The city pulsed with tension. On the surface, people returned to their lives after Stoneheart's rampage—but the cracks lingered in more than just the pavement.
Thorne stood atop a library rooftop, watching the city with quiet intensity. His eyes, sharper than any camera, tracked the behavioral aftershocks of yesterday's akuma attack.
Then his phone buzzed.
[Adrien]"Have you seen the news? Stoneheart's back. Multiple ones this time!"
Thorne frowned.
"Ivan again?"
"Not just him. It's like... people touched by him are turning too."
Thorne's gaze sharpened. "He's multiplying."
The screen flashed again, now with a livestream of chaos downtown—Stoneheart clones stomping through traffic, smashing windows, and howling in confusion.
Then, on the rooftops...
She appeared.
Graceful. Fluid. Red and black.
Ladybug landed in front of one of the monstrous Stonehearts, her yo-yo snapping out like a whip as she swung herself between buildings and bodies. She dodged debris, leapt from rooftops, and spun to toss her yo-yo like a grappling hook, redirecting a collapsing crane away from a terrified family.
The crowd cheered.
But Thorne didn't.
He watched in eerie silence.
"It begins," he muttered.
And from the shadows, a very old man murmured in agreement.
The day's chaos had died down. Stoneheart had been purified again. But it was clear: this was no isolated event. This was systemic. Paris was changing.
Zoé leaned against the railing of the small garden terrace in Thorne's villa, sipping from a glass of lemonade.
"That was two days in a row," she said, breaking the silence.
Thorne said nothing.
"Monsters. Screaming. Flying girls. Magical ropes. And no one even acts surprised anymore."
Still, silence.
She turned toward him, eyes narrowing. "Thorne."
He looked up at her.
"You knew this would happen, didn't you?"
He didn't answer directly. "I've seen... patterns. Before. Cities like this don't shake unless something powerful stirs beneath."
She stepped closer. "And you came here exactly when it started?"
He didn't flinch. "Coincidence is just destiny wearing a mask."
Zoé folded her arms. "You're hiding something."
Thorne met her eyes calmly. "Would it matter if I was?"
She hesitated—because the truth was, it wouldn't. She trusted him, even if the truth was behind locked doors.
But that only made her want to know more.
In a silent underground chamber beneath a humble massage parlor, Master Fu lit a candle with trembling hands. Wayzz floated beside him, eyes wide.
"Stoneheart multiplied. A first."
"Yes," Fu murmured. "And yet... Ladybug did well. But she cannot bear this alone."
He turned to a wall—lined with scrolls, diagrams, and Miraculous studies not meant for anyone.
Not even Ladybug.
Fu's hand rested on a wooden drawer, covered in strange etchings.
Inside... wasn't a kwami.
But something older.
Wayzz hesitated. "You can't mean to—"
"I've watched that boy. Thorne. He carries stillness like a storm does silence. He has pain buried... and control stronger than most adults I've seen."
Wayzz's voice dropped. "Then what do you test him with?"
Fu opened a scroll with a shaking breath.
The Miraculous of Balance.Lost for centuries. Forbidden after its wielder went mad.Neither Kwami nor spell—it is conscience given form.It doesn't choose its user.The user must tame it.
And Fu's whisper was absolute.
"If he passes this... we'll know."
In a haze of moonlight and silver fog, Thorne stood on an endless black bridge.
And in front of him... something shimmered into existence.
A figure—neither human nor monster. It was built of light and shadow, constantly shifting. A voice echoed:
"Who are you when the world isn't watching?"
"Will you strike the blade, or carry the weight?"
"Answer me—and be bound by truth."
Thorne didn't flinch.
He stepped forward.
"Ask whatever you want. I didn't come here to run."
And the light surged—judging him, not with violence, but with clarity.
He saw flashes:
A crying child in the rain.
Himself, hands bleeding from fists held too long.
Zoé's trembling shoulders when she first left Chloé's side.
The monster inside him whispering that power without control is chaos.
"Then prove it," the voice said. "Tame me... or be consumed."
Thorne sat up in bed, gasping, sweat down his temple.
His hand burned.
He looked down and found a faint mark—not a Miraculous jewel, but a glowing sigil across the top of his palm.
Not visible under sunlight.
But he could feel it.
Something ancient had answered.
And now... it waited.