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Since their fight on the beach, contact between them had been minimal, and highly mediated. In fact, no conversation between them was private. Not quite. Council meetings had been tense, but the Talokan delegation soon became a regular presence, even drawing the curiosity of the elders and citizens alike. It helped too, that some of the delegates he sent were curious, their minds wired for craft and culture, rather than just combat. But private conversations were few and far in-between. With the conch shell he had given, she would arrange meetings with him on that same beach, but with the Dora Milaje keeping an eye on them from afar. Of course, whenever she felt the necessity, she would cut them off from the comms, and leave her protectors to simply watch, and perhaps, speculate on their conversation. But that only happened twice before, and only because she knew that their conversation would be heated. And if tensions rose, it was better that she handled it, rather than let anyone else intervene.Not that anyone would have to worry, considering how formal things have been, especially on her end.
Shuri never bothered to explain this to him. Because he should know. No. He should understand, more than anyone, as to why not a single one of the Dora Milaje, the council, and her staff, trusted him. Even if they begrudgingly agreed that her decision to spare him was right in the end. In the realm of global politics, Wakanda was, for the most part, isolated. Nations with sympathy for their plight, if there were any, would not have the power to provide them with enough protection, nor would there be anyone in this world that could fully understand why her country still refused to trade vibranium. What T'Challa and Nakia had said of the outside world was true: that paranoia and entitlement knew no bounds, and made for poor policies.Namor understood all of this, and more. No matter what he thought of her bodyguards, or the fact that she always met him in her Black Panther suit, or that she refused to call him by his given name, he would not say a word. She would have him swallow that godly pride, and keep his ideas of sincerity and hospitality all to himself; because even if he could best her in terms of combat experience, there was no besting the olive branch that was her mercy.
Mercy, that he probably did not deserve. But Shuri was not about to dwell on merit. Not when she and her brother had played a part in the rehabilitation of their father's killer.Today would be another one of such meetings. She glanced behind her, and though discreetly dressed, she could see that the Dora Milaje were stationed with the hovercraft a mile away, as usual. But today would be a different kind of meeting. One where she would need prying eyes away from her and the god-king.
"Aneka?"
"Yes, Princess?" The warrior responded. She winced at the title. It was hard not to, considering how she had given up her claim to the throne. For now, M'Baku was king, and she had kept the Black Panther role, and her lab. Still, she was only a royal on paper.
It felt better this way. She needed time.
"Time for what?!" M'Baku had bellowed with impatience back then, only to agree to the arrangement due to the look on her face. It's not like he was bad at ruling anyway. He took a great interest in rebuilding, fortifying defenses, and of course, exchanging technology with Talokan. Or at least, exchange with what the sea people could offer. Not all of underwater technology would have a great deal of use in the surface world, though M'Baku thought it was all fascinating. For his lack of technical knowledge on such matters, at least he had the enthusiasm, to the point that it was almost comical. But he was sensible, much to Shuri's relief.Time needed time, she thought, surprising herself with her philosophical musing."Princess?" Aneka pressed again.
"Sorry. I'm going to cut you off before he arrives," she said apologetically. They were only trying to do their duty after all. And here she was, breaking protocol. Again. In fact, they had given her odd looks this morning for neglecting to wear the Black Panther suit.
A sigh came through on the other end. Shuri could have sworn that Aneka had muttered something, but she held her tongue and waited for the older woman's response instead.
"I should remind you-"
"I know," she sighed. "It's just- It's better if no else can hear." She hated how desperate that sounded. So unlike the multiple things she had become. Leader. Black Panther. A princess gone rogue. Fledgling diplomat. The genius, with enough anger and venom to do what needed to be done. Even her sense of compassion was brought about by that drive. But at that moment, as she stood clutching the shell in her hands, feet in the same sand where she had been at the height of her anger, she could only think about wanting Aneka to say yes. All the control, the stiffness, the formality…it was beginning to tear her apart. And to admit that to herself was an act that required a great deal of mental gymnastics. It was true that she agreed to the escort, and all the other precautions, and that she too, was guarded around him. But it was maddening, to try and dial down her frankness, temper, or whatever was left of her true self. That was something she already did in front of her people everyday. And she was tired. So tired, that she barely slept, and had resorted to hiding the circles beneath her eyes. That, and her newfound addiction to caffeinated drinks.
It was incredibly unhealthy. A stark contrast to the peace that she thought she had found back when she was still in Haiti.
"Fine," Aneka relented, dread creeping into her voice. "But remember, if Okoye was here, this wouldn't be allowed. We'd have to be closer to you. With comms open."
Shuri smiled and gave the hovercraft a wave from where she stood. "I know, that is why I asked her to be out on the field today."
"Oh? What kind of mission?"
"The kind that involves getting American agents off our borders." Shuri could not resist the satisfaction coursing through her at the thought.
Aneka cackled with glee. "I feel sorry for whoever she's about to catch. And I have to say, Princess, your schemes are the best."
"It's not a scheme if the threat is real, Aneka," she replied, her voice soft in a rare moment of fragility.
The mirth in the air faded, lost to the unavoidable truth of Wakanda's precarious position amongst the powerful nations of the world. It was a sobering thing that gnawed at her gut, day and night, over and over, so much so that Shuri would sometimes have nightmares of facing old, grim-faced consulates and leaders staring at her like vultures. Worse, the nightmares would almost always shift to the sound of gunfire, and the screams of Wakanda's soldiers. And even more terrible, were the images of drills and submarines dotting the ocean floor, ready to rob a civilization of everything that it had. She shuddered in recollection."Then I hope it works, or Bast help us all."
Swallowing her nerves away, Shuri nodded. "There's something else," she took a deep breath. "I plan to test one of my gadgets. It will require his involvement. In the water."
"No," the voice on the other end was firm. "That is too much. If you're in the water, then we will have to be closer."
"Please," she pleaded. "He knows better than to try anything. He can't fly all that well, remember? And if anything happens, I can always stun him with my kimoyo beads."
Another exasperated sigh. "So that's why you're wearing that," she said, referring to Shuri's new silver suit. It had been one of the latest designs, far more mobile, and lighter than the ones the Americans and the French had. It took Shuri countless hours of tests in a water tank, but as far as she was concerned, the suit was not just waterproof and heat resistant, it could also withstand pressure. It had a transparent visor that allowed projections from her AI ala Stark tech (but better!), and of course, oxygen. But the real test would have to occur in the ocean. There was no way of knowing just how well it would work. But she was not about to tell Namor that this would be the first field test.
Besides, if she had to go underwater again, it would be with better equipment, and not in some clunky mass of metal. Not that her appearance was of great importance. But maybe she had a vanity in her to rival the logical side. And maybe, she had more spite than anyone in her family. There was no way of counting how much she had entertained the surge of petulant, petty thoughts that would circulate her brain anytime she was obliged to speak to him, or even think about him. Such thoughts took on unique forms, different phrases that would sometimes range from pure obscenities, to fantasies of giving him another set of wounds to nurse. But there were some that plagued her consistently on occasions when her mood was at its lowest.
Look, you flying, amphibian mess of a god. Look how well I'm doing with my technology. Now you will see how nothing can rattle me, even if I'm in your domain.

Look how little of me you have broken.

The last thought clawed its way through her chest, an ache that threatened to undo the composure she had so carefully constructed since the day of her return to Wakanda. She sighed and turned her thoughts to the present. "On my mother's honor," she promised, as she lifted her face to the sky, the midday sun harsh against her cheeks. "I will return safely, Aneka. This is not an impulse. I've thought about this for a while, if you can believe it."
"Ah," the woman said. "Well, if that is the case…then I can't say no, right?"
Shuri laughed. "I guess not. Is that unfair?"
"A little bit." A contemplative pause ensued. "Good luck, Princess."
"Thank you," she replied, the words sounding more like a prayer than the usual response.
There was no way to measure Shuri's gratitude. It had been Aneka that had given her the most patience out of everyone. And Nakia. But the latter was never home enough, and so it was Aneka that remained. The only one, for whatever reason, that did not speak to her with pressure-grinding urgency, or with hawklike protectiveness enough to drive the naturally obstinate to madness.
She will not deny it. She was born obstinate.
There, standing in a silver suit, a waterproof bag strapped on her back, she held the shell to her chest, and wondered to herself: apart from Okoye, tradition, and the imperial powers; who else would she have to defy, really? Because apart from this new equipment, she had other things to show him, and even if a smidge of her anger remained, her curiosity was stronger. Her need to prove him wrong, even greater. Such personal thoughts had no place in a political alliance. But if she can master her thirst for vengeance, and spit on the outside world's delight of two vibranium-powered nations destroying one another-Then she can blow the shell, minimize her beloved AI's presence, mute their conversation to the rest of the world, and just be. For she was tired of putting on airs, and was at a loss on how to act, because it had been too long, too long, since she had felt understood. There was no guarantee that the wall between them would ever be broken. No, she could never be so foolish to even expect this of him, or even herself. But it was better to try. A scientist cannot help but try after all. Quickly she might have caught on with the politics of this world, but she will always be a scientist.
A scientist meeting a god with ankle wings. How absurd.
"Here we are," she whispered. Pressing the end of the shell close to her lips, she blew, letting her breath out for a few seconds, before placing it on the shoreline where the water could reach it. She had no idea how it was on his end, whether it came by way of vibrations in the water, or through another shell that someone else must hold for him.
Minutes ticked by, but Shuri knew better than to fidget and wonder if the shell was a mere plaything, because she already knew what to expect. A minute passed, and she risked a glance over her shoulder to give the Dora Milaje a smile. Another minute, because yes, she often counted, and the waves remained waves, the water stilling only to be disturbed by the tide again. And halfway through the fourth minute, she turned to her right, and there it was. Anyone unprepared would have gaped, but she did not.She only waited.
A hulking, imperious shape of a man, unperturbed by the waves, damp, and unsmiling, wrapped in the green and gold of his people, emerged, and made his way to the shore. He stopped, at least two arms away. It was a distance that she had come to know, close enough to speak, but never enough to be intimate."You're here." It was not a question, but mere acknowledgement. He looked at her. "I was summoned," his hands rose for a brief moment to gesture at himself, then came back down.
He was eyeing her curiously. She looked different, but he was not going to ask the question, because she had told him months before, that every conversation they had alone would have no room for anything other than business. The alliance. Today would be different. A day for a rather indulgent experiment.
She met his gaze. "Two things. First, I will need to test this suit in the water. I shall need your protection, because your ability in the water is unrivaled." His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he still said nothing and waited for her, because her tone was one of command. "Second, and this is important, I need to test these." Taking out the new model of kimoyo beads from her bag, she waved it in front of him. It was green. Like jade. "It is a better way to communicate with Wakanda, and a faster way to control the barriers we have installed around Talokan."
"Was this discussed with the council? My delegates haven't mentioned anything." His eyes betrayed him, but his mind ruled with his words still.
Shuri raised her chin. "No. But in this case, what makes you think I care about the council?"
And for the first time in a long while, his eyes gleamed, and from his mouth came a wolfish smile, the kind to rival the one he had given her in the caves years ago.
"And so the Princess returns at last."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There is something strange about a creature with feline qualities having so close a connection to the sea. But then again, panthers are not known for their fear, and relished crossing wide bodies of water, frequenting swamps with trees and flooded forests whenever needed. Was this the case with her? Shuri was not entirely sure.
But here on the reef, amongst schools of fish, and a world of color brought about by the corals and anemone, she felt sure of every movement, every stroke against the blue-green mass of water that surrounded them. The suit did as well as she thought it would, and the design, she noted with delight, was perfect for diving and exploration. Daring to go even deeper, she swam further below, till her hands touched the sea bed, coming face-to-face with a bountiful array of starfish, and a number of stingrays, who thankfully, decided to avoid her even before she could come close. Testing the legs of the suit for any stiffness in movement, she bent her knees, and straightened them, and tried her best to make the strangest set of positions in the water. It would look, to an outsider looking on, like a terrible impression of a synchronized swimming routine. She paused at the thought. It was indeed so, though she would insist that it was to ensure that the suit's material was not faulty and uncomfortable regardless of movement and position.
Looking up briefly, she saw Namor looking on above her, face unreadable against the floating organisms of salt and water. If there was any indication that he found the situation odd, it was not clear. Save perhaps, for the slight tilt of his head when he realized she had stopped moving. He swam down towards her and upon reaching the sand floor, asked, as if he were no more than one of her lab assistants, "Is something broken?" She shook her head, and gestured to the suit. "No. Nothing's broken."
"Then why did you stop?" He seemed puzzled over her sudden lack of movement, rather than the possible ridiculousness of it. The quality of his voice sounded better than expected, she thought absently, her mind already assessing something new before she could even stop to think of a reply. The audio system for her suit had taken some time, but it projected and analyzed sound levels better than the previous iterations. Sure, there was a muffled quality to it, but there was no way around the limitation imposed by water for her, unless of course, if she had been born a Talokanil.
His voice cut through her musing. "You're staring," he said, a hint of mischief on his face. Swerving as best as she could to avoid a stingray, she glared at him as if he had just said something disgusting. Who was staring at who? How could he find amusement in such conditions? Was he perhaps secretly mocking her for that silly display earlier? But he said nothing else, so the question was better left unsaid.
"I was thinking," she corrected. "And when I think, I often look nowhere and everywhere. Just now, my suit picked up your voice, and I'm trying to gauge the quality. And earlier than that, I was trying to move my body to test ease of movement. It seems that on both fronts, the suit is a success. Mostly." She frowned. "The back could use some adjustment."

"I see," he glanced around, then turned to her again. "What next?"
She gave it some thought. It would be sensible to see and try if she could demonstrate how the new kimoyo beads functioned in relation to the underwater barriers. And if the suit could endure travel at a faster speed. But before she could voice her opinion, he spoke again.
"To Talokan then?" Seeing the surprise on her face, he shrugged. "The suit must be tested against the current and the pressure, no?"
"Yes, that's…right." She had forgotten that he was observant. He may not have surrounded himself with the same kind of technology that she did, but he too, understood the value in building something of importance, and the need for it to succeed. It was important not just because of their fascination with seeing things come to life, but because it was a matter of survival. Yet another aspect of their lives that they had in common. Shuri's mind briefly conjured an image of him on a lab coat, and dismissed it, finding the idea strange. It was difficult to imagine him in such a stressful environment, even if the lab was hers.
"Can your suit travel, or will we need to call on a whale?"The question, had it been posed to her over a year ago, would have made her pause, mostly because of his casual tone. Not many people can speak of whales as if they were their friends. But for the Talokanil, the whales were compatriots from whom they can ask favors. Unlike Wakanda, or even the rest of the surface nations, they did not need to place the creatures on stables or a compound. There is much to learn from their people, Shuri thought, even if their king was one who did not want to reveal their way of life to the world.

She shook her head in response. "No, there's no need."
"Well then," his eyes flickered to the route that only he seemed to know, and back to her, "I hope that I won't have to turn back and drag you the rest of the way if your new toy fails."
She decided not to reply, seeing that he seemed to have accepted her sudden change in demeanor towards him a little too quickly. Never forget what he is, and who he is. Never forget why he is alive.They swam for, what she assumed was the way to the Atlantic. The suit could travel, with enough power to propel her at will, at a speed that rattled her teeth, though she is too proud to admit that it scared her. "Griot?" She called for her AI, her eyes trained on Namor's rapidly disappearing form."Princess?" It responded. She pursed her lips, and braced herself. "See to it that we keep up with him." "Increasing speed to fifty-four knots," the AI intoned. Gritting her teeth, she snarled at the empty expanse of water, knowing that even if she failed to master it today, she will do so eventually.

She survived.
That would be an apt way to summarize the journey to Talokan. The suit had done its job all too well, providing enough resistance by way of the propellers on its back. She felt the current much more this time, but it was only because this suit was better fitted to her body compared to the one she had worn almost two years ago.But just like the first time, she could not resist the beauty of the city. Throngs of swimming folk swam across tunnels, their faces alive and beaming as they went about their day. Privately, Shuri thought that the children were the most charming, for some waved at her, and others even went as far as flocking around her upon their arrival. Unlike their warriors, it seemed as if the ordinary citizens feared her less. She wondered what sort of stories they knew of Wakanda, and what they thought of her visiting more than once. Did they know of her hatred, the anger that had so nearly killed their only king? Their joy, the earnest curiosity she found in every face that greeted her, sent her reeling with a strange dread. I could've doomed them all.
She would have been content to float on her way to the city proper for hours, if not for the fact that he was always close by, watching her intently with something akin to amusement and something else, a kind of conflict that had him alternating between generous host to the cold ally he had become in the past few months. It would not be wise to dwell upon the expressions on his face, knowing that anything beyond his opinion of her ideas would further complicate things. But perhaps it was a trick of the light, an effect from both the light on her suit, and the glow from their vibranium sun, ever so resplendent here in the dark depths of the world.
As promised, she demonstrated how the green kimoyo beads had power over the barriers. Alongside some of the craftsmen he had sent, Shuri and her team had designed a set of heavy markers that the Talokanil had planted outside their vast territory across the Mexican gulf, and their underwater vibranium reserves. There were four markers for Talokan, and another four to surround their vibranium. It was a rather clever design, for the markers were not uniform in appearance. The ones surrounding Talokan for instance, were either made to look like large undersea rocks, or the skulls of sharks.
The barriers were active today, and only accessible through their singing, an ability that Shuri was both fascinated and frightened by. But now her new beads would provide an emergency alternative, she thought with satisfaction. She was still in the middle of finalizing a proposal for the council. Drones. Drones to guard the barriers for Wakanda, and water robots for the Talokan, but both equipped to track, and disable enemy devices and machines lurking on their borders.
"You've kept yourself busy," Namor observed, interrupting her train of thought.
She blinked.They had found their way back to his cave. They rose from the water, with him stepping on the platform of rocks before she could even lift herself. He stood there awhile, watching her as she struggled to find her footing. But she knew, that he knew, that if he offered his hand, it would not be taken. He had tried it before, on one of their previous meetings when she had embarrassed herself by losing her footing on the beach. But she had refused. And he in turn, could do little but scowl and let her stand alone.
She huffed, finally able to stand on a rock. "Trespassers have been…giving us trouble lately."
He frowned. "So I've heard." His eyes roved over her, critical, and oddly enough, seemingly weary at the sight of her so heavily dressed in equipment. "Maybe you should free yourself from that suit? It looks better than that ugly thing we had you put on last time but-"
He certainly did not mince words. If they were friends, she would have laughed. Though the very fact that the possibility of friendship even crossed her mind was disturbing. But did she not try to be more accommodating today? She was trying to find a way to engage with him, was she not? Is that not what a good ally would do? Shrugging her way out of the suit, she let out a sigh of relief as it hissed open, freeing her at last. It fit her well, but in comparison to the Black Panther suit, it was a little suffocating.
The cave had remained the same as she had so hurriedly left it. A quick glance above, and she recognized the glowworms right away, emanating a glow that made the water luminous. There appeared to be no one else about, no attendant, and no warrior. A rather odd detail. Of course, there was no great need for security on his part, considering the obscurity of this location, and the fact that he seemed to freely traverse the oceans of the world on his own."Your people are in the city, I assume?"
He nodded. "When you used the shell, I was alone. Here. One of my warriors called for me, and I went to the agreed location, as you know. But had you not summoned me…I would've spent the next few hours in solitude. There are days when my people know that I am not to be disturbed."
"I wish I could say the same for mine," Shuri could not help but comment, though she regretted saying so. What impression would that leave? That she was complaining, and that her people were disrespectful ingrates? She attempted to make light of her carelessness with a shrug. "I say that, but I can't say they have not been my saving grace for the past few months." He did not appear to be convinced, yet he did not press her for the truth."Saving grace?" He raised an eyebrow, dark eyes holding some kind of joke within them. "And why would the Black Panther be in need of saving?"
She fidgeted, shuffling her feet against the rough surface of the jagged rocks beneath her. His knowing attempt to dodge the true meaning of her own words was not something she could ever get used to. Perhaps, this is what she meant when it had been too long since she felt understood. Though comparisons were useless in matters of emotional response, it was interesting how the people that surrounded her would have had a different approach. Okoye would not let it go, certainly. M'Baku, perhaps, would attempt a joke, but would find a way to retort in the end. But they could not help it, because to them, she was still the only living member of the royal family. Every opinion she had of them was consequential. Except, of course, for the king of Talokan.As if sensing her discomfort, he tipped his head towards his dwelling, the hut where he had once told her the story of how his people came to be.It was an invitation.
After a few seconds of hesitation, she followed him inside, and found herself seated across a table filled with relics from centuries long gone. "I heard from my delegates that you're to leave Wakanda?"
"Yes, in a week, to the United Nations. New York City. It is that time of the year, as you can see."
"Strange name for an organization that has failed to make your nation feel welcome," he said, unable to hide his contempt. She could not disagree. The past year had been difficult, considering the many questions that had been raised on Wakanda's current state of affairs. And somehow, inexperienced as she was, she had managed to keep their secrets. It was imperative that no outsider knew of the arrangement between her and M'Baku, Toussaint's existence, and even more so, of Talokan and Namor.
"We are expecting more questions this year," she said, the dread catching on to her voice. "They will not be kinder. Last year, they were sympathetic, after-after the loss of our queen. But now…"
"Are you still certain that you do not wish to burn it all down?" He interrupted, for it was plain that he hated what the idea of facing more scrutiny implied.
She wanted to smack him for his lack of tact. "If you can claim to not take words lightly, then so can I. This world will not burn, or else we will find that our efforts for the past two years have been wasted. It would be an insult to the people we've lost."
What she failed to say, was their mothers. She was not ready to speak of them, and it seemed like neither was he. He let go of the paintbrush that he had been fiddling with, and sat back, displeased. "Why are you here? When you said you wanted to test your inventions, was that the only reason?"
"Why should there be any other reason? We meet every few months. Our people have worked together. How is today not expected?"

His nostrils flared at her willful display of ignorance. "You have never, not once in the past year, have tried to talk to me the way that you are doing now, you hide behind your panther suit, and your guards-"
"W-why do you think that is?" She stood abruptly, the force of her movement nearly knocking over the table between them. Her voice cracked and bled with the tension, a pain that she had failed to express over trying to be civil with him. "We are allies," she snapped, unable to keep still, her feet pacing back and forth in a frantic manner. "I'm trying to be a good one. It is I, alone, who will have to face those hypocrites in New York! I have to keep all our secrets, and I-"
She paused, trying to take a deep breath, trying to center herself, trying to reach for the ancestral plane in her heart, and as she turned her head, that was when she finally noticed it.
A red wall. Behind a hammock, there was an image of two figures, locked together, and in opposition. A painting. Shuri stood still, understanding and confusion emanating from her all at once. A not-quite human, feet uniquely spiked with what could be wings on the left, and a spotted beast of claws, and fangs decked in black and gold on the right. She heard him stand, but she did not turn around, for fear of what the look on his face might be.
"Is that how you remember it?" She whispered instead. "The battle?"
Namor was silent for a moment. Then he walked forward, his steps sure yet gentle. She froze, hoping that he would not stand anywhere near her. But no, worse, he made his way in front of her, the painting still in sight. "Was it wrong of me to paint it? It would do Talokan, my people, a lot of good, if they knew the truth, that the Black Panther was a warrior who met their god blow for blow. That we have found a strong ally, at last."

