I know this isn't much to start with, it is a prologue, but I hope it helps to show where the story will take place and how it will play out in the future! I hope you like it!
I've had bad days before, but this one was racing for first place.
Picture this: It's after midnight, and I'm stumbling down an empty street like a reject from The Walking Dead. One hand is pressed against my side where a knife got too close for comfort, while the other is desperately searching my pockets for a phone that's probably being sold by the friendly guy who stabbed me.
Oh, and I'm bleeding. A lot. And I've never been more scared in my life.
Want to know how I got here? It started about twenty minutes ago when I made the worst decision ever.
There I was, trapped in an alley that seemed to appear from nowhere, facing a mugger whose voice sounded like sandpaper. But that wasn't even the worst part. No, that would be the two still figures slumped against the wall behind him—my parents. I tried to tell myself they were just knocked out, but the dark puddle spreading beneath them told me differently. Something I couldn't bring myself to accept.
"Just hand over the wallet, kid," the mugger growled, waving a switchblade that caught the streetlight, turning the cheap metal into a strip of menacing moonlight. The same blade, I realized with a sick feeling, was now stained with my parents' blood.
My stomach churned, fear freezing me from the inside out. My heart pounded like it was trying to break free, while my brain scrambled to find a way out. Spoiler: there wasn't one.
"I...I don't have it," I stammered, my voice cracking in a way that would've been embarrassing if I wasn't, you know, about to die. It was a terrible lie. The thick stack of cash felt heavy in my pocket, but my fingers wouldn't move to grab it. This wasn't just money – it was my chance to escape this place, my shot at something better. A chance to make something of myself, to be more than just another forgotten kid in a city that didn't care. The kind of chance my parents had always wanted but never got.
The kind of chance that was about to slip away forever.
The mugger's eyes narrowed, cold and mean. "Don't play coy with me," he snarled. "You think I'm stupid? I can smell the cash on you, kid. Trying to be a big shot, huh? Well, guess what - you're still just a nobody in my book."
His words hurt worse than any knife. I felt myself shrinking, feeling smaller with each second.
I hated what I was about to say, but fear has a way of killing pride. My voice came out barely louder than a whisper, each word feeling like betrayal. "You're... you're right about me." I swallowed hard, hating how my voice shook. "I'm just... I'm nobody. A kid that doesn't matter." I felt pathetic, shrinking under the mugger's stare. The words burned in my throat, but terror pushed them out. "Please," I begged, hating how weak I sounded. "I swear I don't have anything worth taking."
The mugger laughed harshly, his voice empty of joy. "Look at you, admitting it so easily," he sneered. Yeah, you're a nobody, alright. And nobodys like you? They don't matter in this city. Now, give me that CASH!"
He lunged.
Fear took over. I threw myself sideways in a move that looked less like martial arts and more like a panicked octopus. The blade cut through my shirt, and suddenly my side was on fire. "AAAUGH!" I cried out, the sound bouncing off the alley walls like the universe was laughing at me.
The mugger stumbled, surprised by my wild movement. This was my chance. I pushed him as hard as I could, fear giving me strength I didn't know I had. He hit the brick wall with a grunt and fell to the ground.
I didn't wait to see if he got up.
I ran, the image of my parents burned into my mind.
Now here I am, stumbling down the street, each step sending shots of pain through my body. The world around me has turned into a spinning mess of neon signs and wet streets; the city lights dancing in a way that's really not helping my plan to stay conscious.
"Oh god, oh god," I whispered, my vision getting blurry as the pain took over. The truth of what's happened hits me like a truck. "Mom and Dad... they're..." I can't finish. The words get stuck in my throat, choking me worse than the blood. I probably sound pretty weak right now, but whatever. Let someone else take a knife to the gut and then find out their parents are...
No. I can't think about that. It's too much. The pain, the fear, the loss - all of it's too much.
That's when I saw it—a light in the urban darkness. A shop squeezed between a graffiti-covered corner store and a laundromat that looked abandoned. Warm light spills onto the sidewalk under a faded sign reading 'CURIOSITIES & ODDITIES.'
Now, anyone with sense would've kept going toward the nearest hospital. But between the blood loss, the shock of seeing my parents like that, and my clearly broken decision-making skills, I found myself pushing open the shop's door. A bell rings as I stumble in, sounding weirdly cheerful given everything. "Help!" I croak out, barely above a whisper. The word feels strange in my mouth. I've always been the one others came to for help, the fixer, the problem-solver. Now, I'm the one who needs saving, my usual confidence shattered into pieces.
The shop is a maze of shelves and cases, packed with weird and forgotten stuff. It's like someone raided the attic of a world-traveling collector who never threw anything away. Old artifacts, strange trinkets, and things I can't even describe fill every space. As an archaeology student, I should be thrilled. Instead, I'm just overwhelmed. It's like Indiana Jones opened a thrift store and then forgot about it for a hundred years.
Dusty books, creepy dolls, and what might actually be shrunken heads stare at me from everywhere. I'd taken about three steps before my legs gave up. I reached for the nearest table to catch myself but instead knocked something small to the floor.
