabriel’s side. If she harbored any misgivings about what they were doing, her stoic expression betrayed nothing.
The mercenary came to this meeting unarmed at Gabriel’s insistence, but it was apparent how battle-ready they were in every other respect. They were covered head to toe in a matte-black jumpsuit made of what Gabriel believed to be some form of Kevlar composite, durable without restricting freedom of movement. Steel plating was woven into the fabric on the chest and other vulnerable areas for additional protection, and their face was concealed by a sturdy-looking metal helmet with a tinted plexiglass visor in front.
The soldier stood quite a bit shorter than Gabriel’s own 220 centimeters, but their slender frame concealed well-toned muscles - firm, but not bulky - and their movements and the way they efficiently scanned their surroundings all painted the picture of a seasoned veteran. Just what Gabriel needed.
The visitor strode a meter in front of Gabriel’s desk before halting. They crossed their arms and waited expectantly for him to speak first.
“Mercenary. Glad you could make it,” Gabriel began, his fingers steepled together in front of his face as he regarded his visitor. “The job I have for you is extremely dangerous, highly illegal, high-profile and has no definite time frame for completion. But from what I’ve heard, you possess the necessary skill to succeed. And you’ll be well-compensated for your efforts.”
In truth, Gabriel wasn’t sure how they’d react to his description of the work he wanted. Mercenaries were used to hearing they were in for dangerous jobs, but people like this shied away from public scrutiny. And not having a clear end date meant they couldn’t be sure when to expect their final payment.
To his surprise, they simply scoffed.
“Mercenary,” the soldier said, the word sounding like a chuckle as it rolled off their tongue. “I have a name, you know.”
Gabriel sighed. The pseudonym they’d provided was the sort of melodramatic nonsense he’d expect of a supervillain - he supposed he should feel happy they were already prepared for that part of the job. But he wouldn’t dignify their vanity.
“The name you gave me is pompous and self-important,” he told them. “Let the public fear you under that nom de guerre, but I won’t be using it.”
Thankfully the mercenary seemed to accept that, shrugging their shoulders minutely.
“S’long as you pay me on time, no skin off my nose,” they replied. “Tell me more about the job. What’s the target, and who am I up against?”
Gabriel leaned forward in his chair, glad the merc was getting to business so quickly.
“Your opposition is unknown,” he said. “Other than the Parisian police, that is, but they’ll be little more than a nuisance to the likes of you. Your targets are a pair of artifacts called the Miraculous, a set of magical jewelry that grant powers to the ones who hold them. More specifically, you seek the Earrings of the Ladybug and the Ring of the Black Cat. Your job is to retrieve both of them and return them to me.”
The mercenary paused a few moments to consider this.
“Opposition and time frame unknown,” they murmured. “So I take it you don’t know where they are or who holds them. Lemme guess: I’m supposed to run around the city, blow shit up, and tell everyone I want a fight with the holders of the Miraculous to try and flush them out of their holes.”
“Vulgarity aside, yes,” Gabriel said. He was impressed they’d put it all together so fast, but he knew better than to admit as much. “The Miraculous are meant to be wielded by heroes, and how better to lure heroes than with a supervillain? Your job is to draw out the Ladybug and the Black Cat and defeat them. Once I have the earrings and the ring in hand, you’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. So are you in, or out?”
The visitor laughed, relaxing their posture and dropping their arms to their sides.
“You know, most mercs would tell you to piss off,” they told him. “All the money in the world means fuck all if you’re wanted in every country and can’t spend it. But me? If the name wasn’t a hint, I’ve always kinda liked the idea of live fast, die young. S’long as it’s a good fight. So you know what? I’m in.”
As they shook to seal the deal, Gabriel tried to ignore the sense of unease coursing through him. Staking Emilie’s life on the skill and loyalty of a soldier who dreamed of a romantic death on the battlefield was far from ideal. It was a compromise, and he detested those like the plague.
But for the sake of his beloved, Gabriel would make a thousand compromises and never look back.
The last few weeks of the school year flew by. Marinette finally deemed Nymph Haven to be in a presentable state, even if she had nobody to host there. She was ready to explore the study and learn more about witchcraft.
Eventually the summer holiday arrived. On the first day of vacation, Marinette’s parents enlisted her support in the bakery to help with the lunch rush - their home’s location adjacent to the Place des Vosges made it a magnet for kids celebrating the end of the year. But Mom and Dad promised Marinette she’d be free to head out and enjoy herself once 14:00 rolled around.
By noon, a thin sheet of flour covered much of the bakery as Marinette helped her dad with preparing another batch of pastries. Her mom manned the counter and dutifully took down everyone’s orders. The hustle and bustle of the bakery was loud enough that Marinette barely registered the TV was on, apparently showing some contest held by KIDZ+ TV. The host Alec was onscreen with two familiar-looking girls.