How could he not understand that by doing so, he had immortalized her, and had made her into something that she was only beginning to understand? That there was something missing in this painting? "You forget, that it was a spear. You forget that maybe they do not know just how close I was to ending it all. Do they know that?"
He shut his eyes momentarily, as if the memory pained him. Shuri had seen her mother when she prepared to bury the spear upon his throat.What did he see?"Must you remind me?" His voice was low, and for the first time, she understood, no, felt, the pain in his eyes, a glimpse of the boy who loved his mother, and then the boy who had no love.
It was cruel. They had been cruel to one another. But because she was still unable to rid herself of spite, and because he still had not divested himself of hatred, she crossed her arms as if in defense against the mirroring of their broken souls and said, "You forget, that we're not really friends."
"Oh no," he replied with as much venom, "I could never forget."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The Princess returns at last…Oh no, I could never forget.
Namor's voice echoed persistently, even as she found herself thousands of miles away, in a city that had been home to many individuals of the superhuman variety; an unfortunate backdrop of countless battles, and carnage. Whether or not it was fortunate to have been the chosen magnet that pulled hundreds of the world's leaders into one gathering, was highly debatable. Shuri shook her head, and found herself concentrating on the view instead.From the car window, the clusters of gray and red buildings of redbrick, old brownstone, and shiny skyscrapers tangled together beneath the early morning sun. Even at this hour, cars, cabs, and pedestrians were already up and about; frantic, and caught in the mundane dance of life, despite everything. It was not her first time at the Assembly, but she felt the nerves on her stomach nonetheless. How on earth did her brother look so at ease whenever he traveled for these kinds of events?
"You know you got this, right?" A familiar voice came through her kimoyo beads.
She rolled her eyes, annoyed. "I got it, Ross. Stop repeating yourself."The American agent, or more accurately, the former agent, had been granted refuge in Wakanda following his 'betrayal' of the CIA, and more importantly, of keeping crime scene evidence, and assisting her mother without his superior's permission. It was only fair to keep him alive, considering how much his defiance had cost him. Though for a man with over a decade of experience in law enforcement and espionage, he sure worried a lot, she thought, amused.
"Yeah, that-that's-good. It's just, there's a chance she's going to be there, and I'm telling you," he paused. "She won't go easy on Wakanda." Ah, but he was talking about his boss. Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Purple highlights. Suits. And more suits. Questionable history. And even worse, with no regard for life beyond that of her missions, and even then, any life involved was but a tool. Shuri had read every available file on the woman, and had pinned her as among the biggest threats to Wakandan sovereignty. Or at least, she came a close second to the government she worked for.
"I made it through the opening day," she said, confident, or at least, secure with the knowledge that there was not a thing the General Assembly, or even the Security Council could do, without her having prior knowledge of it. "I'm not nearly as eloquent as my mother, but I've thought of everything that I could before coming here. So…"
Ross cleared his throat awkwardly upon hearing the reference to Queen Ramonda. "Well, I wasn't doubting, just so you know." There was a hint of pity in his tone, light, but evident enough to make her uncomfortable. Thankfully, she was spared from a response with the disruptive sound of M'Baku's voice."Oh, he was doubting alright, and he looked like a rain-soaked meerkat doing it," he said cheerfully over the call.
"I do not, look like a meerkat," Ross said with the obvious exasperation of a man who had been teased more than once.
Okoye, who had been fussing with her suit from the front seat, gave Shuri a pointed look through the front view mirror, and with a snort, called out, "He is more like that mouse. From the cartoon?" The former general snapped her fingers, and visibly brightened upon recollection. "Jerry? Yes? A paler Jerry?"
Ross' protests were drowned out as M'Baku roared with laughter, his enjoyment of the former agent's annoyance plain as day, while Shuri fought to contain hers. She felt suddenly, an easing of the tension within her. Perhaps, the grace of the ancestors were not found only in dreams, or upon consumption of the heart-shaped herb. It is possible that they are also found in something as simple as a joke. A conversation.
"Fine," Ross huffed. "I'll never win against any of you, no matter what I do."
"What is there to win?" M'Baku quipped. "We-" he stopped short, the tone of his voice hushed and cautious. "Ah. Looks like the rest of the council are on the way. No doubt our underwater friends will make their way to our shores soon."
The rest of the elders had decided that the council would watch the UN's live broadcast, and convene at the council room, with the exception of Zawavari, Elder of the Mining Tribe, who was elected to act as Shuri's adviser for the General Assembly. Out of courtesy, an invitation had been extended to the Talokanil delegation, though it was unclear whether or not their king would be in attendance. It would be the first time if he did, for he had not done so the past year. At least, Shuri certainly did not expect him to, not after the last argument they had. Still, it was not so terrible, she recalled. He had been polite enough to escort her back to Wakanda after her excursion with the new suit, and though cold in demeanor, accepted the new jade green kimoyo beads without protest.A sudden beep from the kimoyo beads indicated a call from Zawavari. "Alright then," she straightened her posture, and ran a hasty hand across her suit of black and gold, brushing away phantom dust particles. "Time to go. I'll have to cut this call now, M'Baku, Ross."Before either of them could reply, she tapped the beads to receive the elder's call from the car just behind theirs. Back at the hotel, Aneka had taken up her post at the VIP exit, and rode on a vehicle with the rest of the security personnel, while Zawavari and her guards took the third car. Shuri, they agreed, was better off with a separate car with Okoye. It had been a safety measure. Shuri and Okoye were both equipped for a fight, and with Shuri as a potential high-level target, it was best that the elder was separated, should an emergency arise.
"Remind me again, Princess," Zawavari said, with an impatience of a Wakandan citizen unaccustomed to the ways of other nations. "The UN Headquarters does not allow for our hovercraft to land on their grounds, correct?" It was not a serious comment, Shuri knew. But she appreciated the elder's attempt at lighthearted conversation, given the enormity of today's agenda."No," she replied. "A shame that we can't simply fly around and never worry about tardiness."
"Ha!" the elder shook her head. "Their traffic is terrible, I hear. Traffic. Gah. Such a thing is unheard of. These people and their rules..." She heaved a sigh. "Nine days of speeches! And today is only the second. It is fortunate that their agenda concerning us is so early on. But I don't relish facing them all."
Shuri smiled at the rare display of candor. I don't either. As their small convoy made it past another set of traffic lights, she smiled and said, "If they try to embarrass us, I've decided that I would imagine that their heads have turned into coconut husks, to control my anger."The elder sounded a little scandalized over the notion. "A strange technique! Do you do that at home?"
Before she could reply, a giant red blur of a bus came racing from the street ahead, only to crash onto the intersection where their convoy was. She sat up immediately, craning her neck to see the damage.
"What is all that noise?" Zawavari asked, alarmed.
Okoye unbuckled her seatbelt in a flash, turned to their driver sternly and said, "I'll check on it." She looked at Shuri and narrowed her eyes. "Please, stay inside."
Shuri decided not to argue. "Zawavari, please stay in your car. There's an accident up ahead. Okoye will assess the situation." Tapping out of the call quickly, she called for Griot. "Check for casualties." Taking out a little compact from her pocket, she took out the Bug, letting its little wings flutter. It flew from her window, and down the street where the bus was.
"Princess, I now have eyes on the crash. There appears to be no casualties," Griot said. And as the AI paused, she made a noise of disbelief. "Don't be silly, check again and-"Unbuckling her own seatbelt, she stopped, and stared at the sight of Okoye from the distance, standing alongside onlookers, with a confused look on her face.
"Griot," Shuri called. "What's the status of the occupants?"
"There are no occupants. It appears that the vehicle is empty. It has no autodrive system."Her breath hitched. Linking Okoye and Aneka, and Zawavari to the call, she willed her breath to be steady. "It's time to find an alternate route. Now."
Automatically, the cars behind her started to back away, and Okoye, having heard the order, ran back, face tight and frantic at the hint of danger. But it was too late. From one of the buildings to their left came a blast, and a bolt of light came screaming straight down for Zawavari and the Mining Tribe guards."No!" Shuri screamed.She tore her car door open on its hinges, and in a flash, her kimoyo beads emitted a purple glow, washing over her hands, shoulders, and every inch of her body. Midair, as if like a second skin, the Black Panther came to life in flashes of black, silver and gold. Taking advantage of her speed, she leaped as far as she could, towards the path of the blast, and within seconds, felt a scalding heat of energy on her left arm. The suit held on, taking in every bit of the force from the blast, while all Shuri could do was cling to the window where it would have dealt its fatal blow.
She willed her eyes open despite the pain, and saw Zawavari on the other side of the glass, mouth open, and trembling. "Get her out of here!" she yelled at the Mining Tribe guards. Recovering quickly from their shock, they managed to pull the elder out through the other door. "A-Aneka," she stammered helpless against the wave of hot, recurring pain taking over her. "Take the elder, you have to make it to the Assembly Hall." From the corner of her eye, she could see that the warrior was conflicted, but seeing Shuri's determination, steeled herself and obeyed what was clearly, an order.
Okoye had run up to her, and stared at the white sparks of energy that were slowly, but painfully fading from view. "What-"
"I'll be fine," she said through gritted teeth.
"But-"
"Okoye," she repeated, for there was no doubt as to her goal. "We're catching up to the source of the blast. Griot will help us track. We're going to find the shooter."
The warrior's eyes had taken on a look of horror. "But what will we do if we find this shooter?"
Shuri smiled, and the heat that she felt from within was not just from the blast, but something frighteningly familiar. It was her fury; bright, true, and rekindled. "We're going to drag them to the General Assembly with us."

They were late, and terribly so.
The Chief of Protocol stood at the entryway, a stern woman in her forties, all sharp angles and practicality in the confines of an all-gray suit. She stared at the Wakandan delegation with equal parts irritation, and terror; the sight of all them, ragged and war-like with their formal garb rumpled, and among them, Shuri, gleaming in her Black Panther suit, clearly unfit to enter.
"Princess Shuri," the woman said, the tunneled entrance to the General Assembly Hall behind her.
"We've come for the Assembly," Shuri said imperiously. Rules? Time? Such things had their uses, but she was not about to cower, not when one of them had come so close to death.
The officer, and the rest of the surrounding personnel, stared at them all in disbelief. "But the Assembly has started. You are not in the proper dress code-"
"I was in the proper dress code," she interrupted. "Until this man," Shuri pointed to her right, at the shooter bound and gagged, with a member of the Dora Milaje keeping him tied. "Attempted an attack on our delegation, en route to this venue."
"Our Princess," Okoye added bitingly, "is determined to fulfill her duty to both her people, and the Assembly. By coming to this city, she has done her best to comply with your requirements. All for diplomacy. Cooperation. And she is what? Rewarded with an assassination?"
The Chief of Protocol paled at the words, and looked at Shuri, torn and beseeching. "I can assure you, we do not mean to make light of your experience. It is only that the live broadcast has started, and that they've decided that your speech will be skipped, out of consideration for all the delegations who have come on time."
"The agenda for this morning concerns Wakanda," she looked at the woman again, eye-to-eye and unflinching with conviction. "We are not easily deterred by foolish attempts at our lives. If you wish to do your duty, then, escort me. Escort us all inside, and we will be sure to make it all worth the trouble. And even if you will not," she took a deep breath and set her jaw firmly. "We are not above coercion."
The Chief's eyes widened, and the rest of the personnel parted for them.
They walked inside, the Chief of Protocol leading them. The hall had a grandness to it, circular and carpeted, filled to the brim with leaders and reporters from across the world. But all Shuri could think about was her people. The muffled breaths of the apprehended assassin behind her. And of course, Talokan, and the eyes of their god-king burning with a rage and sorrow to match her own. She will seek accountability. She will demand it, here, and let them know that if they did not know who she really was, they would know now.
She knew that at this moment, it should be her speech. As scheduled. But as the murmurs in the crowd grew louder and louder, and as the cameras flashed brighter, it dawned upon her that they had all taken note of her absence and had chosen to move quickly to the next State representative. That will not do. The Secretary-General's face froze at the sight of her, but could only stare as she and the rest of the Wakandan delegation where shown to their seats on the main floor, while Aneka and the rest of their security took their place on the VIP seats above the hall.
Shuri walked to the podium before anyone else could take away her scheduled slot. "I do believe that I am supposed to deliver a speech now."
The President of the Assembly, a representative from Iran, scowled. "You failed to attend the opening remarks, Princess." His eyes stared at her Black Panther suit, and as if in realization of what it meant, suddenly stopped short of the criticism he was about to give.
She pointed to the man, standing in the empty space between the floor seat aisles and the podium. "I would have not disrupted this session, if not for this man, who attempted to kill a member of my delegation, a leader from one of our tribes." Gasps echoed around the room, but Shuri knew better than to believe that all of it was genuine. "I am not a fool. My people have taught me to be vigilant, and I did not come here unprepared, so easily fazed by the prospect of death. It would be within the interest of this Assembly to know that the tribe leader, with me, happens to be in-charge of the storage and care of our vibranium." She let that bit of information sink in, and she heard with her heightened senses, the furious clicks of fingers on keyboards, and the frantic snap of cameras. The headlines would be unimaginable.
"I will skip straight to the point, for I am not the orator that my mother was," her voice carried on sharply. "There have been many attempts to destabilize my nation. Many skirmishes in our borders, all because we refused to give anyone a smidge of our vibranium. And there will be more attempts." Shuri's eyes settled onto the Western European delegations, before turning her gaze elsewhere. "This assassination attempt, is one of them." Cameras flashed, and gazes dropped in discomfort. "Whoever hired this killer, should be in this very room. If not, then I can expect that the government they represent is."
The room erupted at the accusation. And all the while the President of the Assembly had to call for order, clearly displeased by the chaos of it all, and most especially, with Shuri. "Princess Shuri," he said, struggling to be heard over the barrage of voices. "This is highly inappropriate. The Assembly cannot be turned into a wet market every time you speak."
"What is more inappropriate?" She fired back. "My defiance of etiquette, or that even on my way to a diplomatic event, our people must fight for their lives?" Shuri looked over the room, for it had fallen silent in response to the sudden bout of venomous anger in her voice."Some of you may have seen me, and you saw a young woman cloaked in grief." With trembling fingers, she crossed her arms over her chest, as was the way of Wakanda. "You have underestimated me, and my country. But that will end today." Her eyes roved across the hall, where she found the American delegation looking at her, tight-lipped and disappointed, and as expected, Valentina de Fontaine was among them."Our King is gone. The Queen is gone. But not me," she uncrossed her arms. "Not the Black Panther."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shuri was no stranger to this game.
For all her arguments with her parents on etiquette, and decorum, she knew how to sit still when needed. At age ten, she was scolded for arguing with a Wakandan engineer who made critical comments about one of her earlier inventions. The next day, the Queen Mother made her sit with said engineer in a meeting, and of course, she had learned to not say a word unless necessary. Many times she held the pain of stomach cramps in the middle of festivals, but kept her smile wider than the damn Golden River.
She knew the great cost of duty, and was aware of the possible ramifications of that to her psyche.Still, she held on, because there was not enough time to run from it. It was just as M'Baku had said. The world has taken too much from you, for you to be considered a child. Well, if she was not a child then, she was certainly not a child now. At twenty-five years, it certainly felt like she had been around for far longer.
The day of her accusatory speech, lunch had been impossible, not when Okoye had called for medics to see to her injured arm. And not when the UN's Secretary-General had immediately requested a private appointment in the afternoon. It was Zawavari and Aneka who remained in the Hall for the afternoon session, while she was left with questions, and explanations for, and from UN officers and staff. That evening, two detectives, and the Chief of the New York Police Department had asked to see her and the entire Wakandan delegation at the hotel. What resulted was a recorded statement from her, Zawavari, and the entourage that had been there to witness the attack. Calls and emails from media companies soon followed, much to Okoye and the staff's chagrin, for the business of repeating the same response to the same requests over and over was bound to tire even the most media savvy amongst them. In the end, the entire delegation ended up with dinner at around 11 p.m., and Aneka, who was never one to complain, looked at Shuri with despair and said, "No wonder Ayo hates these sorts of things."
"She's not alone in that," Okoye replied with a scoff, clearly tired herself, though she would not admit it.
The morning after that, officers from the FBI had made the trip, an impressive gesture of showmanship from a country that would want to convince Shuri and her people that indeed, they took the case seriously. It was evident, from the faces of the officers that spoke to her, that they were probably aware of her antics with Okoye and Riri Williams, and the high-speed chase that had ensued two years ago. But they stuck to their script, and kept their focus on the attempted assassination, and would probably do so till higher-ups decided that they shift gears. The to-do list grew as the week went on. A solo press conference that same afternoon. Forums to attend the next two days. Another check-up for her arm. A call of assurance to a panicked council, and an angry M'Baku. A letter of apology to the UN's Chief of Protocol. Courtesy calls from representatives of neighboring countries. It felt like a terrible whirlwind of a dream, one where you are given no time to think, much less breathe at all.It was on the evening of the eighth day of the General Assembly, that at last, she found some time to sit in the quiet stillness of her suite, undisturbed and clad in nothing but a bathrobe, her hair unbraided, and free from adornments at long last. "Princess?" Okoye knocked on the door, before daring to push the bedroom door open. Sitting up from her curled up position on the bed, she stood at attention.
The warrior stood at the doorway, clearly displeased. In fact, her mouth was curled in that specific way that only Okoye could do, a look of utter distaste and dread that extended all the way to her eyes. Shuri frowned. That was never a good thing, was it? "Yes? What's the matter?"
"Someone from the CIA is requesting an audience. We were going to turn them away, but-"
"Send them in. I'll change into something decent. Have the sitting room cleared and ready."
Okoye stared at her, aghast. "But it's late. Surely we can afford to reschedule? Besides," her voice lowered by a considerable decibel, "I haven't told you who it is yet."
Shuri was already across the room, flipping through a selection of spare dresses that she had hung on the closet. Fishing out one of her more austere-looking black and silver outfits with one hand, and a pair of gleaming pumps with the other, she turned to Okoye decisively. "I think I know who it is. Clearly, they've got something to say, if they're coming here at this hour. Also, it would be wise to at least play along for a bit longer, just until we get back home."
With a sigh, the older woman relented, "Fine. Turn the comm system on, and let us know when you're ready." She left the room. Deliberately, Shuri changed at a snail's pace, taking the time to pat her now longer hair in place, and to apply just a touch of makeup. She grinned at herself in the vanity mirror. Of course, she could not hide the fatigue in her eyes, doing so would not be to her advantage. The dress she had chosen exposed her shoulders, leaving her bandaged left arm visible, a choice that was also not without purpose. Putting on her heels at last, she whispered, "Okoye, I'll be out in seconds."
"Copy that, Princess."
She stepped outside, her heels clicking on Georgian tiles and through a short corridor leading to one of the sitting rooms in the suite.And sure enough, there sat Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sipping tea with an ease to rival a lady of leisure on vacation. Shuri quickly took note of the black leather pants, the mauve blazer that covered a blouse of the same shade, and the telltale purple highlights that framed a heart-shaped face that would have been at home at some quirky, corporate event. This woman did not frame herself in the neutral, forgettable palette of her colleagues. In fact, it might be said that she was the type to have no qualms about standing out at all.
"Ah, Princess," she chirped, putting down her teacup, and standing by way of greeting. "Pardon my late-night intrusion." She tried to curtsy, but Shuri shook her head.
"Please, sit. Curtsies are not necessary. Not from where I come from." The woman smiled, only sitting back down when Shuri finally took the opposite seat from hers. Valentina did not appear to have any escort, though it would be foolish to assume that she had no associate waiting with the Dora Milaje elsewhere in the suite.
"So," Shuri said, carefully positioning her left elbow away from the armrest. "How can I help you, Director de Fontaine?"
At the mere mention of her title, Valentina's eyes flashed, pleased that the princess was the type to do her research. But a quick glance at the bandages and something else lurked in her gaze, a false type of pity. Or was it, perhaps, disappointment? "Ah, so you do know who I am. I suppose there's no need for introductions then. Great!" She clasped her hands together. "It's always a pleasure to actually talk to people who know their stuff. Saves a lot of time, you know?"
"I understand what you mean, Director. Though it certainly doesn't explain why some people would insist on a late-night visit."
"Oh," Valentina tucked a purple strand of hair before speaking. "Wow, you people really are the classy type, aren't you? I have to admit, it's a slight change from the General Assembly fiasco, but it's cool." The woman smirked. "Ross never said just how much of a firebrand you are."
At the mere mention of the agent's name, Shuri felt her pulse spike. Was she here to demand, or negotiate for his life? "I can't imagine why he would, Director. It was never his business to know the full extent of my personality," she said with a shrug.
"Interesting how he definitely was all about Wakanda's business with that incident by the bridge. That 'crash?' I'm sure you remember that, Princess."
"How can I forget?" She sighed, careful as to not let her temper flare. After all, it was still the US government's fault that Riri had anything to do with the situation in the first place. "I personally set out to recruit a young girl of great intellect, who mind you, was involved in one of our outreach programs, and yet, we are beset with armed men telling us to 'surrender'. With your law enforcement having such a dubious reputation, there was no way for us but to evade capture."
Valentina ignored the pointed comment about the police, and smiled. Again, with that strange smile. "But that's not all, is it? Why would you want some plucky genius from America, when you have hundreds of others to choose from? Possibly in your own country?"
"Her designs have been used both for good and for ill. We are interested in making sure that more of the former happens." Shuri replied, the white lie rolling off her tongue smoothly. For lies are better off, when told from a place of truth.
"Ah," the older woman's eyebrows raised. "So you've decided that you, and your country would be, what? The most qualified to handle such designs? That you would play the worldwide guardian angel that could do no wrong?" A tinge of malice, a cynical sort of color had crept upon her voice. Truly, she believed in no other way but hers, and that of the organization she worked for. But as to which one would hold the ultimate power, that is yet to be determined. There was a strength to this woman, Shuri thought, but it was not the kind that lifted your insides. Instead, she felt that in a hypothetical race to climb a mountain, this purple-haired lady would rush to the peak and send an avalanche down if everyone else contested her ascent.
"It is not about 'playing,' Director," Shuri's eyes had turned to the open window, effectively taking on a look of wistfulness. "It is about duty, and the need to fulfill a promise."
"Duty? Promise? Is that some kind of reference to tradition?" The question appeared to be posed with curiosity.
"In a way," Shuri's gaze snapped back to Valentina. "We value family, my people. And there is none left of mine." Another lie, but a necessary one. "For centuries, we've had to hide. But my brother broke away from tradition, and decided that we would try to do what we can for the descendants of the tribes who are lost. And he was right." She sighed. "That is our vision now. And with him and the Queen Mother gone, that is all I can do. Angry as I am that one of our own nearly died at the Assembly Hall…The last thing I want is further complications. I was angry, yes, but even more tired." She gestured to her left arm for emphasis. "This is nothing, really. But being here, in this city, I'm tired. I tire of this world."
Something in the older woman's face indicated disappointment. Perhaps, she did not like Shuri's display of sentimentality. "Not tired enough to kill an entire boat filled with the CIA, and the US military?" She asked, referring to the incident at the Atlantic, two years ago.
"Ah, well." Shuri made a little noise of sympathy. "That is the tragedy of you, and your people isn't it? You will frame these things like some heroic story, and claim that those people in the boat were protecting their country, when in fact they were protecting the interests of a chosen few." Now that was not a lie. But it served the purpose of annoying someone with little regard for morals."Oh," Valentina rolled her eyes. "Spare me the lecture. What about your interests? You think you've got the better claim to vibranium?"
"And you think that you do?"
They sat there for a few seconds, unable to say a word, each woman trying to read the other. Finally, Valentina shrugged. "I thought you'd be more interesting, Princess. Seems like you're just repeating sound bites from your ancestors."
Shuri fought every urge to stand and strangle her right there and then. Such a woman had no right to mention her ancestors in such a way. Still, she must show her weariness, show the young woman burdened by a lonely rule, and the wishes of people long gone. "Not sound bites, Director. Values."

