To Lyger 0: We shall see…
Her head felt like it was ripping apart. Pain radiated throughout her body, starting from her shoulders but running down her arms and legs. Her legs felt painfully stiff after having lain in one position for so long; pins and needles trailed through her muscles as she tried to move her feet. Her hands were pulled roughly behind her back; it felt like the circulation to her hands had been cut off, perhaps for as long as a few hours. Numbly, she tried to move her hands, to reach up and rub her forehead, but her hands couldn't move – they were bound tightly at the wrists. With her arms tied, her lungs felt so constricted that she could barely take in a deep breath.
Cara's eyes shot wide open, and she blinked furiously against the sunlight beating down on her from above. Wincing, she clenched her eyes shut as the bright sunlight pierced her eyes and ignited a painful migraine in the back of her head, turning her head away from the light and burying her face in the dirt. After a moment, she reopened her eyes, turning slowly to protect her vision while taking in her surroundings. She lay on her side, her back flat against a wall which appeared to consist of sharpened stakes driven into the ground to form a square, enclosing a space a little smaller than a bedroom. The bare earth beneath her side provided no cushioning; her shoulder and hip were screaming from the hard surface. Wriggling and straining against her bonds, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the splinters being driven into her back through the fabric of her old suit with every movement. Finally, she leaned her head back against the wood and closed her eyes, groaning.
"Umeamka."
Cara froze on hearing the unfamiliar voice, not even daring to breathe.
"Parlez vous français?" asked the same voice. ["Do you speak French?"]
Cara cocked her head and opened her eyes. "Un peu," she answered hesitantly. "Anglais?" ["A little. English?"]
"Yes." The speaker, a lanky, dark-skinned man sitting on the opposite side of the enclosure, let out a breath, shifting his shoulders and adjusting his sitting position. "When they brought you in here, I feared the worst," he told her before gesturing to one side of them with his shoulder. "Your companion has yet to wake."
Cara looked in the indicated direction to see Dhuan lying on his side a meter from the stockade, bound with thick cords at his shoulders and ankles, and with his arms pulled back behind him by ropes tied around his elbows and wrists. He had returned to his human form, but his hair appeared to have grown longer than before, matted against his temple with dried blood. He was bare-chested, his tunic having torn apart with his transformation, though someone had thrown a blanket over him. Cara swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy, and looked back at the other man. "Is–is he–?"
"He lives," the man answered, sighing heavily. "His chest still moves. But he has not responded to anything."
"How – how long was I out?"
The man frowned, shrugging helplessly. He glanced up at the sky and raised an eyebrow. "I cannot know," he answered. "I do not think it was very long – the sun has not moved too far, at least. Perhaps it has been an hour or two?"
Cara groaned, coughing. "It feels like it should have been so much longer than that." She sighed heavily, her head smacking against the wood behind her.
"What happened? What do you remember?"
She shrugged helplessly. "We were training in the forest when the Dark Acolytes attacked us. One of them stuck his blade in my face, he was going to kill me, but he smacked me over the head. Then I woke up here." Swallowing against the dryness of her mouth, she asked her new companion, "Why–" she coughed several more times and cleared her throat before she could continue. "Why did you think I could speak French?"
"They–they told me that the Heroes of Paris were here," he told her, surprised. "They offered to bring me to them – that was when they did this to me." His expression turned to worry. "Are you not one of the Heroes of Paris?"
"Um… not exactly," Cara admitted, frowning. "Actually, I am from Portugal." His shoulders slumped. Grimacing, she quickly added, "But I am here with the Heroes of Paris."
"Do you have a miraculous?"
"I did," Cara confirmed. "I only received it a few days ago – we were training with it in the forest when we were attacked," she added, nodding in his direction. She shifted her shoulders back and forth and glanced down at her chest, trying to feel for the pendant's string with her chin. Finally, she shook her head in frustration. "Merda! They must have taken my miraculous!"
He frowned. "They took mine as well when they attacked me." His shoulders slumped. "If I only had my miraculous, perhaps I could heal your friend."
"Tha e beò," muttered Dhuan, his eyes remaining closed.
The man cocked his head, staring at Dhuan in confusion. "What–?" He turned to Cara, his brows furrowed.
Cara shrugged as best she could with her arms bound. "I did not understand him, either," she responded. "Not without my miraculous. He is 'Dhuan,' and he… um… I guess he is supposed to guard the miraculous I was given. I am not sure what language that is, but somehow the miraculous let me understand him. My name is Cara, by the way."
"Juvénal."
"I did not realize that they had captured another miraculous user," Cara observed, finally examining him more closely. One of his eyes seemed to have swollen shut and started to heal; she could pick out several contusions all over his face, and his clothing was ripped and torn. She hummed in a question. "Are you with one of the African Miraculous Teams?"
"'African Miraculous Teams'?" He stared at her, his brows furrowed, and slowly shook his head. "No… I did not know there even was such a thing. I simply found my miraculous one day, several years ago. I was walking along Lake Kivu when I found it tangled in the reeds in a small cavern just off the shore. Then Runna appeared, and she told me that I could use her power to help people. Since them, I have been traveling the continent, doing just that – or I had been." He frowned, looking down. "I do not even remember how long I have been here – several days, at least. They tricked me, took my miraculous, and have left me here to rot. I have been able to do nothing, tied up in here."