As I follow the table's example and collapse, I catch a glimpse of the object. It was a brooch, with four light purple strips coming out of the purple oval center, shaped like wings, looking like a butterfly. In the dim shop light, it seemed to shine with an odd glow.
Mom would have loved that.
Weirdly though, even while bleeding out, I got this feeling like I'd seen it before. Without thinking – because why start now? – I reach for it. My fingers barely touch it when everything starts to go dark, the world fading away.
This is it. I thought. The end of the line. I was going to die on the dusty floor of some random antique shop, holding a butterfly pin. How's that for irony? Watch the police show up and think I'm the bad guy instead of the victim, attempted theft as I was bleeding out. Some legacy to leave behind, right?
"...mom...dad..." Their faces float in my fading vision, a bitter reminder of everything I've lost. And everything I'll never have. The guilt hits me hard - I couldn't give them the life they deserved, couldn't make them proud. Now I'll never get to make a difference, to find my place in the world.
To be more than just another forgotten kid from the wrong side of town.
As the darkness closes in, my vision going dim, I swear I could see the brooch start to glow bright. The world turns into a spinning mix of colors, the smell of dust and old paper replaced by something...different. Something ancient and powerful.
And then, everything went black.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The rain hammered down on New York's streets, turning the city into a dark, wet maze. I hurried along, my old bones complaining with each step—but I couldn't slow down. Not when Wayzz was this worried. The weather matched how I felt inside—wild and uncertain. Neither of us had felt magic this strong in many years.
"Master, this way!" my kwami called, flying ahead down a narrow alley. His tiny green form was barely visible through the rain. "The magical energy I felt... it came from here!"
"I'm coming, Wayzz," I panted, struggling to keep up. My mind raced with questions. What could cause such powerful magic? A lost Miraculous? Impossible. Then again, I once thought my joints couldn't make this many different popping sounds, yet here we are.
The alley was pitch black, with tall buildings blocking what little light made it through the storm clouds. I splashed through puddles, dodging trash and debris. The usual city noise seemed far away here, like the alley existed in its own world. Or maybe my hearing was going. I should make some ginger tea for that later.
I thought about how I ended up in this bustling city. After things in England went south—thanks to some thieves who tried to steal my precious jewels—I came to America. Those fools thought they'd make easy money, but they learned the hard way: this old man might specialize in protection magic, but I'm far from helpless.
New York seemed perfect for a fresh start. My dear Miriam always talked about America in her letters, wanting us to visit together someday. She still teases me for moving without her! I always write back that we'll explore it together when we finally reunite. Being apart due to the Second World War and my duties as a Guardian has been hard, but her words kept me going. I can't wait to show her this city, making our shared dream come true.
Turning a corner, I almost fell over something—or rather, someone.
A boy, maybe twelve, lay unconscious on the ground. His clothes were soaked, and dark hair stuck to his face. Blood mixed with rainwater beneath him, making my heart skip. "Aiya!" I muttered, kneeling beside him despite my creaking joints. My pants got soaked, but I didn't care. My Hawaiian shirt was already ruined. (What? It's my favorite. Don't judge an old man's style. I was quite fashionable back in...well, never mind when.)
"Young man, can you hear me?" I asked, carefully rolling him over. Nothing. Perfect. His pulse was weak but steady. Then Wayzz gasped like he'd seen a ghost.
"Master, look!" he shouted, pointing at the boy's hand. I nearly fell over when I saw it.
"It can't be...!"
But it was. In his fingers was a brooch I hadn't seen in one hundred and sixty-three years. The Miraculous of the Butterfly. A magical jewel, lost since the fall of the Order of the Guardians. Lost because of my mistake—the one that destroyed our sacred order and left me as the last Guardian.
Not my proudest moment.
"How?" I whispered, touching the Miraculous. Its purple gem gave off a faint glow, like dying embers. "I thought the Butterfly Miraculous was gone forever."
The familiar light reflected from the jewel confirmed what seemed impossible. Memories flooded back—the temple, my fellow Guardians, the sentimonster, the day everything changed. I pushed them aside. No use crying over spilled tea, as they say. I think.
"We can't leave him here," I decided, looking at the boy. His face was ghostly white. "He needs help, and we need answers."
Wayzz fluttered nervously, antennae twitching. "But Master, how will you move him? You can't carry him alone." He looked around the alley. "What if whoever hurt him comes back?"
I smiled, touching the bracelet on my wrist. "Who said anything about being alone, old friend?"
Wayzz's eyes went wide. "Oh!" He looked excited but worried. "But Master, you haven't transformed in so long. Are you sure?"
I nodded firmly. My decision was set, like a well-aged tea. "We have no choice," I said, standing up. My knees popped in protest, but I ignored them. They'd been complaining since the Qing Dynasty; they could wait.
"Wayzz, shell on!"
Here is a little fic that I got the idea for after reading numerous ones on the internet. I had this story deep in the back of my mind but never got the chance to write it. I will upload more chapters if this gets enough hits and comments (and after I finish them of course) So I hope you all enjoy it!
(And big thanks to Firewillreign for beta-reading some of the chapters I wrote. If anyone would like to beta-read them as well I'm more then open to suggestions.)