"Tell me, do you not find it strange that Wakanda has faced a purple alien, and now a lady with purple dye on her hair is giving us trouble?" M'Baku asked over their call.
It was midnight, and Valentina was long gone. Still, Shuri could not sleep, and found little solace in her own thoughts. It should be morning in Wakanda at this time, and M'Baku, with impeccable timing, had decided to engage in a projection call via their kimoyo beads. He had that tendency, especially when he decided that he was bored out of his wits.
"A coincidence, but not a good one," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Whatever the case, we've got another problem on our hands," he said with vigor. "That is not to say, of course, that the week was that terrible."
Shuri blinked back at him in disbelief. "You talk like that now, but if you were in my place, you will see." Not so terrible? It had been all kinds of awful. Her feet ached, so much so that she felt as if heels had suddenly become a travesty. And her cheeks had hurt too, not because she would have to smile so much, but because she found that fixing the face and the body to a certain expression; mainly that of neutrality, and constant ease, was tiring to hold for nine days straight. But thank Bast it will end by tomorrow.
"Which is why I am not in your place," M'Baku countered. "If I were to represent as Head of State or whatever nonsense they call it, then the elders will die early due to embarrassment, and I would die too, because you would have killed me in some way. Right?"
She laughed at the idea. "Sounds about right."
"We are in agreement over that at least." He paused for a moment, lost in his own thoughts then suddenly as if in recollection of something, slapped his own thigh.
"Still, you've got to admit, the General Assembly would have been quite a bore. You on the other hand, you were very entertaining. Gave the elders a near heart attack, and such. You should be proud of yourself."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, very proud. Though I won't lie to you, there was a part of me that enjoyed it."
"See? Now there are more of us who understand such things." He chuckled. "I'd say it would be, you and me, and that fishman of yours."
"Stop- Wait." She paused, the realization hitting her. She had forgotten, had neglected to ask for the Talokanil delegation. Ancestors help her, she had completely forgotten. "You mean, he was there? He saw the broadcast?"
"Indeed he has. This fishman of yours is interesting. Frightens me a bit, but interesting nonetheless."
"He is not," she spat. "He is not my fishman. And stop calling him that. He has a name."
"Only I, have ever referred to him as Kukulkan, you know," M'Baku prattled on cheerfully as if Shuri was not frowning at all. As if calling him Kukulkan was like a simple step over a fallen leaf. "Ah, but only if you had been there to hear it!"
"Hear what?"
"I didn't have the brain at the moment to ask this magic bracelet of yours to record it,-
"It's not magic-"
"-Because he spoke so favorably of you, that not even the elders could complain anymore," he finished. Shuri sat up from her slouched position on the bed. "What are you talking about? Spoke favorably?" She gasped. "Was there an argument? Please tell me there wasn't."
"Well," he cleared his throat. "We were watching the broadcast in the council room, at our lovely citadel. Our fish friends were with us, and so was their king. A shocking appearance, but the more, the merrier, is that not the phrase? Yes? Anyhow. Of course, we were all very worried when the camera indicated that you were not yet in your place at the Assembly. That hall was not very impressive-
"Get to the point, M'Baku."
"Yes, I'm getting to it! So we request an update from Griot, and lo, and behold, we were treated to footage both from the news and from your AI, of you taking that blast, and chasing after that assassin. A splendid job. Your fighting form is still rusty, by the way."
"M'Baku, I do not want to repeat myself." She glared at him.
"Ah, but the elders began to fret. They thought it was foolish of you to do so, chasing that assassin down and such. But oh, that Flying Fishman god-king spoke, and believe me when I say that he has barely uttered a syllable since he arrived. Indeed he has not. But after hearing them call you willful and reckless, he opens his mouth and says: 'She is brave'. Of course, everyone agrees. But everyone says they fear how your possible failure to appear in the Assembly would reflect poorly on not just you, but Wakanda. And do you want to know what he said?"
Shuri was not sure. So she stared at M'Baku a little wide-eyed, and nodded her head.
"I can almost hear the words by the syllable. What was it? 'Not one of those leaders in that Assembly can say that they have taken a bullet so willingly for their people. And not one would have survived to chase after the shooter. The Black Panther lives to protect, and for that you must show gratitude.' "
"H-how do you remember it so well? And aren't you exaggerating things?" she whispered, feeling rather faint, the blood in her veins now alive with something that she did not yet understand.
M'Baku looked at her strangely. "You underestimate my memory, Princess. I did not become a leader without it. And as for exaggeration…Well!" He laughed. "There was hardly any need for me to do so. He said it all by himself."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the quiet stillness of her private residence in the bush, Shuri fought every urge to sit outdoors. Outdoors, where she would have been able to hear the animals treading on river water. She would rather not think of water now. Not in her current mood.
It had been a strange decision, moving to a place that reminded her of her mother. But living in The Citadel had not been appealing either. The palace was too big, too grand, and for all its convenient facilities that would have been ideal for someone as naturally practical as the leader of the Wakandan Design Group, she had refused every invitation to stay. There was nothing in that palace that had much of her heart in it. Much of the initial pestering to make use of The Citadel's living quarters had come from M'Baku and some of the elders, but even they could not argue against the absurdity. She was not their actual ruler. And it did not feel right to take advantage of her not-quite royal, but still precarious position as princess.
Instead, she opted for a location with no surveillance, no neighbors. Just her, a house designed to her specifications, and the unhealthy habits that no else would bear witness to, except for the sand dunes, and the animals of the bush that would not have enough cognition to judge. She sat by her kitchen table, taking comfort in the gray and white aesthetic, and the occasional pops of color from the graffiti on the walls that she had painted all on her own. Despite their curiosity, no one else had actually been inside her new home. Okoye and Aneka, who accompanied her most of the time despite not being officially part of the Dora Milaje, had not been anywhere near the place. Shuri had in fact, been spending most of her time with everyone at the lab, the Dora Milaje headquarters, the occasional village school that needed a special teacher, and the council room whenever her expertise in technology was needed. Other than that, she kept to herself.
Her little house was her own, and she liked it that way. Of course, given her experiences over the past two years, the doors of the house only opened at the sound of her voice. Every device that she kept, only responded to her kimoyo beads. And no one else. M'Baku at some point, had joked that it was like she was everywhere, but nowhere. "The Black Panther's footprints are all over Wakanda, but we never see her." Well, it could not be helped. Shuri sighed at the memory, and took one final sip of the coffee that she had brewed. It was the third cup of the day. Mere days since her return from New York, and she had not given herself that much time to recuperate from injury. Okoye would scold her for even going beyond two cups, but really, how else would she muster the enthusiasm each day?
There were drone prototypes to review, presentation drafts to refine, and more of the Talokanil-inspired kimoyo beads to reproduce. There would always be more to do. Especially now, with all that had happened at New York, and after meeting members from other delegations, with Valentina being the worst of them all. The UN's Security Council had a special session at some point shortly after her nine-day stay, but of course, no special invitation had been extended to her.
Backstabbing fools.
Wakanda, like many other nations, were not granted permanent membership to the said council, and like most, would have to contend with the rotating temporary membership system every few years. Or, if they were lucky, a few exceptions could be made in times of emergency. But she would not be able to cast a vote on a single issue anyway, since Wakanda was not in contention for membership this year.
The unexplained disappearance of the joint military and CIA mission to uncover vibranium in the Atlantic was the one, dark cloud that Wakanda would not be able to shake. Everett Ross, now under their wing, would be the only outsider to know the truth. They had nothing to do with it. But what good would the words of a branded traitor do? And as far as the rest of the world was concerned, no one else had control over vibranium. Until Talokan. Dread filled her stomach. Ross had mentioned that Valentina overheard the conversation he had with her mother since his retrieval of the kimoyo beads from the crime scene. That could only mean that the CIA are now aware of a third party. But they did not have a name, and they had no images or footage. Not yet.The Talokanil were vigilant in guarding their borders against submarines, and she had been quick enough to provide their delegation with images of every model of underwater robots that the US military had in their arsenal. The purchase of weaponry by every powerful nation in the world was littered with discrete deals that involved parties from the black market, but not secretive enough for Shuri. It was easy enough, tracking down which of the weapon manufacturers were commonly called for a contract renewal.
She shook her head, and stood, taking her cup to the sink. Fools, all of them. They had no idea, no inkling of what lay beneath the reefs and what could be found beyond the trenches that they claim to have reached with their technology. It was for the betterment of the world, if they did not. The idea of Talokan's discovery frightened her, almost as much as she feared imperial intervention in Wakanda. Her thoughts, despite every effort to bury the image, turned to Namor's face, eyes deeply set and burning against the light of his little hut in the caves. She was past her fear of him, but she dreaded what he might do, should the surface world force their way past the underwater barriers. All that festering resentment, that ruthless streak, it had not gone away. Though there was something else now, a slight change that she could not fathom.

The Black Panther lives to protect, and for that you must show gratitude.

Those were his words, if M'Baku is to be believed. His open defense of her behavior at the General Assembly added to the confusion, a wrinkle in what she thought would be a mere alliance of exchange and protection. On one hand, he was expressing agreement of her right to confront the Assembly with what they would so conveniently brush to the side. But beneath that? What? Did he, by any chance, admire her? Respect her? He might have yielded to her once before. But that was something he had to do, because his people came first before his pride. He had yielded, when N'Jadaka had not. He retracted, and retreated with as much dignity as he could, something that N'Jadaka could not do for her brother. That at least, she understood. But that mural on the wall, of them both, locked in combat, that made little sense. Why keep such an unabashed display of defeat? Humility may be a prized virtue, but he was a god, and gods were usually better off writing their shortcomings on some tablet or scroll as a footnote. Paintings, she had thought, were timeless, usually glorious.
Maybe he's just a battle freak. A simple explanation. Straightforward, but it still had some unexplainable sentiment behind it. She scowled, scrubbing her cup fervently. Equations and theories made for better subjects because the answers were tangible. But people? Feelings? Too wild, and messy. There was a reason why she stretched herself thin by taking on multiple projects, but never enough to engage with others for far too long. It annoyed her deeply to think that connecting with one person despite their complexity, would also unravel a tangled web within her. And what was she to do when the person in question was a god-king whose eyes were earnest, and whose temper was unpredictable? She dare not answer.
Leaving her now washed coffee cup to dry, Shuri thought of what to do next. The digital clock on the wall indicated that it was now 11:30 p.m. She could obsessively read through another set of lab reports, though it would be the second time she has read them for that evening. Or try to sleep before midnight just once. But sleep was torture too, as it was often restless, plagued by dreams that she did not normally remember. It was either that, or she would constantly wake at certain intervals, never able to rest undisturbed. She sighed. Both then. Perhaps reading till her eyes gave up would do the trick.She made her way to the bedroom, the walls coated in gray, with blots of purple paint and decor. It was not by any means, the kind of room that her family would normally design, but she liked the combination of minimal furnishings, and chaos. With a big plop, she stretched out on the bed, her kimoyo beads flashing a projection of her files ready for a second round of perusal.

She does not remember the time, or the very instance her eyes had closed, or whether or not the kimoyo beads had been taken off before then. It was only that she had entered that strange, dark, void, that vague awareness of drifting off, and the body losing all grip before it fell into slumber. It was in this state that Shuri, strangely, felt like she had succeeded at being able to sleep at long last.
But it shifted, and her stomach drops. Another dream, or nightmare, to be forgotten. Possibly lost by tomorrow morning. She fought against it, straining her body to clear the brain of its fatigue.
Then a glow, midnight blue and purple washed over her like a wave. Water. She panicked, suddenly aware of her arms and legs, and the floating sensation of being submerged somewhere dark, and familiar. She looked down, and realized that she was clothed in her silver water suit, the same one she had tested not too long ago, in Talokan.
Kicking her feet, she reached upwards, swimming towards the surface. Breaking through she found herself, stepping onto a platform, maroon, and oddly soft. The council room. She let out a gasp, looking about, confused. The throne stood to her left, but instead of being the lone chair, the seats of the elders were there too. Though they were empty.Was this the ancestral plane? Why was she here?
She walked cautiously to the throne, and upon making her way around it, found a smug, familiar face.
"N'Jadaka," she whispered, horrified to find him there, once again.
"My little cousin returns," he drawled in reply, as his legs dangled freely beneath the throne. He wore the same white garb from their first encounter, and his hair remained just as long and loose. But he made no move to stand, unlike the first time.
"What are you doing here?" Her question came out harsh, accusatory even. Almost as if she could not comprehend how the likes of him could ever make a reappearance.
He snickered. "No. What are you doing here?"
Shuri stood there feeling rather stupid, because she had no answer. She had not thought of the ancestral plane in a long time. Nor was she like her older brother, whose spiritual leanings gave him more of a way to connect with the ancestors. But she was the opposite.
"I was only trying to sleep," she said crossly, unsure why she was even bothering to admit something so mundane to the man who once tried to kill her family.
The man placed a thoughtful hand on his chin, and said nothing, before another knowing smirk appeared on his face. "So you went the noble route." He shook his head. "And here I thought that you'd be nothing like your brother."
"You wanted me to be like you, then, cousin?"
N'Jadaka frowned. "Not that I wanted it. But you actually had it in you to burn all that shit to the ground. And don't you deny it, because it's a fact. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been me that you saw back then, and it sure as hell wouldn't be me right now."
"But I didn't," she said, stepping towards him in defiance. "I chose differently."
"Well isn't that great," he replied. "Now you're working with the person who wronged you, while the other people who wronged your father and brother are somewhere out there, on the loose. That's some real genius move right there."
"Don't you dare," she spat. "Don't you question my decisions, when everything I did was for the greater good."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He waved her off impatiently. "Kinda sucks for you though. You're still burdened by the same old crap. You never gave a damn about tradition, which is why you're not the queen. But you're trying to please everybody, and you're looking over your shoulder because your mom, or your brother, or your dad could be there, and that's enough to give you some energy while you squeeze your brain for a way to protect two nations." He let out a bitter laugh. "Too bad that instead of your family, you're stuck with me."
"Stop," she said, not wanting to hear anymore. He only smiled back, even here, he paid no heed to her distress. Flames began to appear around the walls of the room, bright orange-red that lit cauldrons, and dry corners. And she stared at him, all the while feeling the familiar burn of her own temper.
"I don't need your pity." And as she said those words, the room shook, and another wave came crashing onto the glass windows, coming straight for the throne and the empty chairs.
There was no time to scream as the water consumed him, and as she fought over the waves of water, she realized that despite the sheer force of it, she was neither cold nor wet. The throne room faded into darkness, and she was swept by a current, strong
and insistent, carrying her to a speck of light. Wading closer, it had not been just any speck, but was now a shoreline. A beach. She swam as fast as she could, clumsily crawling her way onto wet sand at last. She scrambled up to a standing position, and looked around. To her north, was a plain of tall grass, and eucalyptus trees, picturesque and grand against a purple, starry sky. It looked as if it were the actual ancestral plane plucked from the stories of her childhood. But then she looked back, and there in the south, was a vast ocean of blue-green water, and a familiar tree rising from the watery depths. It stood at seventy meters, branches extending unfathomably high to the cosmos above, and its thick roots, she could tell, reached deep down where humans cannot go.
Here, there was no one. No person, no other sign of life. N'Jadaka was nowhere to be found, though she had a strange feeling that this place was not one where he should be. This was a place no one else could ever be.Except her.Shuri was alone, but the air was cool, pleasant and sweet, lifting her spirits, easing the fatigue in her body. She stood there, eyes wide, taking in this strange little world that was neither just land and sea. It was, she realized, a place where earth and water stood side-by-side, not in opposition, but in close proximity, glowing with undisturbed growth and beauty.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Not sound bites, Director. Values."

Valentina's eyes darkened, and she looked as if she knew a thousand things that Shuri did not. "It's admirable how you stick to your guns, Princess. I hope it saves you, just as it did your family."

"Princess?"
Shuri blinked the remnants of Valentina's thinly-veiled threats away, and forced a look of nonchalance. Ross sat meters away from her, trying not to look like a lost animal in the blinking lights, and ordered chaos in her lab. Over a year in Wakanda, and there was still something about Shuri's lab that seemed to render him out of place. Not that he ever looked like he fit in anyway. They had spent most of the afternoon going over her conversation with Valentina, and reviewing some of the national security policies that permanent members of the UN Security Council employed, as well as other States that may be called to lend assistance at a time of conflict.
"What?" She asked, trying not to ruminate on her own fears. It was not that she physically feared Director de Fontaine. But it was difficult, hiding her apprehension towards people who could hold so much power, so much control over billions of lives. It was disturbing to think that such a woman not only had the ear of a Head of State, but possibly of other leaders, looking to trade information and secrets in exchange for some kind of advantage that the American government could offer. Bast help her, but all this knowledge and scheming was starting to get on her nerves. That, and her strange dreams about the ancestral plane. But that was not something that anyone should know about.
Ross looked at her, troubled. "She didn't say anything else, right?"
"If it flatters you in any way, I think she's still angry that we got you out? It was subtle, but I could sense it."
He snorted. "Yeah, I bet. But she's probably mad that Okoye found me before any interrogation could take place."
It was her turn to look concerned. The CIA did not have the best reputation when it came to extracting information from people they considered an 'information goldmine.' "Would they have- tortured you? Threatened your relatives and friends?"
"Ah," he looked away, uncomfortable. "I'm actually not sure. If a higher-up wanted it, maybe she could authorize something to that…effect. But on her own? I don't know. And to be honest, I'm not sure if I wanna know."
"Why do I have a feeling that you know her more than I think you do?"
Ross took a deep breath, his small, round eyes held a grim look, as if he was about to divulge something that hurt. "We were…uh, married-"
"You must be joking." Shuri stood, her chair and coffee cup all but abandoned at the sudden admission.
"Once! I was going to say once, okay? It was one time! And it probably shouldn't have been a thing! It was- What are you looking at me like that for?"
She had leaned against her worktable, arms crossed with a frown on her face. "First of all, I am judging you. Hard. And second, is it wrong of me to guess that you were married at a time when you were both naive, and foolish, carrying the hopes and dreams of young agents with lofty goals?"
"I-t-that," he stammered. "Well, you're not wrong." He sighed. "I don't love her, if that's what you're afraid of. But back then, maybe? Like you said, young and stupid. She was smart, even back in the old days. I didn't know a lot of people at the time, and being around someone you thought had to go through the same things as you, well, things happened, I guess. But it didn't end well. I should have known it wouldn't."
"You should have known," she echoed. "But then why did you marry? If you knew something wasn't right?" She tried her best to remain curious, and not entirely judgemental. There were things that Ross could not say, and perhaps there was a good reason for that. But as the ex-husband of the one person that could orchestrate Wakanda's downfall? She was not entirely sure what to make of him at this point. This former agent, who, despite his acts of goodwill towards her, still failed to grasp the struggle that Wakandans faced. He had been quick to acknowledge what he owed her. But as for how deeply he understood what was at stake, was another matter entirely. Do you understand, agent? That before you decided to repay your life debt, you were one of many tools that they were going to use against my people? If my brother and I did not save you, would you have betrayed your ex-wife with this much confidence?
"This is going to sound corny, but love doesn't make a lot of sense." He looked at her, and let out a smile, a sad little smile that darkened into a kind of dread that seemed to match her own. "I mean, whatever we felt back then, it definitely wasn't enough for her. She was into bigger things. Her ambition didn't scare me, but she was into it, deep. And she didn't care if the rest of us couldn't keep up."
"So it ended," Shuri said softly. She did not know Ross all that well, but something about his face subdued the many questions and accusations that would have erupted from within her. If he could feel this way now, perhaps, it was true that whatever he had with Valentina was significant. Enough to make him never want to speak of it so openly, until now. How does one grapple with multiple truths? A young man could think so highly of his coworker enough to marry her, only to be faced with a bitter reality that ended in divorce. But now, he was older, and his demise under that former love's orders was another glaring possibility. He had loved someone who could, and probably would do that to him. It must hurt, she thought, even if he would not admit it.But perhaps that was love; it blossomed as if it was the only thing that mattered, until it did not. Until it hurt, and made a mess of things.
She smiled back. "Must be strange, having an ex-wife for a boss."
But before he could reply, Griot's voice cut through the lab, the AI's presence making itself known through the urgent, orange glow of Shuri's holographic screen. "Princess. There's been a disturbance at the Atlantic barriers."
"The vibranium reserves?" She tensed. The kimoyo beads that she had given Namor should be giving the same update at the same time.
"There has been no damage to them so far. But it appears that there is an aircraft carrier, much larger in size, and in capacity. I cannot give you a visual now, but from the data I've gathered from the markers, they've sent underwater robots to probe the same area from where the previous joint CIA and military mission had last made contact."
Shuri turned to Ross. "Another US mission then. And they've come prepared. Other countries have sent non-hostile missions through scientists, but this is the first time anyone's tried something more aggressive in two years"
Ross nodded. "Maybe they found a new toy to test out in the water."
"The markers we designed should be able to deflect the robots, divert their course in the water. But if they attempt any drilling-"
"A group of Talokanil warriors have already been dispatched. The robots are now being disposed of as we speak." Griot reported. Ross looked a little queasy, his memory of what had happened with the past mission still fresh. "Will they disappear, like last time?"
She frowned. From past negotiations, Namor had agreed to a zero-kill policy unless ocean and Talokanil life were in immediate danger. As a compromise, Shuri introduced further modifications to their weaponry, which gave them more tools for sabotage and diversion. Together with Talokanil scientists, plans had been made for stealth suits that would render the Talokanil warriors nearly invisible underwater. But such things took time, and so they must make do with what they had for the time being.
They needed more visuals from the area.Wakandans were not obligated to be physically present should excavation attempts be made in the Atlantic, or at least, both Shuri and the Wakandan leadership had thought it too risky. They could not deny their involvement in the first incident, and to be directly involved a second time was as good as declaring war on the American government, who, of course, was the most prominent among all the nations attempting to explore the oceans of the world for vibranium. The French, who had been publicly humiliated by Queen Ramonda not too long ago, had temporarily withdrawn their interest. Though many of their officials and scientists still clamored for a chance to continue their 'abandoned mission.'
"Griot," she said. "We're taking the Bug bots to the Atlantic. I need you to merge with the ships, and take control, should things go bad."
"Wait," Ross cut in, visibly panicked. "What are you going to do? Are you leaving me alone out here?"
Shuri stared back at him, an eyebrow raised in challenge. "Unless you want to put yourself at risk of being captured by your ex-wife's minions-""Never mind, I got it."
"Good." She turned to the holographic screen. "Because things could get ugly."

