Um. Sorry that this took so long. All I can say is that life's been really busy. -_-'
HUGE THANKS to Guest and StitchingUpShadows for reviewing! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own Miraculous Ladybug, though I wish I did.
There's a restless sort of hum beneath her skin, making her fidgety and on edge. She can't concentrate on anything now, not even designing. Every time she tries, all she can see are loops of silk draped over scales and finely-wrought jewelry glittering in firelight. Beautiful, to be sure, but every time she tries to put her visions to paper, they vanish. Evaporated, like early-morning fog over the Seine. It's starting to drive her a little nuts.
"Tikki," Marinette groans, head resting on her desk in defeat, "I can't do anything. Do you know what's going on?"
The kwami is suspiciously silent.
"Tikki?" Marinette raises her head, a niggling sense of worry at the back of her mind. "Is everything okay?"
"...You're fine, Marinette," Tikki assures her, but the hesitance before she says it is telling.
Marinette straightens in her seat. The niggling sense of worry is more like a blaring siren, now. On one hand, she knows that Tikki would be honest with her if it was anything that seriously affected her life or health. On the other hand, she thinks that Tikki knows more than she lets on, and it isn't as if she actually knows a lot about the little sprite's origins. Tikki is much older than five thousand years, she knows, but… how old is she, exactly?
"How old are you?" Marinette blurts, then goes crimson as she instantly regrets it. Oh, goodness, that was so rude and out of the blue! What was she thinking?!
It's too late to take it back, though. However, for some reason, Tikki doesn't look all that surprised. Sort of… resigned, perhaps, like she'd been expecting it.
"I don't remember exactly," she starts, "but if I had to guess, I would put it at somewhere around ten thousand or so. Maybe more. Time was measured differently, in those days."
Marinette's eyes go wide as she tries not to gape. Ten thousand years? Or more? How in the world had Tikki lived for that long?
"I'm older than most human civilizations," came Tikki's gentle reminder. "I've been around for a long, long time."
And doesn't that raise a whole host of questions. Except, before Marinette can organize her thoughts enough to voice them-
Panicked screams shatter the night. Explosions powerful enough to make the windows rattle follow on their heels. In a flash, curiosity is shelved for later as Tikki vanishes into Ladybug's suit. Within minutes Ladybug is winging towards the source, heart in her throat as she watches black smoke rise in choking clouds.
She'll question Tikki more later. Right now, Ladybug has a job to do.
Transitioning from Chat Noir back to Adrien always makes him feel like he's losing something, somehow. Like he's stepping back from something great, something he shouldn't leave behind. Shrinking away into a lesser self.
It's irrational, really. Adrien can become Chat Noir anytime he likes, so long as Plagg is cooperative. He changes shape nearly every day, fighting akuma and soaring over the city on patrol. There are times when it feels like he spends more time as a dragon than as a human, though that certainly isn't anything he'd complain about.
Still, though. There's always that niggling sense that something's missing when he's human, and it's only gotten stronger over time. He's too afraid to ask if Ladybug shares it. What if it's just him being weird? It's not as if they've got teachers or anything. There are no older heroes to help them, no gauge with which to tell what's normal and what isn't.
And the dreams. They're starting to invade the waking realm as well, half-remembered flashes and impressions that make every nerve in his body itch with deja vu. He sees wilderness unlike any left in the world today, sees creatures unlike any that have ever been known to once exist. He sees wonders, he sees beauty, he sees fantastical feats of magic and power at every turn.
He sees the impossible made possible, and wonders if it's his sanity finally slipping away.
"Am I going crazy, Plagg?" he asks, voice muffled in his pillow as he collapses face-first into bed. Turning sideways, he looks at where Plagg is stuffing his face with cheese on his desk and repeats, "Seeing things like this can't be normal, right?"
Plagg freezes. Hesitates, too, before he speaks, and that alone is nearly answer enough.