“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for!” Alec said, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. “The viewers at home have made their decision, and the new KIDZ+ weather girl is…what the?!”
Alec and the two girls’ expressions quickly shifted from surprise to horror as screams filled the studio. The crowd of customers fell silent as everyone turned to the TV…just in time to catch the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
The bakery fell into panic. Customers who’d been patiently waiting in line made hasty exits, as did most of the ones whose orders were still in the oven. The few who’d gotten their food and were enjoying it indoors decided to make tracks as well, leaving the building empty except for Marinette and her parents, now transfixed by the horrific events unfolding onscreen.
The source of the gunshots stepped into view: a tall and muscular figure clad in all-black, including a face-concealing helmet. They held a rifle one-handed and strolled right up to Alec and the two girls, who seemed frozen in place.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the gunman said. Their voice was a deep contralto - a woman? “But I have an announcement for the city, and this seemed like the biggest built-in audience available. You don’t mind if I borrow one of your weather girls, do you, Alec?”
The girls swallowed. The short-haired brunette cowered behind Alec for protection, while the pigtailed blonde tried to keep up a brave face. She wasn’t succeeding. Alec himself shied away from the intruder, his face sleek with flop sweat.
“If…if you wanted to appear on camera, you- you’d need to m-make a request to the network executives,” he stammered out, eyes on the gun that thankfully wasn’t pointed at him - yet. “In writing.”
The gunwoman shrugged.
“What can I say? I’m the impatient type,” she replied, tapping a small button on her left wrist. A low rumble shook the building, nearly causing Alec and the girls to lose their balance. “I’ve cut power to the elevators, and that was the stairs. Nobody’s leaving this building until I allow it.”
She turned to face the camera, her expression still hidden behind an opaque visor.
“To the police and emergency services, I should let you know I’m monitoring every entrance to the studio,” the intruder said. “If a cop or a fireman enters this building, you can kiss everyone in here goodbye. I’ve got a message to deliver, and once I’m done the poor folks in here will be free to go. You’ll just have to be patient.”
The gunwoman returned her attention to Alec and his weather girl contestants. The TV host looked like he’d been weighing the merits of slipping away while the assailant was distracted, but had thought better of it.
“Now I’ll only need one of you for my demonstration. So who to pick?” she said, turning her head down slightly to regard the girls. After a few moments, the woman continued. “Think I’ll go with you, Mlle Caquet. Can’t go wrong with a cute hostage. Now come along, we’ll be continuing this on the roof.”
The woman sent Alec sprawling to the floor with a swift backhand. She then reached out to grab the brunette in the same fluid motion just as the girl had been about to flee. The assailant proceeded to drag her hostage off the stage, ignoring the girl’s struggles and pleas to be let go.
The blonde girl had been standing too close to Alec and was knocked to the ground as well. As the gunwoman exited with her hostage, the blonde tried valiantly to stop her, but the intruder hardly seemed to notice as she was repeatedly struck by the girl’s parasol.
The TV footage was finally replaced with a vertical test pattern. Tom and Sabine tore their gaze away, ready to tell their daughter she could take the rest of the day off. But Marinette was already gone.
Marinette sprinted as quickly as she could to Montmartre. The Nymph Haven wasn’t too far from where she lived, but she didn’t pace herself well and was quickly gasping for air. She was forced to pause and catch her breath, slouched forward with her hands on her knees.
“You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, Marinette,” Nooroo advised her, poking his head out of her purse for a second. “Steady, consistent effort does a better job than starting and stopping.”
Marinette nodded, still panting hard.
“Sorry, you’re right,” she gasped. “It’s just…this sort of thing never happens in Paris. And I know those two girls from school: Aurore Beauréal and Mireille Caquet. Who knows what that psycho’s gonna do to them, Nooroo! We’ve got to do something!”
“And we will,” Nooroo replied, reaching out to touch her sleeve with one of his stubby arms. “With the Butterfly Miraculous, you can reach out and create a Champion to stop that villain. We just need to get to Nymph Haven first. The scrying pool will help you seek out just the right person for the job.”
Marinette nodded again, and closed up her purse. She’d gotten her breath back and continued at a more reasonable jog. After a few more minutes she arrived at Nymph Haven and lurched inside. Her weeks of effort had turned the place into a much homier and more welcoming refuge, cast in a pale blue light by the bioluminescent butterflies that called it home.