The stealth hovercraft had been her best mode of transport, and once again, she found herself thanking Griot's recommendation to prioritize the upgraded model of the aircraft. It was, in comparison to every other vehicle they had, the fastest. And for a night like this one, there has never been a more apt way to use it.
The Bug bots had flown ahead to the Atlantic in advance, merging well into the system of the ship. It was an aircraft carrier, filled to the brim with a team of scientists, crew, and a number of CIA agents, and from what Griot's data could confirm, at least three representatives from the Pentagon. The ship had enough room for smaller jets and helicopters to land, a clear upgrade since their last attempt.
"Look at that," Okoye whispered beside Shuri in the pilot's seat. "Do they really think that they stand a chance against Talokan in the water?" The Atlantic Ocean loomed before them in the dark, moonless night. From their view, the Talokanil were nowhere to be seen, although it was plain even from a few feet in the air, that the team of scientists at the main deck were having problems with their equipment. The Talokanil have undoubtedly been hard at work.
The hovercraft had been flown as low as it could, entering into hovering mode, so that the Wakandans could observe without exposing themselves. The aircraft was as good as invisible, but Okoye had advised against coming any closer."They may not win against them in the water," Shuri replied. "But you saw what happened in New York. The weapon they used to shoot Zawavari's car was new, beyond the ability of weapons manufacturing companies."
"They've got their own scientists making it then," Okoye could not hide her contempt.
"That is likely," she said grimly, knowing that the team facilitating such an upgrade would have to be complete idiots if they did not know what the weapons were going to be used for. Intelligence, and innovation, but in service of crimes. Tools for domination, and exploitation. But perhaps, they did not care. Or was it possible that they have stolen the ideas from a dozen other prodigies, just as they did with Riri? Even if this was the case, it was still a rather insidious scheme. Intellectual theft, and exploitation of natural resources that was never theirs to begin with, Shuri thought with distaste. All done under the cover of darkness, through organizations legally authorized to exist.
Commotion from down below jolted her out of her thoughts. "Griot, I need an update."
"The Talokanil have succeeded in destroying all robots in the water. The markers remain in place." She sighed in relief, only to tense up again as the AI's voice came through with yet another report. "But it appears that one scientist, and one agent in-charge of monitoring images taken by the robots, have caught a glimpse of a Talokanil spear in the water. Their system recorded the footage before it was cut off."
"Shit," she cursed. "Hack into it now. Delete the footage. Make sure that any trace of similar footage or images disappear."
Aneka, who was waiting by the hangar, climbed back up to the pilot's compartment. "Princess, I think they've got people pointing their guns in the water."
Too much was happening all at once. What they needed was a distraction. "Griot," she prompted. "Get one of the Bug bots to merge with the jets that they have. We need those to malfunction. Maybe get some of them to move near the deck where the shooters are?"
"On it, Princess."
It was faint, but the bots were picking up on the sound of hurried footsteps, and the jumbled conversations of crew and CIA operatives alike. Suddenly, she could hear it, the click of a trigger, of equipment being loaded, and faint whispers of hostiles being spotted. Shuri curled both of her fists in alarm. "They're shooting!" From the distance, they could make out the heads of Talokanil warriors, appearing and disappearing in the water, like a game of whack-a-mole. Their speed in the water was unrivaled, but soon they will tire of the gimmick, and the US operatives will have to use more weapons. And more weapons meant an increase in their chances of getting someone killed.
Screams soon flooded the main runway of the aircraft carrier, as jets began to move haphazardly, nearly running over all the personnel and operatives trying to maintain their positions in their defense against the Talokanil. "Look!" Aneka cried out. The darkness of the ocean had been cut through with bursts of light from boat navigation lights installed at the front and sides of the carrier. The Talokanil can no longer afford to break through to the surface in order to retaliate.
Shuri's mind whirled. Someone has to destroy the lights. She looked down at her suit. This particular version of the Black Panther suit did not have the silver and gold designs. A stealth alternate, meant to completely be one with the dark. But even without it, she had already exposed herself as the Black Panther back in New York, so if she were to join the battle, they would immediately know who she was. The distinct panther headpiece cannot be mistaken for anyone else's.
"Send us," Okoye urged, with Aneka beside her, their blue Midnight Angel armor poised and alive with the possibility of a fight.
"Fine," she said. "Fine. Just, make sure you don't engage beyond self-defense. They're not familiar with the Midnight Angel armor. And even if they are, they wouldn't know if it's ours."
The two warriors nodded. They ran out of the pilot's compartment, and down to the hangar, quickly activating the flight mode of their armor. Shuri turned her attention back to Griot.
"I need a visual on the runway."
The holographic screen of the hovercraft blinked to life, and sure enough, the sight before her was nothing but chaos. Agents and personnel ran for their lives, trying to get out of the way as some of their jets and vehicles began to move and crash with one another.
"Princess, a few high-level agents, and the representatives from the Pentagon are trying to escape."
She looked to the left of the screen. One of the helicopters appeared to be attempting to leave, its main rotor blade slowly whirring to life. Not on her watch. "Griot, infiltrate that helicopter. We've got to make sure they don't leave."
"Done, Princess."
Suddenly, she heard Aneka's panicked voice over the linked comm system, "Princess, there's a woman. An agent. She saw me take down some of the lights."
"Was the light on you?"
"No, but she has good aim. Best she could have seen was a shadow."
"Good. Keep at it. Stay away from where you're likely to get caught in gunfire." She turned her attention to Okoye. "What about you?"
"The lights on the side are taken care of. I'm trying not to be seen for now."
The less conspicuous they were, the better. The ocean was cloaked in darkness once more, and the Talokanil should have the advantage. She sighed in relief. Bast, was this stressful.
But before she could call Okoye and Aneka back to the hovercraft, Griot's voice took over the comm system once more. "Two of the agents are preparing to load a weapon."
"Weapon?" Shuri's fingers shook over her controls. "Can you identify it?"
"It is not registered under any known company, but it is similar to the blaster that was used for Zawavari's assassination."
Her stomach coiled in terror. While the Black Panther and Midnight Angel armor might be able to absorb its blow, there was no guarantee that the Talokanil would do the same. The burn mark on her left arm was still fresh, and while it obviously was not enough to kill her, it still hurt. Talokanil warriors were not easily deterred by vibranium, given how they survived Okoye's spear in the past. But this new, unknown technology? She had been unable to match it with any experiment within the weapons manufacturing world, disclosed or undisclosed.
"Is it a different one?"
"Yes, but the similarities indicate that the manufacturer or designer should be the same. This one appears to have stronger firepower."
Okoye's voice came through, urgent and pleading. "Let us take care of it, Princess. Exposure means nothing."
"There are three of these weapons on the deck now, laid out in different locations." Griot warned. "Two on both sides of the main runway, and one near the bridge."
"Princes," Aneka called. "That agent I told you about. She's after me."
Letting out a series of expletives that would have made her mother frown, Shuri rose from the cockpit, and readied her Black Panther suit, both her heart and mind at war with each other. Exposure meant everything. She realized that as good as it felt to show who she was to the world, it also meant that she would have to face the consequences. Consequences like this one, where her presence was about as good as a declaration of war.
A shot of energy rang throughout the night, and into the water. Heart pounding, she ran from the cockpit and out of the hangar, letting the hovercraft's launch system take her down to the aircraft carrier.
She landed, right in front of the agents trying to position their new weapon near the bridge where the captain should be. With a swift kick, she split the stand where the weapon would have been mounted, and sent the two agents flying with her sonic blasts. She craned her neck to see Okoye and Aneka fighting about a dozen military and agents on the runway. One of the two upgraded blasters was still functional.
She ran as fast as she could, mad with the adrenaline and the fear of another weapon that perhaps, her suit might no longer be able to take. Then, she heard it, bullets being aimed at her back. It was nothing to her, but it was a nuisance nonetheless. She turned around, and saw a blonde woman, aiming at her with a rifle. An agent. A familiar face, clad in a bulletproof vest, with an unbelievably good aim. "That's her," Aneka rasped over the comms. "She's consistent."
Shuri held out an arm, and retaliated with a sonic blast. The woman, who had been firing from a higher deck, dove over the railing, and with a clear sign of ingenuity, had shot a gun that sent a grappling hook flying to hang on to the same railing. Clearly, a veteran.
But before she could aim another sonic blast, another shot was heard from across the runway. One of the weapons had been fired. "No," Shuri gasped, running across the runway, the blonde agent all but forgotten behind her. And as she ran, she heard it, her heightened sense of hearing picking out the mournful scream of Talokanil warriors cursing in Yucatec Mayan.
It was too late.
Sending two agents overboard with another sonic blast, she punched the heavy clunk of a weapon away from its stand. She looked around her, and saw that while Okoye and Aneka were still able to fight, they were nowhere near being able to subdue each and every agent that seemed to be suddenly coming from the decks below the aircraft carrier.
Lives were lost. Talokanil lives. If she had acted sooner-
Without warning, water bombs coming from the ocean flew straight for the remaining agents that were trying to aim their rifles on the water. One-by-one, every side, every deck that would have housed an agent, a crew member, and a scientist, was bombarded. Shuri crouched, watching in shock as water and bodies flew past her in a wet cascade of dark colors.She peered through the aftermath, and much to her relief, saw that Okoye and Aneka were unharmed. Their exclusion from the blast was glaring. A clear sign of marksmanship and awareness from the Talokanil. There was nothing left on the runway, save perhaps for the bodies of soldiers, and broken bits of glass and metal from weapons and vehicles, now rendered useless.
A deadly silence emanated from the carrier, a striking difference from the usual hubbub of activity and chaos that it started with on its voyage. Shuri ran to the side from which the first of the water bombs had come from, and looking down below, saw a familiar face. The eyes that met hers were wide, and accusatory, an anger that was reminiscent of the day he flooded the Golden City.
Namor was looking straight at her, his arms wrapped around a fallen Talokanil woman, her face singed from the blast, upper body scarred beyond recognition. From behind him, Attuma carried another warrior, battered and burned in a way that could never be stitched together again. No words were needed. Two of the Talokanil were dead.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Time had become irrelevant, and even more so, the common ways in which ordinary people responded to a lack of sleep, food, or medication. Despite Okoye and Aneka's protests, she refused every offer of rest. What followed this refusal however, would be everything else that was not in any way useful.All who dared to enter her private workstation were snarled at, as if Shuri had suddenly become a true animal both in form and spirit. She avoided Namor's pointed stares, and dismissed every attempt by either M'Baku or Ross to engage in conversation. Calls from Ayo were not returned, save for a detailed report of what had transpired at the Atlantic. Talokanil healers were summoned. That, she allowed. But nothing else. There was no room for talk, no tolerance for fretting, or any of that useless drivel that would only distract her from what mattered most: healing the injured, and saving the Talokanil who were fortunate enough to not have been directly killed by the blasters.But if deep burns, and scarred bodies, not to mention, the knowledge that two of their comrades were literally split open- was what it was like to be fortunate, then Shuri's arm injury was a luxury. To spend every waking minute in the lab was nothing, a drop of sacrifice to add to her load.
The decision to take the Talokanil warriors to her lab was second nature. Making use of any of Wakanda's medical centers would have attracted too much attention, and would have distracted the doctors, nevermind that none of them had ever interacted with the Talokanil up close. Of course, taking them back to Talokan was an even more convenient option, but it was Shuri who called for the hovercraft to take them all back.
That night, Namor had slowly floated his way up to where Shuri stood on the runway, his progress uneven in the air. The fallen Talokanil he held moments ago, he left with one of his trusted warriors. There was no doubt that if his skill in the air was not held back by his injury, then he would have carried the dead warrior with him. So that he could show her what Talokan had to lose. So that he could prove to her that she was wrong, and that the lives of his people were worth more than an entire aircraft carrier filled with trespassers.
They had not seen each other since their argument in the cave, and Shuri could not help but feel once again, that strange ache in her chest at the sight of him. For she could almost hear it, the words that he had said in defense of her for all the elders to hear. But what use was that now? When her hesitation played a part in such a disastrous end to the night? He stepped towards her, the distance still the same two meters from their past meetings. Even in the dark, she could see the shape of his spear, the gleam of the jewelry that adorned his neck. And unmistakable, was that temper of his, quiet but seething, always in danger of being tipped over to a boil.
"Do you see it now? Their weapons? Their plans for our territory, once they do find what they're looking for?" The questions came after one another without pause, as if he had been waiting forever to ask them. He cannot let it go, she realized. Their argument in the cave, or even back to the time when she made him yield, and told him that their people would stand together and keep the secrets that needed to be kept. Or further back, when she told him that to burn the world down was madness.She gave no direct answer. But she did look at him, her heart desperate at the thought of more deaths to contend with, and whispered, "My lab. We must take them all to the lab. All who were injured."
The tightness on his face loosened as she said it, and his fingers, tense, and taut on the vibranium spear, slackened their grip. Before he set foot on the carrier, she had known, no, she had been sure of his rage. So sure in fact, that she half-expected to restrain him should he wish to express it towards the rest of the world, or to any possible survivors amongst the bombarded mass of CIA agents, scientists, and military men. But he only stared back, and even in the darkness, she felt the scrutiny; that knowing, intense look that seemed to convey that he understood not only what was said, but also the words unsaid.
"Have you no faith in our healers?" He asked, though it was clear he meant to say something else.She remembered that she was still wearing her panther mask, so she let it melt away, allowing it to retreat back to the system of the suit. Namor's eyes flickered at the sight of her bare face, and he whispered something to himself, something along the lines of, "There you are..."
But Shuri refused to give any indication that she heard him. Without blinking, she replied, "Let your healers come to my lab then. We will need every hand. And as for me," her eyes hardened. "I need to see their wounds. I need to understand the damage that has been done, because the next time those weapons are fired, they will not cause a single dent on either of our people's skins."

That was how they all came to be greeted by the staff, and Shuri's lab assistants in Wakanda; a strange little mass of damp, and haunted faces, with Shuri leading, and Namor following closely behind.
But now she was at her wits end, for it had been hours, or past twenty-four hours if she was more honest with herself. Griot blinked at her screen, his orange avatar moving along with words that she had so desperately hoped not to hear.
"Unfortunately, three of the Talokanil warriors are now lost. Not two."
"Impossible," she snapped back.
"The third warrior has lost far too much blood, Princess."
"But the open wounds, I thought-"
Griot interrupted her, a rare occasion, but perhaps it was the AI's programming at work, operating at its peak at the sound of its master's distress. "The Talokanil warriors have reached the same verdict. From what I can gather, they are now discussing how their fallen will now be transported back to Talokan." Shuri's lab had been equipped with a few water tanks, and a pool. Both had been previously used for tests. It was there that the Talokanil healers and their wounded warriors were given refuge.
A sudden hiss of the lift to her private workstation indicated another visitor. More people to shoo away. She turned to look behind her and was greeted with the sight of Okoye, M'Baku, and behind them keeping a careful distance, was Namor and his most trusted warriors: Attuma and Namora. It was M'Baku who barged in first, not giving her the chance to speak as was his nature. "Princess," he said gently. "We have been thinking-"
"No," she said. "I know what you are about to say, and I will not hear it. I am not finished here. Griot and I have more to discuss."
The Jabari man looked at her with impatience, as one would do to a child. "You are being stubborn."
"And you are all narrow-minded," she retorted with equal fervor. "Our enemies do not operate on a predictable timeline, and neither should we."
It was Okoye who spoke this time, the worry in her eyes understandably more pronounced. "Shuri, I understand the urgency. We know how hard you've worked to make this lab operate better these past two years. But some things- some things we must learn to let go. The Talokanil will be more comfortable if they can return to their home now, rather than later." It did not escape Shuri, how Okoye's voice betrayed her discomfort at the mere mention of the Talokanil. Distrust was not unwarranted at this point, but to even feel that they should not have been brought here after having to defend their people and their territory against an aggressor? When Wakanda and Talokan both agreed that they would make the effort in the strengthening of that defense?
She shook her head, dissapointed. "Leave," she pointed to the exit. "All of you. Get out."
Okoye's resolve faltered, and she looked, for a moment, genuinely hurt. "Princess, please. Do not isolate yourself this way. Let me accompany you."
"And what?" Shuri challenged, knowing that every word was a blow to the warrior's pride. "What will your presence give other than another distraction? Why can't you all understand? I am here in my lab to work, to think, to solve our problems." She looked at them, almost beseeching, but still angry, "Why can't you just leave me be?"
"Leave us," Namor's voice boomed across the room. He was loud enough that the assistants that were working in the surrounding work stations all stood still, fearful of the danger of what it was like to contradict Shuri in her lab.
"No," she scowled. "You are the last person I want to nag me."
Something about that broke whatever patience he had, and with a clank of his spear, he stared her down. "Three of my people are dead!" He roared, and the entire lab held its breath at the sound, so guttural was his voice, imbued with a sorrow too deep and ancient. "My people. They see me as something more than a king, and they wanted me to save them. But I could not do it! I am a living fossil of failure!" His breath shook, and he steeled himself, trying to regain control. "I cannot raise them from the dead, no matter how much I pray, no matter how many ships I destroy in their name." He walked forward, shouldering Okoye and M'Baku out of the way, till he was right in front of her, their bodies closer in a way that they have never been. His dark, brown eyes carved a path straight to hers, and she felt it. Felt his grief again, ever so dormant, but alive. "If I cannot do it, then what makes you think that you can? What gives you the right to shoulder all this burden now, when I have been doing it for over five hundred years?"
The silence in the lab was so singular, so still, that it might as well have been thunderous. "Leave," she said faintly. "Leave us." At first, no one moved. "Now!" Shuri commanded. And with that, every staff member, assistant, and even Okoye, M'Baku, and the two Talokanil warriors in the room walked out, quiet and somber as they had entered it.
Shuri stepped away from him, unable to trample down the spark of her own temper. "What do you want?"
"I need you to stop acting as if this can all be solved by you, alone." He looked around the lab, at its blinking lights, at the details that only came about because of her. "And I need you to explain to me what exactly happened on that ship."
What is there to explain? That she did not want to interfere, because she feared war, not just because of what it might do to her people, but also to her? That despite her better instincts, that dark impulse, the gaping hole of her frustration against their enemies festered?
"We should have been prepared. After the assassination attempt in New York, I had my suspicions- that the CIA had their hands on new weaponry. I don't know-"He scoffed. "That much is easy enough to understand. No. Let us get to the heart of things."
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "Heart of things?"
"That's right." He took another step forward, and she tried not to back away, because to do so would be to show fear, to yield. And she will never yield, not to this man. "When you arrived at the Atlantic, when you made yourself invisible, and watched as we struggled, how long would you have waited before you decided you could not bear to see us die?"
"W-what?" She whispered. Then she frowned. "Are you accusing me of not wanting to help you?"
Something in his eyes darkened, and oddly enough, he looked almost as if he had been betrayed. "I do not need to accuse you. It is a fact. The world will blame Wakanda for every American mission that disappears. And even if you know that to defend our territory is well within our right, you also despise the fact that it will be you and your people who will have to take the fall. Because you are bound by our secret. Is this not what this is all about?"
Shuri flinched, and moved further away, towards her main worktable. "Stop," she hissed. "Don't try to read me."
He tilted his head. "Again, I find that reading you is unnecessary. I understand you, almost as much as I understand myself." Despite her best effort to put some distance between them, he moved closer, and stood mere inches away, doing all but backing her against the table. "Is this my punishment then? You want me to watch my people die, because after all the pain I caused you, you could not kill me?"
He was close, too close, and it did not escape her notice that she could smell him, could feel his breath from where he stood. "Don't," she warned. "Do not provoke me into a fistfight." She was struggling, trying to remain still, but there was something strange about her knees, and her vision. Namor's face seemed to waver, and suddenly, he looked as if he was bathed in the bright lights of her lab.
When was the last time I had a proper meal? When was the last time since the strange dreams appeared? When did I have my last cup of coffee?

But he did not listen, because of course, he would not. He leaned forward, face unbelievably near. "See, that is the problem. I would rather have you punish me with a fight, with your fists, or your panther claws, than have my people suffer. Is that not fair?" His words were close to a plea now, and all she could do was listen. To let him speak, and tell her, what was clearly not meant to be said elsewhere."If you hate me so much, Princess, then let that hatred fall on me, and me alone."
Let her hatred fall on him alone. She knew that, and had known, that his people had lives to live beyond that of war and pain. Beyond her grudge, and his transgressions. And yet. And yet, she had failed to act upon that knowledge. Her hesitation on the aircraft carrier, though coming from her fear of the outside world, was indeed rooted in bitterness. That no one else would have to juggle what she did; a ball of secrets one after the other, never allowed to be dropped.
"I can take it," he whispered. "Your anger, your hatred, every blow, every cut, or bruise. If that is what it takes. If that is what you need."
Shuri stared at him in disbelief, finding it hard to understand how anyone would be so accepting of such an arrangement. She opened her mouth to speak, to refuse, but there was no sound. Suddenly, she felt it, an emptiness in her stomach, a blinding pain in her head that pounded in waves from the forehead to the eyes. Then her knees buckled, but before she hit the ground, his arms snaked around her back and shoulders, keeping her upright.
His eyes were wide in alarm. "Princess," he called out.His hands, she thought absently, were warm, and his arms, twice the size of hers. In the haze of her weakened state, she realized just how easy it would be for him, how it was utterly within his power to crush her bones with one squeeze. And yet. I would rather have you punish me… His words echoed in her ears like an alarm. She tried to fight it, tried to brush him away, futile as it was. "No," she said feebly. "Don't touch me. I'd rather die than let you t-touch me."
But Namor batted her cold, trembling, hands gently, and cradled her head with a whisper. "Stop," he said. "Let go. Let yourself rest."And it was only when he began to call for help, his eyebrows wrinkled in urgency, that she gave in, his warmth sending her off into the dark, illusive void of slumber.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She could not stop resisting, even when asleep. It was, after all, difficult to accept that she had fainted right in the arms of the one person she detested the most. But perhaps, that was how the dreams began; a stubborn mass of darkness, shadows pulling, and a multitude of voices whispering in her ear, the words inaudible but insistent. But as her consciousness floated about, she felt a push, a soft, but steady force that momentarily fooled her into thinking that she was about to fall, but was not.
Then she felt it, a dampness on her back, the wind in her hair, and the sweet smell of grass. A plain. Shuri's awareness of her body came in parts, starting with her feet, which she wiggled and stretched. Then her mouth, gasping for air, and her hands clutching at soft soil and crunchy grass dolloped with drops of dew. And finally, by forcing herself to sit up, her eyes registered the soft, white dress of pure billowy cotton that wrapped around her body. It was thin, made only modest by the layers that comprised it, and the skirt adorned with little shells, and jade. The tailoring reminded her of another dress from another nation, unlike anything Wakanda could ever offer. But she does not want to dwell on that.

It was only then that she found the strength to stand, and see where she was.
The plain before her was in truth, a savannah. And for miles, there was nothing to see but the yellow-green stalks of grass, and the eucalyptus trees that grew apart from each other, somehow never growing in clusters. The sky remained as purple and dark blue from her memory, the stars and colors too beautiful for words, just as how her inner child would have imagined it. It could only be the ancestral plane, she allowed herself to hope. There was no throne room this time, no N'Jadaka, and no strange conversation that conjured flames, and summoned waves. Perhaps, perhaps, someone from her family might come. Finally. In fact, she would gladly take a conversation with someone from the past, some unknown ancestor that she had never met, just so that she would not have to wander this strange plane all alone.
But what greeted her was only silence, and it was in that silence, in the humming of insects and the gentle breeze in her ears, that she found herself spiraling into another episode of hurt, and above all, confusion. Why was she here? Why would this place call to her, if it was empty?
"It is not empty, Shuri." A familiar voice called to her, filled with the poise that she can never have.
"Mother," her voice nearly choked upon saying it. "Mother," she repeated, as she looked around wildly for the source. But before there was a reply, the ground squelched beneath her feet, a strange sound of something gnawing, and growing beneath the soil. The grass began to grow taller, till it was no longer possible to see the trees from the distance. Till the stalks grew in a height greater than hers, creating a maze of yellow-green.
"Mother!" She rushed to the nearest wall of grass, and reached out to tug at a green blade."Child," her mother's voice replied. "Do you know where you are?"
Shuri could feel the panic rising within her, but chose to bury it, hoping that even if she could not see her mother, she would appear, eventually. "The ancestral plane," she tugged at the grass, and it gave way, parting to reveal nothing but a narrow path, walled in with nothing but more grass. "But I never thought the ancestral plane would be so-"
"Stubborn? Responsive? Nothing, like the stories of your childhood?" Ramonda asked, serene, even now, when her daughter was clearly not in the mood.
She ventured inside the maze of grass, determined to see what was beyond it. There is a path, she noted, looking at the ground with great determination. "It doesn't matter what I think of it, mother. You are here, somewhere. If this place won't show me, then I will find a way."
"Not all things you can bend to your will, child."
The grass was not entirely itchy to the touch, but still, the height, the closeness of it all clumped in a green mass altogether proved to be irritating to navigate. Still, she pressed on, making mental notes of the direction, the frequency of her turns, and the number of steps. "I don't understand," she swatted a particularly stubborn blade of grass away. "How is it that I am always seeing this place? One time here, sometimes it's the throne room, and-and then-" She stopped, unsure if it was wise to even speak of that other place, that other dimension where the grassy plain met the ocean through a long stretch of sand.
"I don't know what I'm doing, Mama." She finished instead, and at the last word, her voice trembled with what could only be her own loneliness.
"Oh, Shuri," came the response, and with it, a sigh of fondness, a maternal warmth. "You are doing well, and perhaps, you might find that you will do better. That is all we can do, what anyone can do, really."
The soil was getting wetter and wetter now, every step against her bare feet accompanied by a little splash. But she was closer, a lot closer to wherever this never ending mass of greenery would lead. But she had no patience for cryptic words, vague tidbits of sagely wisdom that did not lead to something concrete, unlike a step-by-step solution to a problem. As if reading her mind, Ramonda was quick to pose a question. "Do you really think that I can tell you exactly what must be done? I have tried it before, and it was not effective."
Shuri's breath was ragged now, as she walked faster and faster, her arms swatting away every obstacle as she fought for a path through the savannah. "But my best," she nearly stumbled over a stray root, but kept on going, all the while her voice struggled to maintain control. "My best is not enough. And I thought I knew what to do, and how I was going to do it. I've been so confident!" She blinked back the incoming onslaught of tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes. "Now I'm here, and I'm still angry. It's like everyone wants something from me, but I can't give it to them." The landscape was changing beneath her, the ground no longer sticky and dense, but somehow more scattered. Powdered and too light in texture against her soles.
"Anger and hatred, on their own or together, cannot be extinguished so easily. Yours, especially. What makes you think that burying it with tasks and ideas can hide it? Only for it to explode again?"
"What choice do I have!?" She cried out in frustration. "I have nothing else. And besides," she said, pushing through another grassy wall with trembling hands. "I don't know where I am." She had meant it in the spirit of the moment, her mind preoccupied with her immediate goal. To find a way through the plain. But now the soil was no longer mere soil, but golden, glittering sand, coarse but fine against the crevices of her toes. And her hands, so accustomed to the heavy walls of yellow-green stalks, touched nothing for once. It was there and then that she finally stumbled, finally free of the maze.
She sprawled forward, flat on her stomach, facing a beach. She raised her head. And there, not too far-away from the shoreline, was the same blue-green sea. Not to be outdone, there too, stood the wondrous tree of long branches, the water licking against its thick, winding roots. Again, she had found her way back to that strange place from the past dreams. "I don't know where this is," she found herself whispering.
"Shuri," her mother's voice was faint now, as if she was getting further and further away. As if this particular beach welcomed no other voice. "You are where you need to be."
"Where?" She asked. "Where?" But there was no one left to answer, no sound, except for the waves, crashing lightly, only to be quieted upon reaching the shore. The sound of water.