"It's… well, it's definitely not common," he says, and Adrien can hear how carefully he's choosing every word. "But it isn't anything you should worry about, kid."
"But what do they mean?" Adrien presses further, tone colored with urgency. They've been getting more and more intense as of late, clearer and clearer and becoming far closer to memories than he thinks should be possible.
"Nothing you should worry about," Plagg repeats. Which is so wonderfully helpful and informative. Not.
"Seriously, Plagg." Adrien narrows his eyes in an annoyed glare. His kwami does not meet them.
"I am serious!" Plagg protests. "Look, I know this is gonna sound weird, but… you'll know what they mean when you know what they mean. You know? You'll know 'em when you know 'em."
Adrien stares at him. "That doesn't make any sense."
Plagg sighs. "Well, it's the truth. Just… be patient, okay? I have a feeling you'll be finding out sooner rather than later anyways."
Adrien resists the urge to growl in frustration. Stupid cryptic kwami isn't giving him any solid answers…
They share dreams, some nights, though neither of them know it. Joint memories unearthed from the subconscious, nudged into place by magic as ancient as the land and sea resettling into old hosts. A bond once forged in fire and friendship reforms, strengthening day by day as twin souls fall back into well-worn patterns. Like old habits returning from a long absence, comforting and familiar.
They share dreams of battles, of training, of wings against the sun and silhouettes against the moon. They dream of games and laughter, of endless war, of joy and sorrow and everything in between. They dream of loyal friends and flock-mates standing steadfast at their backs, leading an army through the skies to clash against monsters under the command of an indistinct figure shrouded in darkness.
In the end, it all comes down to three. The hawkmoth, the ladybug, and the black cat. Circling, circling, in an endless fight that draws on and on until hardly anything is left. Because dragons don't fight like humans, not in the least. They are wild creatures of magic and strength, pitting fang against fang and claw against claw. They wreak havoc on the land and leave destruction in their wake, changing the course of rivers and cleaving valleys with their might.
But… even after the ladybug and black cat have won, the hawkmoth is corrupt and has misused forbidden magicks to cheat the cycle of life and death. They know he will rise again someday, however long it takes. And when he does… they will have to rise again to match him.
Find your Chosen, they (except this can't really be them, right? Because this was then, not now, with millennia separating the two so how they possibly be the same) whisper to their companions, the quantic gods of disaster and luck. Keep this world safe when we no longer can. Protect them. Guide them. Teach them to fight in our names, to push back the demons that prey on the innocent.
Find them. Teach them. Guide them. Promise us this, on your honor as kwami. Please.
...We promise, come the whispers, quiet and mournful. We swear we will carry on your legacy. And… we'll wait for you. Always.
Thank you, they-of-now remember saying as they-of-then, and feel the ritual as old as time bind their very beings to physical objects in an irreversible act. They-of-then imbue the Miraculous with blood and power and all the magic they have left, and only when this is done do the ladybug and black cat allow themselves to fall.
(We spirit-touched have to stick together, they-of-then think as one, and somehow those words feel more significant than they-of-now can possibly understand.)
Our Chosen are getting suspicious, Tikki. Adrien's starting to act more and more like his old self. I thought the assimilation was going to take years!
I thought so too, Plagg. Marinette's been doing the same. She's realizing that I'm not telling her everything. They're remembering faster than I thought they would.
Why, do you think?
Honestly, I have no idea. It's not as if this is a common phenomenon. Our Chosens' friends, too… they may not all be spirit-touched, but they're all special. It's no wonder they seem to have followed our Chosen into this life as well, eh?
Ha, I suppose so. He's getting stronger, though. I can sense it. I have a feeling we'll be facing him in battle sooner rather than later. Better make sure our Chosen are ready.
Oh, don't worry about that, Plagg. When the day comes, Ladybug will finally help end Hawkmoth for good.
And Chat Noir will be prepared as well. Then… maybe, after all these centuries, we can rest.