The scrying chamber was on the third floor, a small circular room dominated by a meter-tall basin of water at its center. Nooroo had insisted on Marinette starting her magical studies by learning how to use the scrying pool, since its effects worked hand in hand with her Miraculous. Marinette stepped into the room, her trepidation rising. She hadn’t thought she’d ever need to use Nooroo’s powers like this. The Kwami slipped out of her purse and hovered beside the pool.
“Now just like I taught you,” Nooroo said. “Say the words and part the water, but be sure not to touch it.”
Marinette waved her hand over the pool, mere millimeters from the surface of the water. Her movement sent ripples out over the water even without touching it directly.
“Show me my city,” she commanded.
The water responded, rising up from the bottom of the basin and forming into the shape of buildings. Nymph Haven was at the center of the pool, with the rest of Paris revealing itself in a watery diorama at Marinette’s fingertips.
“Amazing,” Marinette breathed out, awed by the display. She could see her house, across the street from the Place like it always was. The KIDZ+ TV station was also visible, several kilometers to the southwest. She should look there first when seeking a worthy Champion.
Nooroo looked to her expectantly.
“You can do this, Marinette,” he said softly.
Marinette nodded. She wasn’t convinced, but she wanted to put on a brave face for the Kwami.
“I know,” she lied. “I just…we didn’t expect this. I thought I’d have time to study, to learn more about the magic in this place. But there’s no time for that now. Paris needs us and it needs us right now.”
Nooroo zipped in front of her eyes and patted her cheek gently.
“Most heroes aren’t prepared when they face danger for the first time,” he said. “But that’s fine. Being a hero is about stepping up when you’re needed, not when you want to do it. And danger and adversity have a way of revealing qualities you never knew you had. Strength, skill, courage. I think you have all those things - you just need to let them blossom.”
She sighed deeply. Marinette didn’t think she had the strength Nooroo saw, but that didn’t matter. Paris needed her. Aurore and Mireille needed her. She’d have to do her best, and hope the Kwami was right about her.
“Nooroo, Wings Rise.”
The butterfly Kwami was sucked into his brooch as a wave of magical energy washed over Marinette, transforming her. The energies coalesced into an ornate violet jacket and skirt, a pair of thigh-high boots, two velvet gloves and a domino mask concealing her face. The Miraculous was affixed to Marinette’s collared shirt at the base of her throat, while a purplish-black cane appeared at her side.
“Whoa,” Marinette whispered, looking herself up and down. It was as if the Miraculous had intuited her image of herself as a superhero and pulled the costume from her mind’s eye into being. But she had no time to dwell on her appearance.
She turned back to the scrying pool, paying particular attention to the TV station. An onslaught of different emotions assaulted her, the psychic cacophony of the poor souls trapped inside. Marinette detected fear, anxiety, confusion - everything you’d expect from a place held hostage by a mad gunman. But one soul cut through the noise with a different blend of feelings. Fear and anxiety, yes, but also concern for a friend, a fiery spit of desire to do something. To make a difference.
Just what she needed.
Marinette reached out with her left hand, and a butterfly obediently flew into her open palm. She clasped her right hand over her left, and felt a rush of energy flow from herself into the insect, turning it dark purple.
“Take wing, my Kamiko,” she told the butterfly, letting it loose. “Find this devoted soul, and give her the power to keep her friend safe. To keep Paris safe!”
The empowered butterfly flew down the winding tunnel from which Marinette had first discovered this place. It passed through the stone archway and ascended the old well. From there it took to the skies, in search of its master’s first Champion.
Aurore Beauréal was a girl who lived for certainties.
Her mother and father both worked as climate scientists at the University of Paris. It had been certain that Aurore would follow in their footsteps and develop an interest in meteorology, and so she had. To be sure, Aurore craved the spotlight and the adulation of her peers more than her parents ever had. But that only further clarified her path. When KIDZ+ announced their contest for a teenage weather girl, it had been certain that Aurore would apply, and so she had.
There was no doubt in Aurore’s mind that she’d win. The competition narrowed down to two people: herself and her classmate Mireille Caquet. She loved Mireille, but the other girl simply lacked Aurore’s in-depth knowledge of meteorology, and was too shy and withdrawn to bask in the spotlight like a weather girl should.
Victory was in Aurore’s grasp, only to be snatched away by the interruption of a masked psychopath with a gun. This madwoman had interrupted the contest moments before Alec could announce the winner, taking the entire studio hostage and dragging Mireille to the rooftop for some inscrutable purpose. Aurore’s world of certainties had been violently upended.
And now she had no idea what would become of her classmate. Mireille was competition, yes. But the contest was only a formality, and Aurore still considered the other girl a friend - she hoped against hope the gunwoman would let Mireille go eventually. She wished there was more she could do. But there was only one certainty left in this situation: that Aurore would die if she tried challenging the gun-toting maniac.