She awakened to the sound of stirring, of someone or something, moving nearby.
"Shuri," someone gasped next to her in relief. She turned her head to the right. Okoye.
"How long was I asleep?" She croaked, her throat dry and parched as a desert.
Okoye was seated right by the bed, now dressed in civilian clothing. They were in one of the medical rooms in Shuri's lab. A private space that was usually meant for medicinal research, among other things. They must have brought her here, knowing that she would have chafed against using any other facility. Her lab assistants knew her preferences, as they would know that H2O was water.
"Eight hours, at least."
"Eight?" She tried to sit up at the mere mention of the number, her instincts screaming at her to get up, but Okoye grasped her shoulders, and looked at her sternly.
"Now," the older woman said with a finality that signaled no room for argument. "We have agreed that I will not let you leave this room. Not until you've eaten something."
Now that was not a bad idea. It was the lack of food that had led to her predicament after all. The Black Panther may have given her the strength and stamina to rival all the world's superhuman population, but it had its limits. She suddenly felt ashamed at the thought. What would her Baba and big brother say if they found that she had taken such an ability for granted? If they could, they would have given her a good scolding by now. But something about Okoye's phrasing gave her pause.
"We?" She asked Okoye, eyebrows raised. "M'Baku? And the elders?"
The warrior blinked at that. "Ancestors, no." She let out a little laugh. "Now let me get that food for you."
Okoye stood, and walked to a corner of the room, where there was a table, and on top of it, a tray bot that could float upon command through the kimoyo beads. "I've been asking someone to reheat this every ten minutes or so, just in case."
The smell of corn, and beans wafted onto her nostrils. The tray carried a plate generously heaped with chalaka, barbequed chicken, and a generous serving of that lovely, goey porridge that was unmistakably, pap. She smiled at Okoye gratefully. "Thank you. Asking someone to reheat frequently seems like a pain." Taking a spoon to dip through the chalaka, she grinned. "But, I can't say that it did not pay off."
She ate, as Okoye sat by her side. And for every spoonful, she noticed that Okoye was trying not to watch her like a hawk. Trying to mask her worries with a nonchalant glance to the ceiling, the door, and even the foot of the bed. Halfway through the meal, Shuri decided that she could not bear the strange silence any longer.
"So? Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything while I was out?"
Okoye shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. It doesn't matter."
"Okoye," Shuri said sharply. Something about her tone made the other woman stiffen. As if she was afraid. She carries her guilt towards my mother everywhere. Especially around me. "Just say it."
"He's a strange one, that man. The fish king, I mean."
She snorted upon hearing the nickname, taking extra bites of her chicken in amusement. Not even an hour since awakening, and already she has discovered yet another source of entertainment. "Fish king? Did M'Baku infect you with his penchant for giving nicknames?"
"I would hope not," the woman frowned. "But I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to address that strange…creature.Shuri sighed. "Now you make it sound as if he's come from snarling from the bush. Anyhow. What about Namor?"
"When I said 'we' a while ago, that included him, you know."
Her spoon hovered over the porridge for a nanosecond, before she resumed eating, something about his sudden inclusion to the conversation fueling the impulse to eat at an even faster pace. "Oh? And then what?"
"When you fainted," Okoye absently handed her a tissue, "it was Namor who called for help. We came running naturally, after Griot called us through the kimoyo beads. He carried you, and said that you were ill. And somehow, along the way to this very room, he asked us if anyone in Wakanda bothered about feeding you, because clearly, we were not. Or so he says. It was like he was scolding us." The warrior let out an incredulous scoff over the memory. "Imagine that! I was about to tell him to shut up, but then I realized that he had a point." She looked at Shuri sadly. "Seeing you so tired, I feel like I have failed you."
She might as well have said 'failed your mother,' somewhere in that sentence too. But Shuri felt that would be far too cruel to point out, so she only smiled. Somehow, in the short span of time that Okoye was recounting the day's events, she had cleared the rest of her food. Something about the direction of the conversation made her nervous, making her feel as if eating so much at such a short time had been a terrible idea.
"I am an adult, Okoye. It was I who failed to understand my limits, and because of that I made you all worry. It won't happen again, I can assure you. It was foolish of me not to eat properly for several days till now."
But before Okoye could reply, there came a sound from beyond the room. The door suddenly opened, and Aneka walked in, beaming at Shuri. "At last, you are awake. Oh, and the king of Talokan has asked to see you."
"No," Okoye scowled.
Shuri blinked, and gave it some thought. She had just woken up, after all. She was not obligated to speak to him, and really, she had no idea what to say. But to her surprise, as her thoughts drifted to him, their argument, his voice, she found little animosity. Irritation perhaps, but nothing that burned, unlike before. Perhaps sleep had cleared her head. Or something else. The sound of water in a dream. Of grass parting, and revealing sand, soil, and unimaginable stars. And her mother's voice. You are where you need to be. You are where you need to be. You are where you need to- "I'd like to see him then." She said firmly. Whatever it was, whatever it all meant, she was sure of it. Sure that speaking to him was as sensible as letting him live. Among a million other decisions. Okoye and Aneka took one good look at her, and without a word, they both nodded. They helped her to sit up straighter, while Aneka cleared the room of her tray.
Soon, she was left alone, waiting for him to arrive.
He came through the door not even a minute later, and from where she lay, she felt the caution in his step, the tentative look in his eyes. As if she were to break just by seeing him, given how much grief she has had to carry due to his actions. And he is aware of this, Shuri realized. So aware that he had offered to be her personal punching bag, not too long ago.
"You are awake, Princess." He said, his eyes visibly relieved at the sight of her looking so refreshed.
"No, I have learned to sleep with both eyes open." She wanted to kick herself for the sarcasm. But he seemed pleased with the energy in her voice.
"Obviously," was all he said, a small, hesitant smile on his lips. Ah, so he did not take offense to sarcasm after all.
"You wanted to speak to me?" She asked, trying to get back on track. Back to business, she thought wearily. Her heart was still heavy over the thought of more lives being lost, and she decided that even if she could be more responsible over how she expressed her own frustrations, she would have to let him know somehow. Let him know that even if she did not know their names, even if they held no other position or property, their lives mattered too. The same way that his guard and attendant, the ones who had watched over her during her stay in Talokan two years ago, also mattered.
"We should be leaving soon," Namor replied. "We must bury our dead, and rethink our defenses."
"Of course," she nodded. "We will send you on your way. And-" She paused, unsure if what she was about to suggest would surprise him. She had noticed, on his left wrist, the jade green kimoyo beads she had given him. So he had worn it after all. "If possible, I would like to contact you and your people over the next few days or weeks. The kimoyo beads I gave you will make that easier."
"I see," Namor held up the wrist with the beads momentarily, before setting it back down. Without being told to do so, he had somehow seated himself on the chair that Okoye had used moments before. And he was now looking down at her, assessing her face clinically. "I think I understand how the device works now. It is strange," he said thoughtfully. "It feels like I am talking to a spirit. And at first it was a bit alarming, hearing this…Griot of yours speak. But our scientists have taken a liking to him, I think."
She sighed in relief, glad that her device had earned some support. "I'm glad to hear that."
"Of course," he added smoothly, "I'm not surprised that such an invention could impress my people. After all," he nodded at her with confidence, a factual certainty to his gaze that did not waver. "It is a product of your mind. Anything the Black Panther makes, is a gift to everyone else."
"The beads are not a gift," she hastened to correct him.
He blinked, and looked down at the accessory on his wrist. "If you say so."
"Also, you seem to have a high opinion of me, still. Despite…everything." She did not know how to broach the subject, their previous argument. He had seen his glare in battle, the vindictive stance that settled upon his body as they faced each other in combat, the sheer, brawling physicality that accompanied his rage. But it had been the first time that they had ever spouted that much heat into their conversation, and she was not sure if ignoring that it had ever happened was the right thing to do. "I wish you didn't," she finished. "Have such a high opinion of me, I mean."
Namor's face softened at her tone. Whatever tension, or guarded caution he had, seemed to give way to an air of some kind of understanding. He was listening to her again. "Then how?" He asked. "How would you like to be seen?"
How indeed? That was a question no one had asked before. Even if they inquired about her health, her inventions, her state of mind, everyone else had already looked at her with their own preconceived notions about who she was, or what she was. And it was such a freeing concept, that someone would care to know how she would like to be looked at. Even if the person asking such a question was once her enemy.
"I'm only sure of three things," she replied, looking at the ceiling. "That I am still a mess, even with all my gifts. My genius, they call it. And that no matter how high up the power of the Black Panther takes me, I would still like it, if I can go back down, and be Shuri, princess of nothing, lover of science, and fashion." She turned her head back to meet his gaze. "Also, you don't need to yell at me next time, when you feel that I have gone beyond my limits. You can just say it." She shrugged. "You have told me back then, what you would not so easily share even to your own people. And I have done the same. So what, if we can be more honest with one another?"
He stared back at her, and for a moment, he looked astonished. Was the cynical part of him, in all his five hundred years or so of existence, struggling to understand someone like her? Then he spoke. "I did not mean to do it," he shifted uncomfortably in his seat next to the bed. "I have embarrassed you in front of your own people, by yelling at you. That was uncalled for. And I blamed you too. Even if you have done your best to defend us, as we agreed."
Shuri was surprised to find him airing out his faults so freely. "I thought you would be too proud to admit all of that."
He frowned. "I have my pride, yes. But what is pride against honesty? Besides, you were very forthcoming with me just now. Isn't it fair that I do the same?"
"Hm, that is a good point." She admitted. Suddenly, she felt that the air between them was lighter, signaling a shift in their regard for one another. Not necessarily the best of friends, or some intimate thing. But perhaps, the respect that had been buried now rose to the surface. She could respect him, even if her hatred was not any less. I am where I need to be.
"We should be leaving," he rose with some hesitation, then something in his gaze became reprimanding, almost stern. "And should we see you some other time, it better not be in such a weak state."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course, of course. Goodbye, then."
"Really, why would you starve yourself in such a way? Your stomach would be ruined-" he ranted on, seemingly unaware that she was glaring at him. Did he not say that he should be leaving?
"Yes, I get it," she tried to interrupt, trying to tell him something else. But he pressed on, explaining to her that the Talokanil valued rest, and that if she felt that her own people were working her to death, then perhaps she should consider a tour of the caves to build a lab where his scientists would happily help her, among other things. She made a face. "Namor," she said, trying to get him to quiet down. And when he did not respond still, she sighed in defeat. What a pain this man was. Is this how it would be? If she did not struggle against the urge to claw his eyes out, would she have to wrangle impossible conversations too?"Kukulkan," she said, finally. And then he did stop to look at her, surprised that Shuri would address him by such a name. It was the name given to him by his people. A name she never used."I was going to ask," she continued, ignoring the newfound intensity of his gaze. "If it is possible for me to see how you bury your dead. To pay my respects to those who were lost."
"Ah," he clasped his hands together, and he looked at her, with what could only be respect. "It is possible." He looked to the door, and back to her. "Seems like you'll have to get dressed then, and be a representative of Wakanda once again."
She looked at her bed longingly. "Yes. Seems like I've had enough rest now."
"Don't worry," he smiled, and she was struck by how real the smile was, devoid of mischief, sorrow, or malice. How it crept upon his face, and erased every trace of his menacing qualities. "Out there, you are Princess of Wakanda. But from now on, when you want, whenever you are tired, and we are alone…You can be Princess of Nothing, Lover of Science and…clothing."
"Fashion, I said fashion," she said, exasperated."Fashion," he finished. "And I will bear witness of course, given my longevity in life. Do we have a deal?"
She frowned. "You speak as if we are friends."
"Friends don't make deals," he was quick to point out. "And we are bound by too much grief and anger anyway. Honesty is our only currency." He crossed his arms, as if the matter was decided.
Shuri shrugged. There was nothing worse that could happen between them. Her sister-in-law had killed two of his people, and he was responsible for her mother's death. What else was there to pull from the closet of grudges, and blood debts? Nothing.

"Fine. Now leave me to get dressed. Unless you want to stay, and have another one of your ankle wings plucked."
"I wouldn't dare, Princess."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The idea that Namora hated her was less of a feeling, and more of a fact.Shuri, not wilfully blind to the meaning of a cold stare, particularly ones sustained if the object of such a gaze turned their back, decided that it was in her best interest to never be alone with the spearwoman. Even more so in this part of Talokan, where the layout was not familiar and still maze-like to her senses. Attuma, on the other hand, had some of the straightforward qualities of their king, though he was certainly a bit more brash. A bit of a rough, temperamental giant. Together, he and Namora made a formidable pair of warriors, having served Namor since childhood. But between the two, only Attuma could ever be persuaded to stand guard next to her, and only he, Shuri thought, would ever attempt conversation, despite the gruffness in his tone.He stood with her at a distance from a house on the outer fringes of the residential areas of the capital. It was the third and final household that Namor and the rest of their warriors visited, for it was the home that belonged to the third of their fallen comrades. Having been informed of their son's death ahead of time, the Talokanil couple that stood at the doorway received the wrapped corpse with solemn faces, their eyes resigned. The rest of their relatives were off to the right of the dwelling, where they had dug a hole below one of the windows, in preparation for the burial.
"The house is about to be renovated soon, and the burial mound will be a part of the house," Attuma said, nodding in confirmation, as the corpse was soon laid to rest. But before they could cover the corpse fully, the father placed with aching tenderness, a piece of maize upon his son's mouth, and it was only then that the whole body was wrapped once again, and that the burial could commence.
All throughout, Griot quietly translated Attuma's grim asides to Shuri, and she hung onto every word, equally silent and solemn, trying to take note of every gesture as a reminder to herself. Here was another person she had never met, never known. And here, she decided that she would try to make it matter, even if it was impossible to personally see to every death that resulted from a battle that she had been a part of.The warriors that were buried today were to be given their own little shrines within their own residential compounds, where their burial mounds would have its own altar, and over the altar, the accessories that they favored using while in battle. If their family wished for it, their spears could be placed nearby too, a fitting way to honor what they had so valiantly done: defend Talokan from invaders.
"The mother of this one does not wail," Attuma commented, his eyes glued to the family. "She too, was once a warrior, like us."

Possibly.
Tears were impossible in Talokan. Whatever heat there was in the eyes when expressing sorrow, or overwhelming joy, it would only remain just that. A stinging sensation, and a redness to the rims of the eyes thereafter, but not a drop of tear will ever be seen. Yet another difference, with her life in Wakanda.
"Does that mean," she asked, "that the warriors of Talokan do not weep?"
Attuma glanced at her, surprised to hear her speak for the first time that day. All this time, it was he who had made every effort to talk, despite his ambivalence towards her. Towards whatever it was that came between her and his king. "Perhaps," he answered. "Those who have lived their lives knowing what they can lose, are often more prepared for grief." He shrugged, though his eyes were still on the mound, unable to look away. "I have not wept since I was little. Same with Namora, and for the rest. That is how it is."
"What about your king?" It was probably not polite of her to ask something about the ruler, especially when the said ruler was several feet away. And yet, something about the question appeared to have piqued the tall warrior's interest too. Almost as if he had never considered associating tears with the god he had sworn to serve for a lifetime."No one has seen him weep. And no one has heard him wail the way most of us would. He has never been troubled in that way." His eyes flicked over to the king, who was now speaking quietly to the parents of the young, fallen warrior. "They say," and his voice lowered, hushed and uncharacteristically soft, "that he does not know how to do both."

The child without love.

The story of how his name came to be, took Shuri savagely by the gut once again, and she found herself staring at Namor. Despite the split-second delay of Griot's translation, something about Attuma's words sank within, and it pulled her back to her own grief. Her memories of walking through a street, decked in white mourning garb, and the feel of the Black Panther mask, and the Queen Mother's headpiece in her hands. For both she had cried, and for both she had gripped coffins in despair. It was impossible to think of such a loss without the insurmountable ache from the chest, that wave that clawed its way from there to the face and the eyes, drawing tears.But that child, the cursed boy who had grown into the man that so bitterly renounced the surface world, had not done the same.She wondered if he ever will.
"Strange isn't it?" Attuma asked. "And stranger, that you would ask such a question. Now you have made me wonder about something."
"Oh?" Shuri found herself listening closely, waiting for a question to drop.
"Wonder about what?" An irate voice interrupted, startling both of them from the hushed bubble of their conversation. They turned to find Namora frowning behind them, face pinched together with displeasure. Attuma stiffened at the sight of her. "Namora," he said by way of acknowledgement.
His greeting did not seem to please his fellow warrior however, and instead she sent him a withering glare. "Gossiping in the middle of a burial? I thought you would have more manners." She was scolding him, but she might as well have been talking to Shuri too. Even in the fraction of time between the beginning of the first sentence, and Griot's translation, Shuri could tell, that one would only need to slip the word 'surface dweller' and the insult would have been complete.
She glanced at Attuma, and found his face had become withdrawn, almost blank. He is used to being scolded, she thought. A strange duo they made. He, likely to be more impulsive and volatile, and not likely to ignore his own whims. The spearwoman, not any less fierce, but would have no patience for those who spoke before a task was completed. Her temper would not be so easily placated. Still, Shuri thought it best to try and apologize, for she strangely felt sorry for goading Attuma into further conversation, when, perhaps, he should not have been doing so.
"He has not done anything wrong," Shuri cut in gently, Griot's voice weaving with hers from the confines of her suit's sound system. "It was I who asked him questions. It was my fault."
Attuma stared at her, surprised for the second time. What she said was not entirely true, for it was he who started their conversation. And yet. Namora's gaze finally snapped towards hers, and what a cutting, hostile gaze it was. The judgment in those eyes would have cut her down where she stood, if looks were enough to kill. But the spearwoman merely nodded, and gestured towards the household. "We should be leaving now, Kukulkan has other matters to attend to."
Namora swam away without another glance, and after some hesitation, Shuri followed her towards where Namor and the rest of the group were waiting. All throughout the way, Shuri could feel Attuma's eyes trained on her, but there was nothing alarming about the way he did it. Maybe it was only her imagination, but there was something else there. Something foreign both to him, and perhaps, for her, as someone who did not find even a smidge of ease in his presence.For the first time since the beginning of the alliance, a Talokanil warrior was not looking at Shuri with distrust or blank indifference.He was looking at her, with respect.

"You look different."
Shuri turned to find Namor looking at her. They were waiting to enter his throne room from above and behind the dais, but the crowd that was to watch them had not quite settled down just yet.
She looked down at her yet again, modified water suit. The pure silver-gray had been toned down somewhat, and now it looked like a slightly heavier alternative to her panther suit, except that the gold accents and mask were missing. "It is a little different. I've had a hard time deciding what it should look like since my last test." She glanced back up at him. "I'm not quite sure, but I think this version suits me the best."
His eyes roved all over her suit thoughtfully. She should have been uncomfortable, with him hovering close, and his gaze a little too direct. But to his credit, he never looked at her in a way that she would have deemed disrespectful. It was only that his frankness extended even all the way to his eyes, and he seemed to be, for whatever reason, incapable of lying to her.
"It does," he grinned. "It suits you better than you think." He tipped his head towards the crowd. "And if you've heard what some of the children have been saying, then you will agree."
She blinked through her visor, confused. It was true that she did notice a few stares being thrown her way when they were still swimming through the residential district, but she thought nothing of it. She was a foreigner to them still, so a few side glances and whispering were expected. "What do you mean?" The murmurs from the crowd had gone louder, only for them to be still. But she was not quite done asking questions."What are they saying?"
He grinned, and placed the headpiece he carried on his head. It caught against the light of the room, and made it seem as if he was literally glowing. "I will tell you later."
"No, I-" but she was interrupted, unable to press for more details as he swam away without another word.
He sent her one final smile, schooled his features to that of a somber leader, and descended to where the people were waiting to hear from him.If she had ever doubted the might and presence that Namor carried, and she did not, then today would have been the day that doubt would have melted away. The man himself sat on a skeletal throne of shark jaw, the size comparable to that of a Megalodon. And upon his head, was the feathered headpiece carved to the likeness of the serpent that they had so named him. Together with a red cape, and his spear, he made for a formidable figure against the dimming light of the vibranium sun that shone above.
All around, she saw warriors, members of the delegates he sent to Wakanda, and many other figures of note that all undoubtedly contributed to the city's protection and prosperity. Their gazes were fixed upon him, and so Shuri, despite her uncertainty, found an excuse to stare.
The throne room was round, one that opened to a courtyard where even his citizens could watch. She thought it was a little too bold of him to have her placed on the dais closer to the throne itself, but perhaps this was his own way of showing that she was indeed an ally. Unfortunately for her, as Namor began to speak and convene with his people, they spoke in a hurried volley of sentences, one after another, with almost no pause. Griot could only then translate snippets for her, common threads and words, and the general direction of their conversation.
"They are now discussing the recent attack."
"The warriors are lamenting the loss of three comrades.""They feel that the next attack will be worse."One after the other, concerns were raised. Shuri could not blame them. There was no doubt that Valentina would retaliate soon. The only thing that stalled the CIA from hastening the process of Wakanda's destabilization, and Talokan's discovery, was that the organization in itself was supposed to work in the dark, never to be seen in the same light as the military. They can never be too audacious, unless they were authorized. And even if granted authority, the world must never know of their involvement.
"A Talokanil scientist is commending the swift response from the markers on the boundary, but is proposing other measures be implemented to divert larger ships from their course."
Naturally, her interest is piqued. And she wanted nothing more than to be able to exchange ideas, show them what they could do, together. But they seemed to have moved to different topics, their tones passionate, as they were solemn.
Then, another silence.It was getting late, she realized. The glow of the vibranium sun was beginning to wane. She remembered, suddenly, Namor's words to her on the day he showed her the city for the first time. I have brought the sun to my people. And it seems like their sun must also set, just as the sun of the surface does at the end of each day. Such an accomplishment was no small thing, to give an entire people a source of light, something to remind them that each day must pass on to the next. That even if time had other plans for him, having been bestowed the gift of longevity, time would be there for them nonetheless. It would do them some good, she thought, if they knew of the moon and the stars too. So that they may understand that apart from the lights of their homes, or from the strange creatures of the sea, that they too, can rely on something else in the dark. That the moon and the stars indicated time and direction, when one needed both.
"Princess, it seems that the king of Talokan is calling for you." Griot said.She broke free from her thoughts, and looked down. Sure enough, Namor was looking up at her expectantly, his face unreadable beneath his headpiece. A multitude of colored feathers. Willing her suit to be steady in the water, she took a deep breath, and descended. She does not know if it was fate, or by sheer coincidence that the vibranium sun was at its weakest. But as she descended, the throne room was considerably darker, and before Namor could signal an attendant to see to the smaller lights, the room brightened once more.
Shuri floated down next to where Namor stood, her suit blazing silver across her body in lovely lines and shapes. Her eyes widened as she looked down at herself. "The suit," she whispered, panicked. "The glow-in-the-dark system has not been toned down. The light is too blinding. I should turn it off."She looked at the crowd, and saw how their eyes were wide too. They have never seen me as the panther, she realized. They had never seen what she looked like in black and silver, or anything remotely close to the creature that their king had painted on his wall. But today, they have caught their first glimpse.
But Namor was not bothered. "It is not a problem, I think."
"But it's too much, this was not how I imagined it." She argued.
He shook his head, and gestured to the crowd. "They have come to see you. And you have come to show yourself." His eyes met hers through the visor of her suit, brown against brown in the water."Why?" he asked. "Why should you tone yourself down into something that you're not?"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

With a stubbornness that undoubtedly rankled Namor, she managed to maintain control of the light from her suit. Still, with his encouragement, she found herself a part of the assembly. She would be the first surface dweller in their nation's long history to ever set foot in the throne room. It felt monumental, and its importance, the weight of that, was not lost on her. It was yet another responsibility.But she welcomed the task, and something about the ease in which she did it, surprised her. She was not here as Head of State, and she was only a princess on paper. But she might become something to these people. Someone that they could at least trust, she secretly hoped, because Namor must never know this particular turn in her thoughts. But as for their actual opinion, she had no idea.Looking at Namor's face, and even some of the young Talokanil that gazed at her with interest from the courtyard, confirmed that perhaps, their people would come to some kind of understanding with her own.
She glanced curiously at their audience in the throne room. All the way from the back, where some of the citizens. Closer to the left of the dais were his merchants, and artists. From what she remembered of Namor's explanation in the journey since departing from Wakanda, these people had helped preserve their way of life. Art, culture, their traditions. Some of them had been sent to her lab for the collaborative design on the underwater markers. She could not help but nod in their direction, and much to her relief, they responded with the Talokanil salute. Placed in the middle, were his scientists, and Shuri felt a sense of kinship at the sight of them. And this time, some of them gave her cautious smiles. Out of everything I've shown them, Griot is their favorite, she thought, finding it endearing that her AI would garner a reception beyond that of clueless awe, and ignorant apprehension. She grinned back, unable to help herself.
Namor stood next to her, equally amused. "I told you, didn't I?" His voice was low, and he had to move a little closer for her benefit.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "That, you did."But before she could look elsewhere, she suddenly became aware of their closeness, the lack of space between them as they floated inches above the dais, their backs to the open, gaping shark throne. Friends don't make deals, he had said. They were not friends, and that should ring true, even now. Shuri turned to the right, using the movement as a way to maintain some distance. Immediately, she felt the weight of his gaze, and in his eyes, a reflection of her own cautious cordiality. As if having read her mind, he stayed still, and the solemnity in his face returned.
At first, it had not been such a terrible idea. But whatever the reason- whether it was Namor's belief in her ability as a princess, and the undying reverence his people had for him, or that Shuri was helplessly overcome by curiosity, even here, in a land that did not yet understand her, and that she in turn, was still not halfway through in trying to gauge the heart of the Talokanil; they should have given it more thought. Should have noticed the holes, and other points of tension that went beyond the personal. For there were signs. For even if they did see the need to build a bridge between their people, that bridge could not be built, if the landscape was not right.
"My warriors,"
Namor motioned to the right of the throne.
And there stood Attuma and Namora, leading the ranks. The warriors seemed to have discarded their armor. Instead, the men wore ceremonial capes of cream and jade green thread, and Namora for her part, wore a dress in a flare of red in different shades. She still wore her long-feathered headpiece of white and orange. All in all, the warriors made for a rather striking group, their status considerably higher, their proximity to the king much closer. Knowing just how much they have to sacrifice from her conversation with Attuma, she did her best to mimic the Talokanil salute, her hands and head moving in unison. But then she saw it, the look on Namora's face. A look of contempt.
You made him kneel, her eyes seemed to say. You brought the death of two upon our doorstep after he showed you our city. You made him weak. None of it was said out loud, but in a span of seconds, Shuri not only felt her burning resentment, but with clarity, saw the seeds of doubt that told her that perhaps, not all was right in Namor's court.
No matter how much he tried to convince her that it was.
She turned to him, hoping to find a bit of the encouragement he had so easily given earlier. But as his eyes darted from hers, and to Namora's, she saw a hint of danger, a spark of temper slowly boiling from the way his gaze darkened. It might have been presumptuous to think so, but she hoped, hoped, that nothing would come of it. That conflict between them, should it come, would not be because of her. She would hate to be responsible for ruining the leadership of a nation that was not hers, and more than that, if she was indeed the main point of tension, then she would find herself even more reliant on Namor's protection. She could not, no, cannot ever rely on him in that way. Not because she believed him incapable, but because to owe him would mean a never ending battle of balancing the scales. We will defend each other from invaders. We will exchange ideas. Anything more than that, I cannot give.
"You honor me," she said, trying to smooth over tensions, allowing Griot's translation in Yucatec Mayan to ring across the expanse of the room.
"The Black Panther wishes to express her sympathy for the warriors we have lost, and has promised better defenses for our borders," Namor announced. "She has promised me, that the intelligent, all-knowing life form that she calls Griot, shall soon be accessible to every Talokanil citizen, regardless of status. All will be gifted, and all shall be recipient of Wakanda's goodwill and technology."
The scientists nodded their approval, and a number of his craftspeople. But the warriors maintained their silence.
"Will this all-knowing technology protect us from exposure?" A man from amongst the merchants asked. "We have heard that surface dwellers have created devices of great convenience, and yet those same devices have been used to impinge upon their privacy. Is there such a risk in our case?" A worried murmur had crept upon the crowd at the very idea. But this was a question that Shuri expected.
"There will be no such risk," she replied firmly. "The programming for Talokan will have to be different. With help from your scientists, it can be done. My nation has been protecting its technology from the rest of the world all this time, and it has never faltered. I have no doubt that your scientists will maintain the same level of security." She glanced at Namor, and was relieved to see him looking back. He nodded. "I hope I can count on you," she finally finished, looking directly at the group of scientists who visibly stood straighter under her pointed gaze.
A woman who seemed to be the scientists' leader, swam forward, and with a salute, voiced her approval, "With Kukulkan's blessing, and the Panther Goddess's guidance, it shall be done." Panther Goddess? Bast bless her, but I am not a god. Shuri gave Namor another pointed look. So is that how it is? They see her as some kind of deity? Flattering, but unwanted. She shook her head and smiled at the woman.
"No, with the aid of your people anything is possible." The scientists looked at one another, while their leader's eyes sparkled with excitement. They murmured their agreement once more, and just as the woman was about to retreat back to her place, a cold voice swept the crowd, harsh and frank in their native tongue.
"And what of the scientists whose creation of those new weapons that killed our comrades just yesterday? Are they to be brought to justice? Or will we have to let them go, just as we did with the girl who made the vibranium detector?" Namora came forward, red dress and headpiece gleaming with an energy to match the passion in her voice.Then, with a defiance that would have brought a lesser monarch on their knees, she raised a chin towards Namor, and asked, "Are we to render the lives of our fallen meaningless, all because a surface dweller has dazzled us with her tricks?"
Shuri forgot to breathe, and beside her, she saw that Namor had gone eerily still, his face stone cold as obsidian buried beneath layers upon layers of earth. This was a mistake. This was the one thing, the one other thing that she and Namor had danced around, debated with great fervor, from the previous meetings they have had on that particular beach. She, with a strong sense of compassion for a child prodigy, and he, with the long-tested experience of distrust and cynicism towards any living creature in the surface world that would cause any harm to his people. That even the life of one girl was no longer significant. And now, this. Defiance, right in front of his face.

