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❄️ Chapter 15— Conviction in the Snow
Snow blanketed New York in a quiet, shimmering white. The streets were muffled, the city softened, and for once, Adrian woke up without the alarm of chaos. No blaring horns, no shrill sirens, no chatter from Ned or Gwen blowing up his phone about school. Just silence, save for the faint hiss of snow falling against his window.
It was a holiday—unexpected, rare. A snow day.
Adrian sat at his desk, staring not at his books, but at the skyline. In another timeline—Ultimate Spider-Man's timeline—today would've been remembered as the Sandman episode. But Adrian wasn't Spider-Man. He didn't need to get tangled in that mess, and in truth, there wasn't much he could even do about it. Sandman was Peter's trial, not his.
But Adrian had bigger problems to solve.
His mind shifted, inevitably, to the next great storm: Loki's invasion. The Battle of New York. He'd seen it in another life, in another medium, but now it wasn't fiction. It was coming. And this time, with Loki's schemes already twisting timelines, Adrian couldn't assume it would play out the same.
What if more portals opened?
What if civilians were in even greater danger?
What if… Marinette or Gwen got caught in it?
He clenched his fist. I can't let that happen. Not to them. Not to anyone.
He opened a shimmering timeless portal—a small, controlled flicker, no larger than a hand mirror. Through it, the distorted reflection of Stark Tower shimmered. This was where the invasion would begin. He traced the line of where the sky would tear, where the Chitauri would spill.
A plan started forming. Evacuation routes. Civilian shielding. Support. A surveillance net that could predict movements. But all of it would be useless if he himself couldn't even hold form for more than five minutes when channeling Miraculous powers.
Adrian sat cross-legged on his bed, summoning the kwamis. Little spirits flickered around him, each representing a fragment of power. Tikki floated closest, her crimson glow soft but stern.
"I need more time," Adrian admitted, voice low. "If I can't stay transformed, I can't fight long enough to matter. I have to—"
"You're thinking about it the wrong way," Tikki interrupted gently.
Plagg snorted from a corner. "Typical. Everyone thinks it's about being older, stronger, more grown up. But you're still human. You age slowly. Conviction is what holds the form, not birthdays."
"Conviction?" Adrian echoed.
Tikki nodded. "The Miraculous responds to belief. If you don't truly decide who you are and why you fight, then your power fades as quickly as your confidence."
Conviction. That word echoed in his mind. It wasn't about training his body anymore. It wasn't about enchanting new tools or hiding bases in Savage Lands. It was about deciding who he was willing to be.
Adrian closed his eyes, transformed, and forced himself to focus—not on surviving, not on running plans in his head, but on his purpose. Protect. Build. Save. He channeled that conviction into every fiber of himself. The glow held… for a while. But as soon as doubt slithered in—what if I'm not enough? What if conviction isn't strong enough against an alien army?—his form cracked.
The magic flickered and broke, leaving him in silence.
Adrian sighed and rubbed his temple. "Still not enough."
Kwamis murmured amongst themselves. Wayzz gave a quiet hum of reassurance. "Conviction takes time, Master. You must live it, not force it. Each choice you make builds it."
He knew they were right. But knowing and being ready were two different things.
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To distract himself, he did the simplest thing: reached for his phone.
He scrolled past Ned's memes, Gwen's latest science notes, and tapped on the contact labeled Marinette.
The call rang twice before her bright voice answered.
"Adrian? Oh, hey! Perfect timing—I was just rereading chapter 25. I think we're at the halfway mark now."
That made him smile, just a little. "Already halfway. You work faster than me."
"Well, when the story's good, it's easy to keep going." Her tone turned playful. "You know, you're not too bad at this whole writer thing."
Adrian chuckled softly. "And you're not too bad at drawing my endless rambling into something beautiful."
She laughed, the kind of laugh that carried warmth through even a snowy day.
They talked more about the manga's progress—the steady sales, the slow but growing recognition. Then Marinette suggested something that made him pause.
"What if we upload your song? The one you wrote for the prologue?"
Adrian blinked. "…You think that's a good idea?"
"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "Music makes people feel. If they feel the story, they'll want more of it. Trust me, Adrian—it's worth it."
He leaned back against the wall, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "…Alright. Let's do it."
"Good! Then we'll finish the last panel tonight, and maybe next week, I can—" Her words were cut off as someone called her name in the background. "Oops—gotta go. Talk soon!"
The line clicked, and silence returned. But it wasn't a heavy silence this time. Marinette's warmth lingered.
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Evening came, and with it, the familiar comfort of the Stacy household.
Dinner was lively as always, though a faint tension still hummed under the surface. George tried to keep the mood light, and Gwen rolled her eyes at her brother's endless teasing. Adrian joined in, offering light-hearted remarks and jokes where he could, easing the cracks in the family's smiles.
The highlight of the night came after dessert, when they all looked out the window toward the beach. A massive glass sculpture shimmered under the moonlight—sand fused into crystal, shaped by the combined chaos of Nova and Sandman's clash days earlier.
It glittered, jagged yet beautiful, a monument of battle born by accident.
George shook his head. "Only in New York."
Gwen leaned her chin on her palm, staring at it. "It's dangerous. But… kind of beautiful, too."
Adrian watched it quietly. A symbol of chaos, turned into something mesmerizing. A reminder. Destruction could become creation. Battle could become art. Maybe conviction wasn't about never doubting—maybe it was about choosing meaning even when surrounded by chaos.
He smiled faintly, eyes lingering on the sculpture. For now, that was enough.
Tomorrow, conviction could wait. Tonight, he had warmth, laughter, and family—borrowed though it was. And that, Adrian decided, was a foundation worth building
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