Aurore finally let herself cry. This was supposed to be the brightest moment of her life, but a lone psychopath had ruined it. And she might never see her friend again. She curled up in a corner of the studio sobbing, and didn’t notice when a dark-colored butterfly fluttered into the room. It perched on her turquoise parasol and sank into it, turning it purple.
Aurore gasped as a glimmering butterfly-shaped symbol appeared in front of her face. A woman’s voice spoke, even though she was alone.
“Your friend is in danger,” the voice told her. “She stands between you and your heart’s desire, but you’re willing to look past that in her moment of need. More than anything, you want to keep her safe.”
In her mind’s eye, Aurore could see a faint image of a masked woman in purple. A superhero?
“I do,” she told the woman. “But I don’t know how. I’m…”
She choked. It was a painful thing to say, but in this moment it was the truth.
“I’m nobody special,” she finished. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the woman replied. Her voice was ethereal, soothing. Aurore could feel her quivering subside as they spoke. “You are special, and I can help you prove it. I’m a friend, and I’m offering you the power to save your friend, save everyone. A storm has come to Paris. But with my help, the weather itself will become your ally. You’ll have the power to scatter the clouds, bring clear skies again.”
Her words sounded fantastical, but somehow Aurore felt bolstered by them. This woman believed in her. And her certainty in such a dire situation shone through like a beacon, a point of refuge amid stormy weather.
“Can you do that for me?” the woman asked. “Will you accept my gift and fight for what’s right?”
“Yes,” Aurore breathed, awestruck and grateful for what she’d been offered.
The woman smiled.
“Then rise, my Paladin. And make your mark on the world.”
Mireille Caquet had been fighting nerves all day, on tenterhooks over whether or not she’d win the KIDZ+ weather girl contest. She realized now she hadn’t been nearly anxious enough.
The masked gunwoman kept a firm grip on Mireille with her left hand as they ascended the last few flights of stairs to the TV station’s roof. Her eyes weren’t on her captive, but Mireille was far too frightened to try escaping - after all, the woman still carried an assault rifle.
Mireille could feel her heart racing as the gunwoman kicked open the door to the rooftop and pulled her through. She had no idea what her captor wanted from her up here. She hadn’t communicated any demands yet as far as Mireille knew, so maybe she’d be doing that now, with a teenage hostage as leverage?
Or maybe she wanted to make an example, and Mireille would be her first victim.
That fear wasn’t helped by the gunwoman, who dragged Mireille to the edge of the roof. She released her hostage for a moment to hold her left wrist up to her face.
“We’re on.”
A set of sleek black drones appeared, floating around the gunwoman and Mireille to capture them from multiple angles with their cameras. The woman pulled Mireille to her side again and began to speak.
“Good afternoon, citizens of Paris,” she began. “You can call me Forlorn Hope. I’m here to deliver a message, and until I do, the good people of KIDZ+ TV are my hostages. Try to interfere, and they’ll pay the price.”
Mireille swallowed. If anything went wrong, no doubt she’d pay the price first.
“I’m a soldier by trade, a veteran of countless battles around the world,” Forlorn Hope said. “I came to Paris seeking a challenge, a test of arms against worthy foes. But you people aren’t worth my time. By shielding you from conflict and hardship, modern society has made you soft. Weak. Untested and unprepared to cope with adversity. Even the men and women you trust to protect you from danger are more bureaucrats than warriors.”
To drive the point home, the mercenary took aim and fired a spray of bullets at a police helicopter that was trying to approach. Mireille covered her ears and watched in horror as the shots punched several holes in the aircraft, forcing it to pull away.
“That said, there are some in this city who stand a cut above the rest,” the soldier continued. “The wielders of the Miraculous are out there somewhere. You know who you are. And you’re the only enemies I’m interested in facing.”
“Every hour you fail to show, I’ll be forced to kill a hostage. Starting with this girl here,” Forlorn finished, pulling Mireille tightly against her for emphasis. “So don’t dither. I’ve come a long way in search of the strongest opponents I could find, and I’m not leaving until I face them.”
The mercenary tapped a button on her wristband, signaling the drones to back off. They took up new positions further away from the roof, their cameras still trained on the two women.
“And now we wait,” Forlorn told Mirelle, looking down at the girl. “For your sake, I hope this doesn’t take too long.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t.”
Mireille’s eyes widened, and she found herself spun around as Forlorn turned to face the new arrival. On the other side of the roof stood a girl in a white and blue dress with a matching light blue domino mask.
The wind seemed to come alive, swirling around the girl as she pointed her white umbrella at the mercenary like the tip of a sword.
“Call me Mistral,” the newcomer said. “If you wanted a fight, then you’ve found it.”