I should not have come here. Not like this. Not when we have not been able to answer the questions we have for one another. We have made a mistake. Hell, I know I have.

"Do you think science is a trick?" His voice clapped, and as loud as it was, there was beneath it, a tone that held offense over the idea. Shuri looked at him with some surprise, and also, nervousness. The room was quiet, and whatever tittering had gone on in the courtyard outside had dissolved, every open mouth, and straying attention now fixed upon the man who ruled them, and the spearwoman whose name was a close mirror to his. I've forgotten. They are of the same family tree. Shuri had gathered this without prying, taking only hints from the chatter amongst warriors and the Talokanil delegation.
"Science is but a tool," Namora retorted. "And it is a tool that can be used against us. Against your people. Especially by those who come from above. Unless of course, you have already decided that you trust them more than you trust your own flesh and blood." She was speaking slowly, and with Griot now privately translating within her suit, Shuri realized that she was meant to hear this, just as Namor was meant to hear it too.
He gripped his spear, and for a moment, he looked at Shuri with some despair. It was quick, so subtle, like a private language only to be understood by her. Then he spoke again. "Namora, do you really think I have forgotten what they have done to our people? Do you really think, that I have forgotten my duty?" He all but said, ' Do you dare?' And the implication that was left hanging in the cold, expanse of water, sucked what little mirth there was in the room. Shuri looked to the crowd, desperate for a mediator, a soothing voice of counsel. But the artists and merchants were in shock. The civilians looked afraid. And the scientists, could only look to her in desperation.
But Namora would not be cowed. "It is not a matter of memory, but straying from the path. Why should we bow to some princess who happens to have knowledge of science? What does she know of our people, that we must allow her to change our plans? I say, that she has dazzled some of you with her science, and that she will lead us to our downfall." A number of the warriors behind her remained silent, but in their eyes was the same doubt she held. They may not have been comfortable with questioning their king so publicly, but some of them had thought of the same questions too.
"So you do doubt!" Namor confirmed, openly angry now. "Very well then! Not only do you spit on our history, our family history, you would also forget all sense of decorum just so you could satisfy your anger!" He swam across the room, to and fro, hulking but graceful, like the feathered-serpent upon his head. "The woman who birthed me gathered herbs for medicine, weaved cloth, and crafted materials with her bare hands. Then she looked to the earth, and to the sky. She observed what nature could give her, and what it could give your ancestors." He swept a free hand across the room. "She took note of the changes in the wind, in the tides, in the stars. She may not have had a name for what she did, but my mother was a woman of science."Then he stopped, and hovered next to Shuri, leaving but an inch of space.
"I did not ask any of you to bow to the Black Panther. It was the Panther who spoke to me, and now she speaks to you. All of you. She understands, just as my mother did, just as I am now only beginning to understand, that the tides can change. I am not asking you to change who you are for a surface dweller. No, I had hoped, that you would understand, that the path to a better future might change."
His story, flowed through Shuri with a great resonance. His mother, a woman of science. And he, the pupil most eager to please. She looked at Namora, and found there, an anger, a petulance and pride that was strikingly familiar. Suddenly, she thought of her own family, of what Wakanda had to do to keep its secrets. Of her brother, being thrown over the falls by her own cousin, N'Jadaka. Of a civil war, brought about by difficult choices, and the mistakes of generations one after another, building and building, until it was Wakandan against Wakandan, fighting on the field of grass. Until the burning of the heart-shaped herb, and the death of N'Jadaka, his heart and spirit proud, but not any less angry, till the end.
Shuri locked eyes with Attuma in the crowd, and she tried and begged with her eyes. Do something. Say something. He was, after all, one of the two most trusted amongst the warriors. But he was only still, and then, with a nod, he raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her. What will you do? What indeed?
"Then why did you?" Namora asked. "Why did you kneel to her, when you have always told us that we should never lower ourselves before a surface dweller?"
Something about that cut within Shuri's silence, within her restraint. Never should there be a civil war, be it here, or in Wakanda. Never. Never should there be another nation broken in its foundation. She took a deep breath, and whispered, "Griot, this will be the fastest translating session you will ever have."
"Great warrior," she then spoke for the first time since the argument began. "You distrust me, correct?"
The spearwoman scowled at the interruption. "That much is clear. But you are not a part of-"
"Oh, but I am," she corrected. "You were talking about me. And it was my character you questioned, even though I have been silent all this time. I know that you detest me, but I'm not here to convince you of my merit, or whatever it is." Namor was looking at her now too, waiting, expectant. There was confusion in his eyes. But Shuri would not be doubted. Not by him, or by anyone.
"Let me ask you this question," Shuri continued, meeting Namora's gaze without breaking away. "Do you trust your king?"
A murmur of confusion rang through the crowd. What sort of question was that? Of course they did. The feathered-serpent's birth was destined. His rule fated. Namora shifted in place, her eyes wide, but still suspicious. "That question is an insult, and a trap."
"No!" Shuri snapped, and the sudden outburst surprised even Attuma, who had now slowly made his way closer to the dais, his eyes trained on Namora's back.
"The question requires a simple answer. Yes or no?"
"But-"
"Yes. Or. No." Shuri hissed again."And she gestured towards Namor, her hand brushing his arm slightly. "Answer the question, or else your king will find more reasons to punish you, and by then, even I cannot save you from him."
Namora looked at her, confusion and anger now tying her conviction into knots. "I- of course. Yes."
There was no guarantee that it would work, but Shuri was nothing, if not stubborn. "You trust your king. Same for all of you." She looked at the crowd briefly, but returned her attention to the spearwoman. "If you trust him, then with your permission, with all of your permission, I hope that you will allow your king to visit the surface world. Alone. With me. We will have no escort, no attendant, no warriors."
Louder, the voices of their electrified audience became. Confused. Even the scientists began to look at one another with uncertainty. "What are you doing? What you are saying?" Namor whispered to her. "We did not talk about this, this was not what we planned."
"Listen to me," she gripped his spear and used it to pull him closer where their noses were but a mere particle away. Suddenly it was if all had melted away as she spoke to him. "I will tell you why, and I will tell you everything later." She said it like a plea, then, like a promise. "I have not forgotten our deal. When we agreed we would never lie to one another. Did you?"
He blinked, and as if to will away his questions, he breathed against her, and the steel in his eyes was enough to give Shuri one final shred of confidence. "No."
"Good," she whispered back. Then she turned back to the hundreds that watched them.
"The Feathered-Serpent is a pupil of his mother, a woman of science. He has ruled for centuries, and has gone to where you have not, and your ancestors trusted him to know what there is to know of this world. All so he could protect you better. And now he is called to go on another journey. Together, we will find, and observe the life of the scientist whose mind conjured the vibranium detector. What we will see, will determine how our nations will bring about justice. Whatever else we find, we will put to good use in our defense against invaders. For the invaders will use that young scientist, dead or alive, as they would with the two ships your warriors have sunk. The imperial powers fight not just with guns, but with ideas. Propaganda. They will make a martyr of anyone, so that they can turn every creature on this planet against you. There will be no end to the suffering, and no matter how strong the Talokanil army, there will be more warriors to bury by the end.""We cannot let that happen. I would rather give up my own life," she said fiercely, "than to ever see your people, or mine, sacrifice generations for a war, that no one can win."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"I have seen your anger, and now I am starting to see more of your insanity. I would say it is a privilege to witness, but I have a feeling that you would not like that very much, would you?"
Shuri risked a peek through her fingers, and found Namor looking down at her, the blue light from the cave glowworms casting a halo around his head. The feathered headpiece was gone, and so too, was his spear. He was left with nothing but his cape, the usual garb of green that covered some of his legs and waist, and the gold and jade that gleamed around his neck and ears. They were alone, in that part of the caves that led to his private quarters, with her sitting down at one of the rocks that overlooked the water.

"No, I would hate that, actually."
So heightened were her nerves, that she did not even have the heart to be conscious of how she looked at that moment. With an all-black rash guard that clung tightly to her skin, revealing some parts of her legs and back, while the modified suit she had worn in the throne room had been placed a few feet away, hurriedly abandoned in post-adrenaline distress.
Namor cautiously made his way to the adjoining rock next to hers, and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Let me guess. You have no idea how we will do everything you just said, and even if you do, you are not confident with the results?"
"It does not sound very scientific," she admitted, her voice still muffled by her palms. It was irritating, unacceptable really, that out of everyone in her life, it was he, who will have to witness the mess that came with her reckless, but not entirely impossible ideas. Why did it have to be him? How is it fair that she had no choice, but to accept the fact that it was he who kept her from hitting the ground after that embarrassing fainting episode? That she was now breaking down in his cave, after just announcing the most foolish, nonsensical quest to his people? A quest with no guaranteed results, except perhaps, an added perspective. Or broken bridges, and more.

Of all the powerful allies I could possibly have, it had to be the god-king mutant with a dubious moral compass. I'm already teetering on the edge of my sanity, and he might just push me off the ledge.

"Princess," he said to her, soft and urgent.But she did not want to reply, her thoughts too busy trying to go through every facet, talking point, and obstacle, and precaution that they would need. If they were indeed going to the surface together. How can she even begin to explain to M'Baku, to Okoye, to the entirety of the Dora Milaje the urgency, the soundness of what she was about to do? No, how can she justify the madness of it?
"Shuri," came Namor's voice once again.
Then and only then, did her thoughts clear. He had never uttered her name on its own, isolated from titles, and other nicknames whether it was panther, or some other heroic, but non-human thing. "Stop hiding," he said, gentle, when his words would have been better off stern. "If you can't lift your head to look at me, how can you face the Dora Milaje, or the surface world?"
Suddenly, she was sitting upright, her head out of her hands at last. "I'm not hiding. And I would never hide from you." She scowled. "You have too high a degree of self-importance."
And at that, he gave, what was possibly the stupidest smirk she had ever seen. "All kings do."
She frowned, resisting the urge to punch him, if only to avoid actual physical contact. "Wipe that look off your face, it does not suit you."
He shook his head, wise enough not to be baited into bickering with her. "In the throne room, you were fierce and gentle. Now, you look like you might cut me down at any moment. Which part of you am I talking to now?"
"Like I said," she replied. "I am a mess." Shuri looked away, remembering what the elders, or what even Okoye and M'Baku did not always say out loud, but clearly felt. "I can be difficult. Even more so in recent years, ever since my brother's death."
"Difficult," Namor repeated with some distaste. "Complicated does not mean difficult," he said, refuting with remarkable ease, what she had always felt to be true about herself. "Such complications are a result of different experiences. And I mean no offense, but I find that word irritating. When people say that something or someone is difficult, they usually mean that they're not interested in looking at the situation as it is, or what it might become." His eyes came alive like rich earth, a passionate tinge to them that only came through whenever he spoke of topics dear to his heart. "When surface dwellers say for instance, that to confront the powerful nations on their complicity to imperial projects is difficult, they're only exposing their unwillingness to confront the truth. There lies the real difficulty. Truth."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"It has everything to do with you, and people in general. You will never be the Black Panther of their imagination. You are not the princess your elders wanted. And even if they know that, they're having a hard time accepting it. Believe me, you are not difficult. But the truth of who you are, and who you will become, that, is difficult for them." He shrugged as if such a thing was fact.
Shuri regarded him with some surprise. "You sound so sure."
"Because," and he had the nerve to look a little smug, "I have never met any other Black Panther. They have, which means there are expectations. But whatever expectations I have, will have nothing to do with the past. Because I have no one to compare with, which means that I only know you, and all I will ever see when I look at you, is you. Not your brother, not your father, or your ancestors. Just you."
She tried to not let his words get to her head, tried to ignore the reverence in his voice, and even more so, the earnest look in his eyes. "And what are your expectations of me, as the 'only' Black Panther you have ever known?"
He leaned forward, seemingly unaware that his knees were about to brush against hers. "Well first, I expect you to tell me why you compelled my people to reiterate their trust for me. You could have stayed quiet, and not trouble yourself over a conflict that had little to do with you."
Oh, he was a smooth talker. She crossed her arms with a huff, trying to come up with some complaint over how he had so guided their conversation back to the very topic she had been wanting to avoid. But then she remembered how she had pulled him close by the spear. How she promised to tell him why.
This fishman will not make a coward out of me. Wait, no. I can't call him that, because I will sound like M'Baku.

So she met his eyes and told him a story. It was surprisingly easy, recounting her happy days in the lab. Then came the difficult part. Her father's death. Her brother's quest for revenge, and the aftermath. Then of the terror of watching her only brother be thrown over the falls. The trouble with tradition, and the monster that it made out of N'Jadaka, how he was left bitter by Wakanda's abandonment. How the heart-shaped herbs were burnt to extinction. And finally, how N'Jadaka's suffering and ultimate death would change her brother. How Wakanda finally opened its doors. And yet. Nothing would ever be the same. The Border Tribe's support for N'Jadaka had left them without a seat in the council. Wakanda would never be whole again.
"So you see," Shuri said as persuasively as she could. "I had to say something, back in the throne room. If Namora were to succeed in sowing doubt amongst your people, the alliance will no longer stand, and that would be a waste for both of us, wouldn't it?" He tilted his head at that, as if surprised that she cared about his effort. Not on your life. "Your cousin is unforgiving, just like mine." She added hastily. "Half the planet would be drowning right now, if things had gone her way."
He stared at her for a moment, jaw and fists clenched. There was an internal struggle within him, a stormy look of a man betrayed, but also anguish over what was clearly the truth. Then he spoke, and something about his tone sent a chill through her spine. "How are you so sure that the world does not deserve to be destroyed anyway?"
And from that question, came silence, as Shuri struggled with her own frustrations. That deep ache that she felt, seeing how incredibly foolish certain entities and individuals from the outside world had been. Her experience at the UN, meeting figureheads, and crowned heroes, and officers of diverse ages and backgrounds. She realized that she was nowhere near the answer just yet. But perhaps, if she convinced him, they could see some of the world that they were now judging harshly from their pedestals.
"I don't have a definite answer to that right now," she answered. "Which is why I'm asking you to go to the surface with me. We can sit here for days debating that question. But it's better if we see it for ourselves, right? Think of it as part of a joint project between us. It's sociological, maybe political even, but there is a science to it, if we are thorough in our observations."
Namor considered the idea for a moment, not quite convinced. But something about her phrasing, the way she presented the idea, seemed intriguing. "A science, you say?"
"I will never be able to convince you, and you will never convince me. Maybe we should let the outside world speak for itself. You talked to me about seeing things as they are, and what they might become," she raised an eyebrow, knowing very well that she was throwing his own words back at him. "This is our chance to see. And I can't do it alone, even if I wanted to." She sighed. "Namora will find a way to cast doubt on my word. But you, your word is law to everyone else."
Something seemed to click in his head, a childlike curiosity that, Shuri was surprised to find, mirrored hers. Then, suddenly, he smiled. "Something tells me that there are other plans. Tell me about those first."
Another good read on his part, she thought with some irritation. She looked at him, almost conspiratorial in her demeanor. "To start, can I speak with Attuma? Alone?"

"I did not think that a surface dweller would ever want to speak to me, and alone at that." Attuma glanced at the entrance of the private hut, confused as to why his king had summoned him, only to come face-to-face with Shuri.He was tense, but also a little muted. Despite the presence he carried in the battlefield, he did not seem to have all that much of Namor's eloquence, or Namora's no-nonsense attitude. She wondered, for the second time, what sort of person he was, beyond his duty. Beyond loyalty.
She gave him a small smile from her seat by Namor's table, conscious that it would never be returned. "Do you find all surface dwellers to be discriminating?"
"Many of them would be, if they were to ever see someone like me. Or anyone from Talokan."
Shuri felt her smile slip at that. Someone like him indeed. She could not help but feel a bit of sorrow at the thought. That the only way for some people in this world to live without fear, was to hide, to never expose themselves, their curiosity and desire for metaphorical bridges be damned.
"So Kukulkan knows, he knows what you want to speak to me about." He said it like a confirmation, not a question.
"He does," she replied.
Something about that sparked his interest, his eyes flitting from hers, and to the doorway once again, as if Namor might appear at any moment. "Interesting how he knows, and that you would let him."
"We are allies."
"Hm," he said knowingly. "Of course, how could I forget?"
She did not like his tone, or how he seemed to be digging for something else. But he has not done anything to offend her yet. At least, not since the beginning of the alliance. And despite the dire circumstances of their first encounter, she was surprised over the fact that he was unreadable, but not unreasonable."Why did you speak to me, during the burial?"
"And why did you reply?" He asked right back, equally stubborn.
Shuri visibly straightened and looked at him, right in the eye, unflinching. She knew from Okoye's stories, that Attuma was the type to never back down, and that he seemed to extend a strange kind of generosity to those who were the same. Strength to strength. Equal against equal. "Because," and she was relieved to find that what she was about to say was not a white lie, "when a person is spoken to, they must respond."
"You did not have to," his brows were furrowed beneath his headpiece.
"No," and with that, she could agree. "But you were talking about your people, and the dead. And I wanted to know more."
"Why does it matter?" And this time, Attuma's voice betrayed a sense of impatience. As if her curiosity was unfathomable to him. She looked down at her hands, contemplating her answer. Why? There was no need for her to be there at the burial anyway. It would be an insult to say that she was moved beyond words over the warriors' bravery, when she had never fought alongside them till that night, and that she had never seen their faces before.
"It matters, because I fought in a battle, and someone died. And death matters to me, even if they say the dead never really leave us." But she was not quite finished. "And selfishly, I was so curious, that staying quiet would have been impossible. It is in my nature to know, even if I don't have to."
And then, to Shuri's utter shock, he flashed her a grin. The image of his teeth showing through that grim mouth, a spark of amusement coming through that face that she had thought was impenetrable, was truly, a remarkable image. "Selfishness," he repeated. "The Panther Goddess is strong, and selfish. How interesting."He clacked his spear against the floor of the hut, his demeanor remarkably at ease. There was an arrogance to his stance, and a lack of regard for posture and decorum. "Well then! How can I be of help?"
She blinked for a few seconds, confused as to what it was that made him suddenly so agreeable. And again, with the Panther Goddess moniker. Oh, Namor, what have you been saying to them about me?
"What do you think of Namora?"
His face sobered at once. "A warrior more than worthy of her spear. A true fighter. I have known her since childhood."
"But?"
"She is angry. And not just with me. She is angry at Kukulkan. If she is not careful," he paused and lowered his voice. "If she is not careful, then she will be swallowed up by her anger, and then Kukulkan will have to kill her."

So he does know. It was foolish of me, to mistake him for a mere brute.

"Attuma," she said. "Would you like to help me save them both? Save them from themselves?"His eyes went wide over the idea. "You would do that?"
"I can, and I will," she replied, fishing out a brand new pair of jade earrings from a waterproof bag that were identical to his own. "But you will have to wear these for me, if we're going to do that."
He peered at the earrings with suspicion. "And what are those for?"
She stared at him, feeling the old, familiar thrill of an idea return. Her panic earlier that day, was nearly forgotten. "They're for you. Consider yourself blessed with being the only Talokanil after Kukulkan to have ever received a direct line to my beloved Griot."
"You mean, that-thing, that All-Knowing Spirit?"
Shuri grinned at the nickname. "Yes, that All-Knowing Spirit."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

At first, nothing exciting happened. And for a mission that was ultimately made possible through intuition, and most terribly, by lies to the Dora Milaje and the entire Wakandan council; it started off, almost comically reliant on crafting excuses for her prolonged absence, and a believable premise for the reason of their journey the moment they reached the surface.

First, she reported that there was a problem in the underwater barriers during her visit to Talokan. And that the Talokanil scientists had asked for her assistance, among other projects. The consequence was that Okoye made her promise to at least communicate once every twenty-four hours, for safety reasons. Namor, being Namor, almost took offense over the idea that any harm would come to Shuri, but upon seeing the look on her face during the initial conversation with the Wakandans, he held his tongue with surprising restraint. The only remaining problem was the story that they would tell once they had made it to their destination.

He had been generous, as was his usual style, giving her a seperate dwelling in the caves to sleep in over the course of her stay. But she had not asked for a more elaborate tour, or asked to explore other places where she was not needed, with the exception of his scientists' lab of course. But in meetings like this one, where she was able to sit with him in his hut, and despite the unknown implications of the mural that depicted their battle, despite her discomfort in being allowed to see his collection of paintbrushes, and handmade pottery, and family heirlooms so casually and openly displayed, she did not run. Did not ask to be taken anywhere else.

To do so would be akin to admitting that it was all strange, that there was nothing ordinary about how she was frequently, and in such an intimate space, talking to a man that she had deemed monstrous over and over in her head.

Even more damning was that with every sane conversation, he appeared less godlike, and less of whatever he became when he raged and destroyed ships and burned down those who dared to threaten his people. But Shuri does not want to ponder on what he was starting to be exactly.

"More lies?" he asked, as they sat across from each other on his little table.

She rolled her eyes. "What? You think we can march into any port or airport without a care in the world?" Her eyes could not help but rove all over him, particularly at his pointed ears, and down to his feet, where his ankle wings were. "Nothing about you is subtle."

"Now that," he agreed, "is a problem. Though it certainly can't be helped." He then winced, looking down at his ankle wings, almost self-conscious. As if he had never had to think about them as some sort of hindrance before. And perhaps, Shuri thought, he never had to. It may have given way to arrogance, but she would have to admit that he had the advantage of possibly having little shame in who he is.

He looked up again, and with a determination that she did not expect, then suggested, "America should be cold at this time of the year. Perhaps we can find something to cover my ears. And wearing longer pants, and socks, might help with the wings, no?"

She took note of his current appearance, shirtless, and perhaps for some, barely decent. As it usually was. Not, that she minded. "You are aware about pants? Would you be willing to wear them?"

His nostrils flared at that. "What kind of question is that? I know what pants are." He sat back, looking so offended, that Shuri, despite her own personal ambivalence towards him, started to feel almost apologetic. "I have made it my business to know about some of the surface dwellers' customs. Not as much as you perhaps, but I know just enough. What? You think that because I live in a cave, that I can't be bothered to see beyond the shadows on the wall?"

He paused for a bit, and she blinked, processing the last bit of his words. There was no helping the fascination that had suddenly crept upon her face. "That was a Plato reference, wasn't it?"

"I've read some books, but I'm not fond of all of them." It was clear from the look on his face, that if she pressed him for details on the kind of books he liked and disliked, they would soon forget what it was they were really talking about. The conversation, she realized, would be derailed for hours, delayed by his passion, and her unquenchable curiosity.

She shook her head at the thought, and suddenly, an idea came to her. "I've got it!" She smacked the table and stood up, jostling the paintbrushes and shells scattered all over its surface. Shuri may have dug herself into a possible mess, but at the very least, there was little doubt on some of its more exciting aspects.

Exciting. Okoye and Nakia would find it reckless. Still. I do enjoy being in control of something. For once.

A few of the objects almost rolled to the edge, nearly falling on the floor. But Namor did not appear to be startled by her sudden outburst, in fact, he seemed to enjoy it, his eyes gleaming back at her with what appeared to be amusement. "What is it?"

"Oh," Shuri looked down. "I almost made a mess of your things."

Namor waved it off. "Excitement is a good thing in this case. You need not be conscious about making a mess."

He always did that, she noticed. Apart from their last argument, he was always, constantly refuting moments of doubt. Grating, but never patronizing. Opinionated and annoyingly frank, but never degrading. Every time, and in almost every conversation this was the case. She wondered if it was some sort of ploy. But he disliked subterfuge, so that might not be it either. Such was the puzzle of his character. In battle, in big arguments, she thought that she had seen much of the larger pieces, for they were bold and ingrained in her memory. What was bothersome, were the smaller bits, the parts that were decidedly not grand. They were but little things, crumbs that filled in cracks, and completed, what was supposed to be the entirety of the full picture that was him. She wondered if their quest on the surface would reveal yet another unfathomable piece.

There was a danger there. A danger in knowing, and in noticing, what one would not normally do for people who have done you a grave and irreversible wrong. She sensed her thoughts leaping toward that abyss, and so she retreated, and did what she always knew best: pretend that it was nothing, and of no consequence.

"Well," she replied. "I think I know what our cover story is."

"Oh?" He asked, genuinely curious. "Tell me the story then."

What she had failed to tell him, was that she was but a sheltered princess who had only learned how to conceal her thoughts far better than anyone. Still, she managed to project an air of confidence that convinced even herself that all was well. By some miracle, they had managed to fool airport authorities through their fake identification papers, and had made their way to the south of the city that Riri Williams called home.