Cara's stomach clenched. "I have been pretty useless, too," she admitted, sighing heavily. "I have been a hero for a couple of years now, but it has done me no good this year. The Tarasque showed up, and I was utterly useless. I could do othing to save my city. I could do nothing in Paris. I could do nothing to keep people from getting sick – or to cure those who were sick!" She smacked her shoulder against the stockade behind her in frustration. "Even after getting a miraculous, I could do nothing to keep myself – or Dhuan – safe."
"I am sorry."
"Chan eil dad de seo agad," murmured Dhuan, without opening his eyes.
"Hey! What's going on in there?" a voice called from outside the stockade. A young man poked his head over the top of the wall, looking down at them suspiciously.
Cara glared back up at him. "You threw us in here, and you have the gall to get upset if we start talking?"
His eyes widened. "I… uh…"
"What's your name?" she interrupted his stammering, annoyed.
"Um… John."
Cara frowned. "If you are going to kill us, then just do it already. Otherwise, will you loosen my wrists a little? I can hardly feel my hands."
"Um…" John looked around nervously before groaning in annoyance and pulling out one of the stakes directly behind Cara. She was quiet, her jaw clenching in a thin line, staring straight across the enclosure while he fumbled with her bonds. Finally, there was a sensation of pins and needles at the tips of her fingers, and she could finally shift her hands the slightest bit against the bindings. John straightened up and replaced the stake in the ground before leaning back over the wall and looking down at them again.
Cara's eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you," she told him, rubbing her wrists as best she could.
"Uh… Sorry about that," he answered sheepishly. "I guess they weren't sure how tightly to tie you up so you couldn't escape."
"Why do you – or they – care?" she wondered, watching him suspiciously. He shrugged, looking away. She let out a breath. "So… mind telling us what the hell is going on out there?"
He pursed his lips, staring down at the ground outside of the enclosure. After a long minute, he shook his head. "I… don't exactly know," he admitted. "I only just got back from my mission." He frowned. "We were supposed to meet up with the others and all return together, but no one came." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what that means."
Cara's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "'Your mission'," she repeated. "What did you do?" His eyes widened, and he turned to look toward the rest of the camp. "Merda," she muttered, smacking her head against the stockade, wincing as the splintery wood scratched her scalp.
"What are you doing here?" a too-familiar voice called, as the Dark Acolyte who had struck Cara appeared next to John.
John snapped to attention, his eyes widening. "I–um–I just arrived back from my mission," he reported.
The man folded his arms. "Well? Where are the others?"
"I don't know. They didn't meet us."
"You attacked the Heroes of Paris, and you expected to just… get away?" Cara scoffed.
The man eyed her suspiciously. "Shut your mouth, miraculous abuser!" he retorted. "I can still kill you for your crime!"
She glared back at him defiantly. "Then do it already."
He smirked. "If your friends are unwilling to trade their miraculous for you, then I assure you, I will."
"Fat chance of that."
"I hope they will consider it – for your sake." He turned to John. "See to it that they remain where they are," he instructed him, before walking away.
Juvénal gave John a confused look. "I do not understand. "Why did you seize us? Why do you people hate the miraculous so much?"
"You were abusing a miraculous."
Juvénal furrowed his brows in bewilderment. "But I did no such thing!" he insisted. "I have been helping people ever since I found it!"
John shook his head. "Regardless of what you think you are doing with the miraculous, the fact remains that the miraculous threaten the balance of the universe."
"Tha sin gòrach."
John pursed his lips, staring at Dhuan. "No, it isn't! 'All miraculous use is abuse.'"
"What is that even supposed to mean?" Cara demanded.
"That is what we believe," insisted John. "That is what the Dark Acolytes of the Mundane teach. Miraculous are not to be used under any circumstances; to do so is an affront to nature – it goes against nature itself to meddle with such things."
Juvénal shook his head. "What you say makes no sense. My miraculous could not abuse or hurt; it could only heal!"
"That is not the case with all miraculous, though," John pointed out, gesturing to Cara. "Her miraculous apparently turned a tree to dust!"
Cara shrugged. "That is what the Jellyfish Miraculous does."
"So are you going to sit there and try to argue that that isn't disrupting the balance of the universe?"
"What can I say?" she ground out. "Entropy is fundamental to thermodynamics. Everything in the universe tends toward entropy; the miraculous only helps it along."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"If it were to happen to something innocent, or when it was not absolutely necessary, then yes, it would bother me," she told him curtly. "But that is the burden of having that miraculous – at least according to Dhuan. I do not want to damage anything where it is not necessary, but I do want to stop the Tarasque. And as far as I know, the Jellyfish Miraculous is the only option at our disposal to do that."
"Wouldn't that be abusing the miraculous?"
"No, that would be using the miraculous."
John opened his mouth to argue but froze, his mouth hanging open, and cocked his head to one side, listening intently. At the same time, Cara fell silent as well, her brows furrowed in confusion, and closed her eyes to listen. At first she could hear nothing more than the breeze blowing through the trees. But then–
She smirked.
She recognized that sound.
