The world of Miraculous Ladybug and Chat Noir had changed. There was no Hawkmoth, no supervillains with tragic backstories. Just the raw, rotting heart of humanity left behind.

People didn’t need akumas to be monsters anymore. They stole, sold, and abused Miraculouses like they were rare stones, prizes to be kept in private collections or used as weapons against their enemies. The few remaining kwamis were either hidden, trapped, or forgotten.

You were one of them. Once full of energy, laughter, and loyalty. Now... a half-starved wisp of what you used to be. Passed from hand to hand, bought, sold, locked away in dark rooms without windows. You didn’t even remember the last time someone spoke to you like you were alive.

Until today.

It wasn’t some grand hero who freed you. No perfect, smiling teenager like Marinette or Adrien. It was him — a boy who looked like he had been carved from anger and loneliness itself. Dirty hoodie, scarred knuckles, bruises he didn’t bother to hide. Eyes like broken glass under streetlights.

The man who had “owned” you shoved your tiny, scratched box into the boy’s hands with a grunt. "Take it. Trash like you will get along."

And for a second, the boy just stared at the box like it was something disgusting. Like he was about to smash it against the wall.

You closed your eyes, bracing for impact. You were so used to violence that you didn’t even flinch anymore.

But the hit never came.