It was rather glaring to look at Namor, his face considerably altered by her technology. The device that clung seamlessly to their temples, an upgraded version of projection masks, gave them some freedom to walk around freely without fearing recognition. Especially on her part as a well-known public figure. They agreed that the transformation would not be too dramatic. A tweak to their noses, the color of their eyes, and the shape of their mouths, and it was enough to make them look like entirely new people. Changing their hair had felt too troublesome, even if the device was capable of doing so.

They had taken a cab, with her deliberately in the front seat next to the driver, and him, at the back. Sitting opposite a table was one thing. But right next to him in a creaky seat, in a jostling vehicle, weaving through busy streets? Not a chance. There were seatbelts, and of that Shuri was aware. And yet, that did not mean that she was always rational about certain things. The cab was small anyway, and their knees, or some part of their feet were likely to make contact.

The cab driver was a rather wizened, elderly fellow. A jabberrer, the sort to ask a million questions but would never pause long enough to allow a full answer. It was because of this that they found themselves having to explain what brought them to Chicago. Or at least, Shuri had done most of the talking, strangely compelled to take charge, as she was right next to the driver. It had been plausible, and simple. Nothing too special. She was from Johannesburg, taking a break from her PhD, hoping to get some rest so she would have enough ideas for her thesis. Namor was a professor from Mexico, traveling to gain inspiration for a book. They were mutual friends on some online forum, and decided that they would join each other on a rather spontaneous trip around the world. Hence the backpacks, and the simple clothing.

It felt, like a cosmic bait of a joke, that Shuri had come up with the idea. They were nothing like the people that they said they were. And yet, the cab driver listened to them, and accepted the story with interest, and without question. They were living a different life, believable but not real. As if they were at that moment, living some kind of existence that could only be actually true, in some other dimension. In some other time, when he had not done what he did, and when she did not try to kill him. A faraway, distant time.

"No clue about the online thing you talked about," the old man grinned. "But that sounds great. Bringing people together and all that. It got you guys together on a trip." The driver looked at his mirror, and over at Namor who had been mostly silent in the backseat, listening to the safe, and so far, mundane conversation. "Where can I sign up for stuff like that?" The old man winked, mischief clearly on his mind.

Shared trauma. Grief. Rage. The whole world against you. That is how you sign up.

But before she could provide some alternative reply to the sarcastic one in her mind, Namor shook his head, and to her utter annoyance, offered what could only be, a smile to rival the ones she had seen on the toothpaste commercials at the airport.

"I'm afraid I cannot recommend it. It is for scholars only."

"That's too bad," the driver sighed. "Still, you guys got any advice? I'm old, but it would be nice to meet up with someone. Someone to travel and have fun with."

We are not here to have fun.

But Namor entertained the question seriously. As though he was only a man traveling with a friend. While Shuri could appreciate his honesty, and so far that was the only thing she could ever admit to even respecting about him, it was at this point that she decided that perhaps, she did not always like this particular trait at all.

"You could perhaps try asking someone you already know. Even if they don't like you very much," he answered, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. And she tensed at his gaze, how there was some secret there, something that lured her, and repulsed her at the same time.

The cab driver laughed over the idea. "If they don't like you, how do you get them to go with you?"

Without breaking away from his stare at Shuri through the mirror, he then replied, "You could start by doing everything they ask of you. Even if you never thought you would do it. Then, if they start to wonder why, just say it is because they are right, and that maybe you also want to do what they said. Even if you are not sure if the latter is true or not. Yet."

He shifted in his seat, and she, for her part, felt her chest constrict with the hammering of her heart, and her hands that had loosened just when she had thought the conversation would be over, were now clenched at her lap. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, it had to stop.

The driver seemed to be genuinely tickled over the answer. "Well, that's funny. You're a funny guy." The man's weathered hands clasped at the wheel, turning the vehicle to the left with ease. "So, if I do all that…does that mean I have to like them? Heck, if I do everything they say, I'm gonna have to like them!" A cackle came through the cab, interspersed with a slight raspiness in the voice of this older man who likely smoked in his spare time. "Isn't that right?"

And it was only then that Namor looked away, and it was almost a shock that he did. He never looked away. At least, he was never the first to do it. But he did, damn him, Shuri thought.

"That would be up to you," he said, eyes suddenly blank and sullen. And then he was silent.

The cab screeched to a halt at a rough pavement littered with dust, and bits of cardboard. An industrial looking apartment building, with a rickety sign, and crooked steps leading up to its front door came into view. This was where they would have to stay.

When the cab left them there at last, Shuri refused to look at him. Refused to acknowledge what had just occurred. She walked to the steps, with a stone cold silence, and from the corner of her eye, she saw that he was only standing there, staring after her. There had been no need to hide his ears after all. The projection mask covered it with ears that were obviously not his. His wings were well-hidden under black pants, and boots that were slightly bigger than necessary.

This was not exactly Namor of Talokan, not with his navy blue coat, and the white scarf around the neck, an ensemble that made him look like a kind teacher. But she would have to remind him what they were there for. Even if he knows it, and that the episode in the taxi was only a joke. A terrible one, but there was always that possibility of his humor failing him. It certainly did not charm her, if that had been his way of playing along.

So she turned around to face him fully. "What are you standing there for? You're not scared of some rickety hotel, are you?"

Then at that, some of his usual aura returned. Just like that, the man she saw in the cab melted away, smoothly tucked back again into the face of the one she thought she knew best, but perhaps, did not. "You underestimate my ability to endure, princess."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Finding Riri's neighborhood was simple. And it was in that simplicity, that for the first time, Namor found the audacity to question Shuri's methods.
"You've been spying on her, just as Talokan tried to," he said knowingly.
It was late in the evening, and they had both made the terrible mistake of 'lingering' at an empty parking lot right right beside a grocery store. And while they had worn the same coats from the airport, and at no point did they forgot to wear thick sweaters underneath, the weather still turned out to be unbearable as it sounded from Griot's weather update.
Tucking her hands inside her pants pocket, she looked away at the comment. "After she left Wakanda, I knew that the CIA or the Feds would not let her go so easily. So I asked Ayo and the council to assign operatives. To make sure any attempt in her recruitment or arrest would be thwarted somehow. It's not a long-term solution, but it's kept her away from their clutches."
So far, it had worked, truly. Given her prolonged absence from university, the young girl seemed to have kept a low profile, and had taken a temporary break from her studies. For now. Shuri knew that such a break was not permanent, because again, Wakanda had intel. But this mission between her and Namor was different. They saw many other things that would have otherwise been glossed over by their spies or delegates.
"Hm," he nodded at her thoughtfulness. But something else seemed to be bothering him, a question that she would likely find unpleasant. He was sitting, as was the customary distance between them, a little over a meter away from her at the pavement, looking every bit like the brooding, but kind professor that he was not.
Shuri raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Are you comfortable with that? Spying on her, tracking her movements without her knowledge?" He waved a hand between the two of them, his face devoid of judgment. Though it seemed as though lately, judgment was not something that he projected towards her specifically. "Of course, I'm not saying that what we're doing right now is ethical at all-"
She scoffed, not quite having it. "Ethics? Please!" Then something else settled within her. A mixture of discomfort, and still, a stubborn belief that what she had done, must be done. That she must learn to live with the consequences of every choice, whether the choice entailed doing nothing, or something. Whatever it was, there were things she was not above doing. This, she had come to accept.
"Don't talk to me about ethics," she said. "When we both know you could have done worse." She narrowed her eyes. "Hypocrisy is beneath you, or at least, I thought it would be."
But Namor was unmoved. "I have never pretended to be any better, not once. I just did what I said I would always do. Or what must be done."
"Well, so did I."
Then his gaze sharpened. "That confirms it then. We are alike, there is no one else in this world who will have to bear our burden."
"Try not to equate the two of us so quickly," her fingers tightened over the loose threads of her pockets. "I was about to end your life back then, and I wouldn't have stopped using that spear, if you somehow didn't die right away."
"Perhaps, you should have. But you didn't. Because-" and his words would startle her, would echo back to the voice of the mother he had taken away from her, "Because that is who you are."
She stared back at him, at his eyes that watched her plainly, so openly, without doubt. Without pretension. Years of meeting so many people, all those heroes and warriors from within and outside of Wakanda, and she is not quite sure if she has ever been spoken to, or looked at in this way.It may be true that someone from the Avengers might think of her as 'T'Challa's little sister,' or the 'genius kid who can fix anything.' Or that someone from the UN would say, 'Look. There's the bitch who threatened the
Chief of Protocol. Who marched into the Hall like a hothead.' And that anyone from the tribes would see her as 'the princess,' because while she had made it her business to be everywhere even as a child, there would always be that conscious awareness of her title, her role as Black Panther, and the only surviving member of the royal family present in Wakanda.But while the king of Talokan called her, and saw her by the two titles she was most known for, he, just as easily, could render them meaningless. Not because he found those titles worthless, but because she wanted to be not known as either. As Shuri, princess of nothing. Lover of science and fashion. Even if it was only for a short time. When they were alone. But she had not asked him to, not yet. There was so little opportunity, she thought.
As if sensing her discomfort, he tipped his head towards the paperbag that had been lying on the ground between them. "Maybe we should be eating some of those things you've bought."
"Right." She reached forward, though not without some difficulty, for the bag and took out a box from inside. Flipping it open, the warm, greasy smell of cheese, tomato, and herbs greeted her nose. There lay, in the takeout box, a slice of deep dish pizza. He seemed to have taken his own right after she did. With a shrug, she took out her slice, and bit into it without a second thought.
She raised her eyes, and found that he too, had taken a bite. But then he made the mistake of drawing back his mouth, teeth pulling away from the dough. The cheese followed his movement, and the more his head moved further, the more it stretched and stretched till it looked like there were creamy threads dangling in the cold wind. Namor looked beyond puzzled, his jaw stuffed to bursting with cheese and dough that now seemed difficult to be rid of. That mixture of food and befuddlement on his face, made for the strangest combination indeed.
Shuri struggled too, both with her own slice, and at the sight of him, so wide-eyed, and childlike, and normal. Who could say with a straight face that they have seen the Feathered-Serpent god, the proud and mighty Kukulkan, looking so lost and foolish while trying to chomp on a baked dish? No one. Except me. Something about the thought gave her a sense of delight. That he, once, for a brief moment in a parking lot in a city of a country he had regarded with suspicion, had looked stupid in front of her. But that was another dangerous thought, so she willed her eyes away from him, and focused on herself instead.
Then she took the risk of opening her mouth wide to clamp down on the shorter thread of cheese, and managed to finally break away. "Hrgh!" She exclaimed, mouth full and triumphant. After eating a few more bites, and after having had the pleasure of watching him wrestle with his food for a few more seconds before he was finally able to properly taste it, she found the urge to gloat.
She smirked, watching him finally chew. "It's good, isn't it?"
He glared at his pizza, annoyed that he was bested by something new and simple. "I don't know," he looked up at her and frowned, his lips jutting out, petulant, and boyish. And never in her wildest dreams did she ever think of him as young, or boyish, or ever remotely capable of making such a vibrant expression that, if she dared to imagine it, was a face he would have made as a child. Never. And yet, it was there, right in front of her.

"I feel as though I will be sick if I eat too much of it."
"And why," she asked, "would you ever want to eat too much of it, if it's that bad?"
Then his eyes regained some of its familiar intensity, and he looked down at his food, and back up at her. "I don't know." He looked forlorn, as if there was something else gnawing at him that was not just curiousity or hunger. As if, he was no longer just preoccupied with their meal."What's the matter?" She stared back, almost alarmed at how his mood seemed to have changed.
Then he was looking at her, with everything else, food, weather, and parking lot, all forgotten. "It's just that I find it disturbing."
Shuri blinked at that. The food was disturbing? Her, making fun of him? The whole thing? "What do you mean? What's disturbing?""It's disturbing," and he paused, eyes meeting hers against the cold wind that now came sweeping through the city, "that I find myself drawn to things that may or may not be good for me."

It was no coincidence that they had chosen to be in that parking lot, nor did that particular grocery store happen to be right beside it. No sooner had they gathered what remained of their pizza boxes, did Riri emerge from the employee's entrance.
Shuri and Namor remained silent, watching her quietly from the corner of their eyes. In the paper bag from where the little pizza boxes came, were bottled drinks. Carbonated for Shuri, and cheap rum for Namor. They sat there, pretending to be strangers in a spontaneous drinking session.
But the girl paid no attention to them. In fact, she looked tired, and utterly defeated. Her red coat was unbuttoned, and the worn-out scarf looked hastily thrown around her neck. As if she could not be bothered to care about her looks. They could see her face, round, and wide-eyed, and yet in the two years that had passed, she too, had changed. The self-conscious gait and posture that had so defined her movements when she had been that confused college student was gone. Instead, beneath the fatigue, was a sharpness, a firmness to the way her back stood, and how her feet planted itself on the ground.
Even someone so young and eager, could be brought back down to earth. It was a pity, that even if it had been difficult, that she had to stay away from university. A place where her abilities would have been tested. But it turned out to be a terrible place too, with the institution and her professors taking advantage of her naivete, and background. Telling her what could not be done, only for them to steal the fruits of her ingenuity, and selling it to the great machine that was the military and the intelligence community.
Then the girl gave a little shriek and a curse, clearly at the end of her limit. Shuri could barely make out the words, but she realized that Riri was cursing out someone. Possibly the owner of the store. Then with a laugh, the girl muttered to herself, "I'm not paid enough to go through this shit everyday." A funky pop tune began to vibrate from her coat pocket, and she fumbled to answer, shivering against the dropping temperature as she did.
"Hello?"
Whoever spoke on the other end must have been someone she loved, someone, bringing not so good news, given how tightly she gripped the phone, knuckles protruding with the tension.
"Ma," and Riri's voice trembled, fighting for some of that good-natured stability that it usually had. "Tell me you didn't sell the car. You can't-" And then she was cut off.
"I know!" She exclaimed. "That's why I told you yesterday! I was going to get you the money right on time. I told you, I don't mind working on weekends. Ma- no. Ma, listen. We've got enough to pay the rent next week. Don't listen to them! They don't know anything! I-"
And then the girl was silent again, listening to her mother bemoan their circumstances. Among other terrible things. A look of horror had come up on her face. "Increase? You didn't tell me anything about an increase! How do you know-" And this time, she started to pace back and forth, making all kinds of gestures in the air, clearly in distress.

Increase. She must be talking about the rising rent and property taxes around here. Her family is renting an apartment, from what I can remember. And the car. She must be talking about that red car of hers. The one she had been so attached to, back then. I don't regret having it pieced together, but it seems like she's going to lose it for a second time. It's a shame. I tried to offer her monetary assistance, but she was too proud to accept anything else. She's stubborn.

"Listen, Ma. We'll figure something out, okay? Just try not to sell the car before then. Promise me. No. You gotta promise." She sighed. "Thanks. Listen, I just got off work. I'll be home soon. Yeah. See you." Then weakly, added, "Bye. Love you too."
She hung up, and tucked the phone back into her pocket. Then, she looked up at the sky, raised both middle fingers at it with so much force that she practically jumped from where she stood. After a quick adjustment to her clothing, she stomped out of there without so much of a glance at the barely lit parking lot where Namor and Shuri had been sitting.
They had only been there three days and already, they knew what the girl could not bear to share with Shuri back when she was still in Wakanda. To hear statistics and news articles from Griot was one thing. Reading the available research was another. But to witness a person live the reality that had been described was something else entirely. A tangled web of harsh living conditions that, maybe both Namor and Shuri understood on some level, but had never been able to see up close.
The grocery store had been a franchise, one of many that were appearing all over the state like mushrooms. It demanded long hours, with only the minimum in return. That probably explained Riri's frustration. Her involvement with Wakanda's outreach program here in Chicago was probably the sole reason for her being able to attend university in the first place. But now that opportunity, that window of respite from this neighborhood was now gone. No, not gone. Ripped away. All because she was desperate to prove herself, and because she was taught by idiots who were greedy enough to be tempted with the glory of being able to detect vibranium.
Namor had been the first to speak. "The girl just cursed the heavens with both hands. That is brave of her, I think."
Shuri shook her head, and turned to him, her half-empty bottle abandoned at her feet. "We should take a look around. Before we go back to the hotel."
He looked concerned. "It's not a good neighborhood. Especially at night."
"Scared?" Her tone would have been taunting, if she did not look so somber, looking at the grocery store sign, thinking about the many times she had taken certain things for granted.
"No," he replied carefully, all the while he sipped at his bottle, trying not to wince at the sting of the fizz from the alcohol. Liquor was not something that he had ever found necessary, given his way of life. Still, he managed to adjust to the strange feeling an hour after having tried it. "Something's bothering you."
"It's just-" She doesn't quite know where to begin. Not sure if it would hurt to talk about it.
But she opened her mouth, and was surprised at how easily she could speak of it without crying. "When my brother opened our borders, I didn't understand at first." She glanced at Namor, and he nodded. He did not understand why Wakanda had to either. "A part of me was glad, because tradition was never something I agreed with, at least, most of the time. So when T'Challa said we were going to open up, I thought, 'We can piss off the ancestors, and maybe travel without having to lie about Wakanda and our people? Sounds fun!' "
She picked up her drink back up with a sad little laugh. Suddenly, she wished that she had gotten the rum too. "But he did explain to me why. So he brought me here in America. And I remember making this half-joke, about how boring it was that he took me to some random neighborhood, when I thought he would take me to Coachella or Disneyland instead. Imagine that! I was so foolish!" Shuri did not want to cry, but the sting in her eyes started to become more pronounced with every word, so she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
Suddenly, Namor said, "Well, I have never been to Coachella or Disneyland either."
And she could not help the half-choking laugh that escaped her lips. Liquid from her bottle splattered onto the pavement as she fought to regain her composure. "Ugh! I-Well. That's good to know then." She found him staring at her, strangely pleased that she was no longer so melancholic. "I can't imagine you going to either of those."

He shrugged, and the smile he gave was one of comfort, small but sincere in its goal to engage with her. "Would it kill me if I never do?"
She shook her head at that. Clearly, he did not know how to live, if he had no desire to try. But enough of that. Though to his credit, what he had said, whether he had intended it or not, had given her just enough time to adjust. To center herself just so that she could speak again without fearing some kind of breakdown.
She continued on, taking one final sip from her bottle. "Then my brother pointed out buildings, three of them, I think. That he bought them, that we were going to build an outreach center. And that we were going to build more around the world where we were needed. The more I worked with him, the more I believed. But as time went on, I started to doubt. Because the world was full of…of shit. I'm sure you understand what I mean." And at that, she turned to him, and he nodded again.
"Oh, of course. That I can understand."
"How is it," and she dropped her bottle to the ground with a careless clang, her emotions high. "That we could do so much, open up our doors, and be met with suspicion? They had such high expectations of my brother, of Wakanda. And he welcomed every argument, every battle with so much grace, so much calmness. I couldn't understand how. But because he was there, I thought that I would help him succeed. Still, the world was full of shit. The burden was so heavy, and there was so much to do, because suddenly the world was going to be obliterated by a purple alien. There were so many responsibilities, and I thought it was unfair. Unfair that no matter how good my brother was, the world did not deserve him. And that maybe, the world did not deserve our grace. And now my brother's gone. He's somewhere in the plane of my ancestors, but I have yet to see him."
For a minute or so, there was only silence. Then Namor spoke, his voice low and soft. "And now? How is it for you now?"
"Now," she replied. "They expect me to be just as kind, even when they accuse Wakanda of not wanting to help. Of being stubborn and still isolationist. All because we do not want to play by the rules of international trade! And I don't know how to stay true to what I believe in, in a world that wants me to be cruel. I just don't know." She shrugged. "Thinking of my brother hurts less now. But talking about the kind of world he hoped for, that is difficult. Because he-died before that beautiful world could ever come to fruition, and there's not much I can do about that."
The sound of shuffling boxes, and clanking bottles broke her from her reverie. She looked down and found Namor carefully gathering the trash, one-by-one, and depositing it onto the larger paper bag. There was a patience in the way he moved, his hands careful and gentle. A stark contrast to how he would appear in a battle, where he was all brawl and brutality. Then he looked at her again, his hands on the bottle she had just dropped. It was the only other thing that had not been taken care of."I watched your UN speech," he said. "You said something similar. About how they were all gone."
"Yes," she blinked at the memory.
"But you also said that you were not. That you are still here. Are you still here, princess?"
And at that question, she found herself smiling, and she had not smiled in so, so long. It felt good. Felt freeing. "Yes. Yes, I'm still here."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The woman's eyes were empty, apart from the shrewdness, and that hint of smug confidence. A strand of purple hair had come sliding down, but she made no attempt to brush it off. "It's weird, isn't it? How your people happened to be in the Atlantic too. Are Wakandans so attached to water?"

"If you took the time to research before meeting me, perhaps you would have known the answer to that."

"Easy now," Valentina cautioned. "I'm not trying to offend you."

"I'm afraid, Director, that by virtue of your position and what you stand for, you don't need to do very much to offend me at all."

"My goodness, you're a spirited one. Now you're making me wonder. Tell me, how precious is this thing that you're trying to protect?"

Shuri felt the presence of someone coming up behind her, breaking the spell of the memory that had fogged over her brain like a distant nightmare.She turned from her solitary spot on the hotel dining area, and found that the owner had made her way to the table. Namor called the owner, 'the hotel lady' at first, not knowing how to address her. The woman had apparently been a resident of the city since her teenage years, but was now in her sixties. She stood by Shuri's table, looking for all the world, like she was on her way to a party, the makeup on her face a defiant celebration of the wrinkles that had begun to take hold of her skin. She grinned at Shuri, fresh in all her olive-skinned glory, while the short, curly hair that she had kept loose and wild on some days, had been adorned with silver clips."Good morning, Auntie Em."
"All my customers call me Auntie," she had said on their very first day, "and by the end of it, you'll be calling me Auntie Em. No Ma'am, or Mrs, or whatever the fuck. Auntie is all I need."
"Morning. Breakfast?"
She did not have the heart to make a face. Naturally, she would have dragged Namor to some other part of the city where they might find a better place to eat, but he was late today. And she, deprived of caffeine, and hungry, had little choice but to make her way to the dining room. But perhaps, she was too quick to judge. Despite the odd and rather tacky decorations, some of which were reliant on an imitation of Victorian-era interior design with even some mid-century and retro thrown into the mix, or the fact that the floors and bed creaked, or that the windows made weird noises at night, it was not all that terrible. At least, she had yet to find a cockroach or a rat somewhere.
Shuri smiled at the old woman. The lady had some of that no-nonsense air about her, but she was not unkind. "Yes, I'm just waiting for the food."
"He's a looker, isn't he?" Auntie Em said out of nowhere.
She blinked, confused with the sudden question. She had taken a sip from her coffee cup before responding. "Who?"
"That man of yours. High brows, lovely complexion. Built like those men they go crazy about in the Bible."
Nothing could have prepared her for that answer; it was so casually given, each word uttered with rapid fire precision. It was a miracle that Shuri had not choked on her hot beverage, or else she would have been in trouble. "I-Actually, he-"
"What?" The old lady demanded. "He's beautiful. Is it a crime to say what's real?"

Even with an altered face and a false identity, he won't be able to escape praise for his looks. How annoying.

"He's not," she managed to reply without sounding too defensive, though her fingers nearly slipped from the cup handle. "He's not my man, as you say. We're not in that kind of relationship."
"Ha!" Auntie Em cackled. "But my god, doesn't he look scrumptious?"
"What looks scrumptious?" A familiar voice interrupted. Namor had taken his seat before either women could reply, clad in a black turtleneck sweater, and another one of the ankle-length slacks that the tailors from Talokan had been able to imitate.
"Oh, nothing dear." The old woman replied, then she turned to Shuri, and winked. Without any further greeting, she walked away, her sandals clacking against the worn-out floors.
"She's a strange one," Namor commented. "Have you eaten?"
She scowled at him, still irritated that he could carry himself with a great deal of confidence, seemingly unaware that he had just been complimented a while ago. That, and the fact that he was late. "No. But I did wait, thinking you'd wake up at the usual time."
He smiled, as if such an act would excuse him. "I do hope I wasn't too late. I stayed up writing." An apology would be nice, but no one's taught you how to apologize for anything.
Shuri felt some of her curiosity piqued over his writing. To make their cover story convincing, and to lessen the chances of them being seen using their kimoyo beads in public, Shuri had procured smartphones and a journal for each of them, even if in truth, she barely had much use for either things in the recent years. Still, it made for a good exercise, writing notes and facts on the pages. And of course, learning to navigate Chicago with a phone. Okoye would have dismissed it as 'primitive,' but Shuri thought it fun. He, on the other hand, had studied the phone with a cold practicality that only seemed to focus on the device's use. But the journal and the green kimoyo beads she had given him, had been his preferred objects to use.
He had become attached to the beads, but she has not commented on that. The truth was that she took great pleasure in seeing people enjoy her inventions, but there was something about his possible reaction to her enthusiasm and longing for feedback that scared her. That fear was not rooted on him specifically , but as to what he might think of her, if he ever found out that she cared about his opinion over a particular topic.
"What did you write about?"
He grinned again. "A writer-professor can never reveal too much, can he?"
"Hm." Was all she said. The dread she felt as she recalled her conversation with Valentina came back, and dampened whatever flare of appetite she had. Then the waiter arrived with her food, and despite her initial doubts, it looked pleasant to the eye, with no hint of sanitary problems. Namor had stared at the plate of pancakes with some curiosity, his eyes staring at the pat of butter and syrup and little bits of fruit that had been sprinkled all over the plate. He turned to the waiter and said, "I'd like to have this too, if you don't mind." When the waiter left, he turned to her, almost excited. "I've never tried it. Have you?"
She shook her head, and nervously, cut herself a piece, helping herself despite the strange feeling in her stomach.
"How is it?
Suddenly, and short of breath, she ignored the question. "Auntie Em spoke to me a while ago." Shuri gripped her fork, and stuffed another piece of pancake on her mouth.
"I know," his eyes sparkled with amusement. "I have advanced hearing, but I didn't get here fast enough, did I?"
"She said you were beautiful," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
He froze momentarily, then shook his head. "She's an interesting person, with little to no shame. A bit like you, I would say."
Her thoughts flooded through her system like water. She doesn't know. No one here knows. That you are not beautiful, even if you are. That you are not a writer or a professor. You are an arrogant god-king who hates the very world whose food you seem to be delighted by. You are a strange man, and a walking contradiction. You are a secret that I must keep from the likes of Valentina.
The last thought almost escaped her lips, but in her effort to block it, the food in her mouth, and her stomach threatened to return from where it had come from. Namor's eyes had widened at the sight of her face, now dotted with sweat. "Shuri," he managed to whisper. As to how he kept his calm, she did not know. He reached for her in concern. "You're going to choke-"
She ran to the nearest window, hair and braids flinging wildly in her panic. With trembling fingers, she managed to pull at the handle, and the window, despite the cold, despite her near-blind vision with panic and tears intertwined, gave way. It was unpleasant, but she had more than room to poke her head out and lose all of it: food, bile, and the nasty remnants of a memory, the traces of sharp, calculating eyes that poked at her secrets.
Then, there came a touch.His fingers, impossibly warm against her head, had brushed against her temples briefly, before finally gathering the parts of her hair that were about to make contact with her nose and mouth. "It's alright," he murmured. He held her that way for several minutes, his frame now practically glued to her back. They were bent over the window in that way, before finally, finally she could lift her head and stand.
He handed her a tissue, but made no attempt to move away. She took the tissue without a word, too embarrassed to even look at him. Wiping her mouth, she froze at the sound of a throat being cleared from behind her. Namor stepped away a little too quickly. She whirled around, and found there, in the middle of the dining room, Auntie Em and the waiter staring at them.
The old lady's brows furrowed. "I thought you said he wasn't your man."

She did not speak to him of the incident. Nor does she explain what Auntie Em meant. He did look at her afterwards, as if waiting for the explanation, but made no attempt to pry it out of her.
He did, however, tell her to eat slowly. To drink less coffee and beverages that made her stomach feel strange, and her body too alert.
She had looked at him, feeling rather settled, but no less cranky. "I can take care of myself."
"Of course you can," he said. "But even you can forget."
"Why? Have you ever forgotten to take care of yourself?"
His food had arrived, and he ate with her in silence, letting the question hang between them. And only when there was but a crumb left on both of their plates, did he pick up the conversation from where it had been left off. "I don't ever remember not taking care of myself. There was never any opportunity to do so. At least, because no one would ever leave me alone enough to do that."
"How convenient. I should try becoming a god when I return to Wakanda."
Namor's eyes snapped from his plate and onto hers. She found some traces of anger there. But it faded too soon, and then there was something else. Her own reflection in his pupils, an aching loneliness that had gone on too long to ever be remedied. "You're not in the right mood to talk. I think it's best if we meet later." He stood up from the table, and left her to stare after him, his back proud and even here, in this tacky hotel, he still carried himself with some regality. He could never quite shake it off. And Shuri, for the life of her, could not understand as to why she found that bothersome.
Was it because she wished to see him lose more of his composure? Or was it because she was blunt and cranky, and what she said had touched on a nerve, and she hated that he had retreated from her? But there was no way to answer those questions now.So she let it slide, and decided that she would not speak to him for a few hours.
When she explored the neighborhood alone, she found some time to breathe. To observe, and to let her mind wander in familiar territory. That of watching, and taking in information. Riri's predicament especially. She walked through the streets, through convenience stores, and alleys, even to the nearby park. And she listened.
When no one was looking, she would sometimes take pictures of the streets, of the lamps, and buildings that she found curious. But above all that, she listened to chatter. For lunch, she bought a hotdog from a man in a cart, after somehow making her way to a park. Then she sat on a bench, and listened again.
It was interesting to be able to watch a part of the world in this way. Not through a file, or Griot's reports. Not from the safety of the lab. But right in front of her, where she could see, but also be one with the everyday noise. Of all the things to do, listening had been the most useful thing. How sometimes, there were stray cats in alleyways, and that there were homeless folk wandering about, shooing them away at first, only to sit with the animals like they were friends. Or that there were children who went to school and asked about normal things like candy and dinner. Sometimes there were disgruntled workers who smoked, and laughed about their wages. And then were those who did more than just laugh over their circumstances, who whispered about how so-and-so had been arrested. How the police were scum, and how the landlords were nowhere near their friends in anything to do with surviving. That there was little attention paid to those who had no money and no name, and that there were times where neighbors would have no time to care for one another.
It was only after some time that she found her way back to the hotel, and by then, it was late in the evening. In her hands, she carried a paper bag filled with takeout, her own version of a peace offering to Namor. In the reception area, she came across Auntie Em seated behind the desk, downing a glass of red wine. The old lady stood up and beckoned for Shuri to come closer.
"There's not a lot of people around here today. Why don't we sit down?"
They sat down on one of the couches. The lobby was not much of a lobby, but more of an eccentric living room filled with knick knacks on the walls, flowered wallpapers, and printed frames of some of Chicago's most famous buildings.
"Did you have an argument with your man?"
Shuri shook her head. "No. And he's not my man."
"You keep saying that." The woman tipped her glass towards her mouth. "But in one way or another he's yours, even if you say he ain't. I asked him earlier after you left, and he said he wasn't. But he is. It's just that you're both stupid. You've got something on him, that's what."
She looked at the older woman, surprised. No one had ever called her stupid before.
"How do you know that?"
"He looks at you like he owes you the world."
Shuri looked away. "He does owe me, in a way. But it's not the world." She looked at Auntie Em and attempted a smile. "That's too dramatic for me."
"Ha! Dramatic. Well, men are dramatic. Hell, the world is a little dramatic. I'm not rich, but I've seen some of the drama myself."
"It's not a very good world, I think." She could not help the comment, the words tasting bitter but true in her mouth.
But before Auntie Em could reply, there was a disturbance from outside, harried footsteps and the sound of a grunt. Shuri stood up in alarm. Auntie Em had rushed past her, and opened the front door, the look on her weathered face equally tense, but strangely less shocked.
There, on the top of the front steps, was Namor, arms in support of what looked like a younger man who looked no more than eighteen. Blood had splattered all over the boy's green hoodie, and worse, his face appeared to have been wounded. No, grazed, with a bullet.
Auntie Em ushered them inside without a word, closing, and locking the front door with quick, measured movements. "Follow me," was all she said, leading them all to the backrooms. Behind the dining and kitchen area, were the staff locker rooms. She turned to them, and pointed at one of the chairs. "Help the kid sit down, while I get my kit. Make sure he doesn't bleed to death."
Shuri had hurriedly placed her paperbag of food, and had rushed to the boy's side. Taking out a handkerchief from her pocket, she applied some pressure on the boy's right cheek. She looked over at Namor clinically. He didn't appear to have any injuries. His disguise was not exposed, or at least, the projection mask on his face remained functional. "What happened?"
He looked at her, and shook his head. The boy was muttering in pain on the chair, but paid no attention to either of them. "I don't know. I was in the neighborhood too. And I saw him running. He's been in a fight somewhere."
"Not a fight," the boy said suddenly. "They were going to drive people off the apartment. Because they couldn't find another place to live. They got the police in there."
"Did you fight them?" Shuri asked, her heart pounding.
"Had nothing to do with me. But I lived there too. So. We paid the rent, like they said we should. But the neighbors were fighting 'em like crazy. I got mad cuz they wouldn't let me past the entrance."
Auntie Em appeared again, and the boy stopped speaking. She had stopped to examine his face and sighed, relieved. "You won't be needing stitches this time, and thank god for that. No idea how you managed it, but that's good."
Namor looked at Shuri pointedly before looking down at the old woman. "This time? You mean, you know this boy?"
Auntie Em snorted, patting the boy's head sternly, before cleaning up his face with a damp cloth, and dry tissues. Taking a piece of cotton from a pouch, she patted some of the antiseptic on the wound, making the boy whimper in pain. She scowled in response."Oh, hush. It's a little sting, that's all." Then after finally taping the gauze and bandage on his cheek, she handed him a key from her pocket. "There's a room on the second floor. Take it, and don't you fucking leave in the middle of the night. Wait till tomorrow. You got that?"
The boy looked sullen, but after a few seconds, he nodded, mumbled his thanks, and left for the second floor.
"I know him," Auntie Em said. "I saw him and his friends in a convenience store once. They were shoplifting. I didn't say a word because they were too young for me to act all harsh. But they keep getting into fights, and they keep clashing with police. And I don't say a word because I know how shitty things are. But I keep saving that little boy's ass."
Shuri looked at the woman sadly, though not without some respect.
"Why? Aren't you scared you'll get in trouble too?"
"Scared?" She scoffed right back. She looked at Shuri and Namor with interest. "Either of you believe in a god somewhere?"
"Not really," Shuri replied.
"Yes," Namor answered.
They both answered at around the same time, and something about that seemed to amuse the older woman. "That's funny. Well, I believe in something that's for sure. I've known that kid for a while. It was his fault my husband died."
Shuri felt her blood go cold, but the lady was not quite finished. "It was the same thing. Trouble with the police and all that. They were after him, but my husband, bless his heart, didn't want them touching the boy. So he lives, but my man doesn't. I was angry, mind you. But the kid is what he is, and he's not my enemy. He got shit to deal with, and so do I."
Her eyes had gone fiery and bright with the longing for something beyond her own pain. A longing for justice. "You said this was a shitty world, and you're probably right. But I'll keep helping that kid because I want him to see that there's stuff worth living for. I don't want him to die thinking that he's really better off dead. Not when those bastards who hurt him and my husband are still out there, acting like they run this town. You feel me?"
Namor was very still, his eyes on Shuri. And she stared back at him, soft and knowing, and no longer so cranky. Then she turned back to Auntie Em again, moved by the old woman's tenacity. "Yeah. I feel you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The dream began as it often did; abrupt and unforgiving in its sudden introduction of different sensations to the body. But when she became conscious, she was no longer lying down on grass. Nor was she afloat in water. What she felt beneath her feet was sand. She had been curled up on her knees on that same beach, where the sky was purple and midnight blue, and the savannah was still to the north, while the sea lay to the south. And she, unmistakably in the middle.
Shuri raised her head, and scowled, annoyed that she had found herself in such a state again. Psychology was not her specialty, even though she was able to find success in the rehabilitation of the Winter Soldier. Still, she found it difficult to accept Jungian or Freudian concepts without some skepticism, but if she were to consult a specialist who studied both, then there would certainly be some kind of explanation for it. At the very least, she would have something to start with. But once again, there were no answers.
The wind howled, and though it was faint, she could hear it, a whisper. She stood up in alarm, and looked around. Her white dress fluttered about with every movement, still adorned with jade and shells. Then she stopped to listen, and realized that the voice, the murmurs, had been coming from the giant tree that grew in the water. The voices, whatever they were, faded, and rose with the waves, speaking in a language that was not hers.Then, she heard it. "K'uk'ulkan…"With disbelief, she realized that the voices were speaking in Yucatec Mayan all along. But how? The ancestral plane, as far as the stories told, had never admitted more than the simple premise of being able to see and speak to one's family and ancestors. From past dreams, she had come to realize its flexible nature, and how the experience of seeing it was relative to the person itself. But to hear a language that was not hers, that was unthinkable.
Then she remembered N'Jadaka's words. How is never as important as why.
But even if that were true, there was no way of finding out as to why. The voices from the tree quieted, till only that of a woman's voice could be heard, a pleasant and cool voice that made Shuri stop pacing. It spoke of many things, but it laughed and sang as one would to a child, and she could not help but be drawn to it. Then, before she could stop herself, her feet carried her from the safety of the shore and onto wet sand, and the cool water. It was difficult to move in the water with the dress, but the waves seemed to have a mind of their own. Instead of resisting, the water caressed her body, and the waves defied the pull of the tide just so that it could push her to the base of the tree.
Shuri gasped, reaching out for the trunk in surprise. But upon contact, she felt the voice of the woman ring a little louder in her ears, and the wind, the waves, all that her eyes could see, was replaced by something else. A vision. A woman. A brown, long-haired woman, with kind eyes, and a wistful smile. She rubbed her belly with affection, clearly with child. Then she looked down at her unborn baby, and began to speak. It was her. It had been her voice that had come from the tree. Shuri could not place the words, though if she had more time, she would have recognized what some of it had meant. Then the woman's hands moved over her stomach again. And then there, dangled a jade bracelet, so delicately carved with strands of fiber from the precious plant that had changed the fate of every Talokanil ancestor.
Shuri's eyes widened in recognition.
It was the bracelet that Namor had given her. Then- It was impossible, and yet. This woman could only be Namor's mother. The very woman whose spirit, and character had so defined him. The woman was standing on a beach, her eyes suddenly weary and torn. Then she spoke to the unborn baby again, only this time, the weariness in her eyes had taken on a look of steel. As if a decision had been made. As if all would be right in the world. In the middle of it all, a word was repeated twice. "Cha'ah Toh…Cha'ah Toh…" Shuri blinked again. What little she knew of the language, and indeed it was not enough, and yet the words poked at her memory, as if the words meant something. Like she was supposed to have read it somewhere.
Then she let out a gasp, and suddenly the Mayan woman was gone, and the waves crashed and pulled her several feet back towards the shore.

She was awakened by the sound of her window, its strange groan ever so insistent as it had been since the first night of her stay.Gone was the dream, and reality had pulled her back in the hotel room. "Shit," she cursed. But just before she could crawl under the covers again, she heard it. The sound of another window opening and closing. Shuri tiptoed to hers, and peered into the darkness. There was no one. Strange. There were not many guests who stayed on the third floor, and at this hour, it was difficult to imagine anyone bold enough to open a window and let the cold wind in. She snatched her kimoyo beads from the bedside table, feeling rather unsettled. "Griot?"
"Yes, princess?"
"Has anyone entered the building recently?"
"Based on security camera footage, no one has entered or left for the past four hours. Except for the staff."
She glanced at her beads, thrown off by the wording of the AI's response. It should have been obvious that camera footage should indeed be the basis of its answer. Oh well. At least she would not have to worry about Griot becoming too vague.
"Alright. Update me in the morning, if there are any changes."
"Understood."

Nearly a week had passed since their arrival, and she had not seen a rat or a cockroach in the hotel. Namor had teased her at some point, suggesting that she had passed her judgement on the place far too quickly.

"You've been spoiled, though it is expected of an itzia."

"Technically speaking, I'm only a princess on paper. And I did say several times that I am happy to accept any mistake in judgment."

It was nearly time to leave. The final leg of the trip would take them back to Mexico, and Shuri, though she could not bear to admit it just yet, did not exactly want to leave. If only because there was so much of Riri's predicament that was still unresolved, and of course, Auntie Em. Still, she has come to understand one thing. How everything that stood in the way of a better world, presented itself like a Leviathan that burrowed its way through every sector of society, and without regard for borders. That even your own teachers could betray you, as they had done to Riri, or how one cannot depend on your superiors for humane treatment, and if even you could, the wage you glean from your labor can barely afford necessities that were supposedly a human right. Stranger still, this was a reality where you find yourself working closely with those who might, or have hurt you in some way because there are monsters in this world far worse.
Or that perhaps those who hurt you had known no other thing, except the brokenness that had also been inflicted upon them. There is no excuse for it, of course. And of that, Shuri is more than aware. But the truth of it had washed over her, and it left her wondering as to what Namor was thinking. But she was afraid to ask, afraid that if they talked again, she would find herself pouring out too much of herself.
It was now morning.
Griot had reported no intrusion or activity elsewhere in the hotel, and so she decided that she would have to leave the matter alone. After meeting Namor at the hallway, they agreed to meet downstairs, check out, and leave for the airport. He thought of traveling in the water instead, but it was a pain to traverse cold waters, especially in this particular state where the only way to the sea would be through a river. Far too risky. And so by plane they must travel once again. He could never say so aloud, but he seemed to dislike airplanes, a strange, new trait about him that contradicted his own ability to fly. She made a mental note of pestering him about it later. For now, she must say goodbye.
Auntie Em waited by the lobby once again. She gave Shuri a fond smile, enveloping her onto a tight hug. It was a pity that they had only known this woman for a few days, and that they could only ever meet her under fake names, and false faces. There was an open, and unabashed boldness to her every gesture. The smiles were wide, her comebacks equally frank. She would have deserved to know who they really were. But that was not possible. Not now."Real shame that you can't stay longer. Still, I hope you got to take a good look around."
"We did," Shuri patted her on the back before stepping away. "It was fun."
They found themselves seated at one of the larger couches, hands clasped together. The old woman glanced at the direction of the elevator as if anticipating Namor's appearance. "I know you said you don't live in the same place as he does. But maybe that can change."
Shuri laughed at that, and despite her misgivings over being teased over a man she was very much not romantically attached to, it made for a strange source of entertainment. "Well, our trip isn't really over."
"Then where?"
"Somewhere in Latin America," she managed to say, guilty that she could not fully disclose the exact location.
"He's from there isn't he?" Auntie Em asked. "That's great then. Any man that takes you to his place…They usually stick around."

Well, he will 'stick around.' But only because we have a common enemy, and that the fate of our nations are linked now. That, and that I am starting to dream about his mother.

A comfortable silence had ensued between her and Auntie Em, both lost in thought. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the woman asked. "You keep up with the news, right?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"What do you think about all those heroes? They keep talking about 'em every now and then. Especially since it's been a while since the Thanos thing happened. There's been talk about how the Avengers might come back. But the UN wants in on it, because they can't have 'em running around without brakes."
Shuri shifted uncomfortably. Now this is dangerous territory. What did she think of superheroes? In a sense, she did count as one, given her abilities and status. And though it was years ago, she did work with the Avengers and their friends at some point. But looking back, it was her brother who had known them far longer than she did. It had been an emergency, given how Thanos literally sent an army on Wakanda's doorstep. But beyond that, what else? She took on the mantle, driven by anger. Then, out of a sense of responsibility. But it was for her family, and Wakanda. She had never been formally associated with some grand organization, or even an all-encompassing need to save because it was the right thing to do. She toiled with her technology, because she had been trying to do so for most of her life, and because her love of science was accompanied by the needs of her people."They're interesting, I guess?" Was all she could say in response.
Auntie Em shook her head. "Interesting. That's one way of saying it. I'm sure there's plenty of new ones that can fill up the ranks. I've got some fight in me. You think they'd consider my application?" She laughed over the silliness of her own idea, but something about it intrigued Shuri.
"If you could, would you apply?"
"Oh, me? Nah." The woman made a face, though there was a hardness to her eyes that betrayed some of her own conviction. "They wouldn't want me, and I sure as heck wouldn't want to be part of any of that. Whatever they're called, whatever it is. There's plenty of ways that folks like me can get together with other people to help each other out. I like that better."
"I see," Shuri looked at her thoughtfully. So here was a person who did not look at the institutionalized world of superheroes with immediate worship. It was not an offensive position, but a refreshing one. "So you don't like them then?"

"It's not that I don't like 'em, because I know they've seen some horrible stuff too. I'm just saying, the shit's down here with the people, with the small stuff no one cares about. And they're all the way up there. The Avengers used to have a tower, then they had their own little place. Then they signed with the UN because someone needed to keep 'em in check. But those shitheads that want them leashed are the same ones that don't do enough to keep us little folk from dying. And we die because the shitheads spend it on the bastards with guns and badges. And then the Avengers will work with those same bastards too, because they gotta keep things fair. Gotta be one with the law, when the law ain't shit. Am I making sense?"
It made far too much sense. And Shuri was terrified that Auntie Em's righteous anger had fed into her own. She had not thought about it too much, in those same words, but it was true. What had been said was true, not because the statistics said so, but because it was a truth that had been long-lived by so many. It would be callous, no, foolish even, to deny the arrogance, and subsequent moderate platitudes of the ever so unique, and exceptional modern-day 'hero.'
She looked at the old woman solemnly, a series of unfinished ideas formulating in her head. "Yes, it does make sense."
As if on cue, a taxi honked from outside. It was time to leave. The elevator opened to reveal Namor, right on time. Backpack behind his back, he gave Auntie Em a wide smile. And even Shuri would have to admit that it was a good smile, one that reached his eyes, and one that would have parted clouds, if such a thing was even possible.
"Goodbye, Auntie Em," he said.
Something about him saying 'auntie' felt like it was straight out of a dream. Still, the old woman responded by clasping Namor's hand. "Take care now."
They walked out of the front door, with Namor graciously opening both the hotel, and cab door for her. With one final wave to Auntie Em, they quickly left the street, and very soon, the neighborhood itself.
She was in the backseat this time, and he was seated right next to her. Their backpacks were in the trunk. Shuri looked at the driver, and blinked with recognition. It was the same driver, the same one that had driven them from the airport. "Wait. It's you…"
The old man chuckled. "Well, hello there."
Namor looked amused. "Maybe it's fate."
She scoffed. "Coincidence maybe. But not fate."
"Coincidence does not sound as poetic."
"Eh. I'm not a poet anyway."
The driver looked at them through his mirror. "Well, you guys are getting along real good."
Shuri rolled her eyes. "Not all the time, believe me."
"Listen," the driver said. "Remember what y'all said to me back then? About me asking someone on a trip, even if they don't like me that much?"
"I think you're talking about me," Namor corrected.
"Right. Well I asked a neighbor. This lady next door who hated my guts. She's a few years younger, and she's divorced… I won't bore you with the story. Point is, I asked. Then I kept asking, and then it worked."
Shuri glanced at Namor, before quickly turning away. "What do you mean, it worked?"
"Well, she said she'd hang out with me. But here's the thing." And the old man's eyes sparkled with joy. It would have been wholesome, had it not been for the circumstances, or that Shuri was right next to Namor, and that truly, truly it had been a mistake on her part to be anywhere near him at that moment. "Here's the thing. I figured it out."
Namor's voice came through, hesitant, and so unlike his usual tone. "What did you figure out?"
"That it was true. That I really liked her. Maybe more."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It had not taken long before she immediately understood what he had done. Though it was clear that had the taxi driver from Chicago had bothered to turn on his radio, or that Auntie Em had changed the channel on the television of her lobby, all would have been revealed sooner.
They had found their way to the Yucatán peninsula, where Namor had admitted to visiting on more than one occasion throughout the centuries. The scope of his visits however, were mostly concentrated on the coastal cities and settlements, for it was difficult for him to be physically too distant from the sea. But that was not a problem for either of them now. Shuri had given him a spray bottle, one that could easily be mistaken for a disinfectant anytime he needed the moisture to allow his body to function as normally as any man.
It had been out of curiosity that she had asked to see the city of Campeche before anything else, and he had indulged her. They stood near what would have been the walls that had been built in defense against pirate raids and other rival colonizing powers from centuries long past. She had been in the middle of looking at a map of the area through her phone, when she suddenly came across notifications from several news websites, particularly American ones. His back was turned to her, preoccupied with the sight of a particular group of school children that had come to the neighborhood for an educational trip.
Something about the headlines gave her pause. POLICE FREAK ACCIDENT ON CHICAGO'S BRONZEVILLE DISTRICT. She scrolled through another one. EIGHT OFFICERS FOUND DEAD. At first, she had thought about Auntie Em and the boy with the green hoodie. How such violence would mean trouble for their neighborhood for there was no doubt as to what the narrative of the governing authorities would be on the matter. Then another headline appeared. EVICTION NOTICE RESCINDED. The address mentioned in the article looked a little too familiar.
"Is something wrong?"
Namor looked at her with some concern. She shook her head, grateful that she had not scrolled further into any of the articles, or else it would have been difficult to hide the apprehension slowly creeping its way onto her veins. "I think I need to use the bathroom."

He pointed at a souvenir shop a few blocks away. "They sell goods over there. Perhaps you can ask some of their workers." But the frown on his face did not fade. "Have you fallen ill?"
Shuri barely managed to conceal her nervousness with a scowl that had become a signature expression from her whenever they conversed. "What does it matter? I need to use the bathroom because my body needs to."
"Calm down, itzia. It was a simple question." He crossed his arms, and something about his sincerity drew out a feeling of guilt from her. "We are traveling together, if something were to go wrong, we should be responsible for each other in some way. Though I understand I am not exactly the companion you would have chosen-"
"Stop, I got it." She turned to walk away. "I won't be long."
The souvenir shop had been one of the bigger ones, a brick, one-story building that occupied over an area worth at least three lots. After speaking to the woman on the cashier counter, she was directed to a small room at the back of the store. Certain that the clerk was too far away from the door, she sat on the toilet seat and fished out the kimoyo beads from her pocket. She had an earpiece on her ear for the private Spanish translations, but she needed the beads for further confirmation

"Griot. The address from where the eviction notice didn't push through, that apartment complex…"
"It is a match with Riri Williams's official address. You have walked past the area during your excursions in the city."
"Hm," her brows had furrowed. "I knew the picture from that one article looked familiar. But how was the eviction canceled? Are Wakandan operatives involved?" When she proposed the idea of assigning spies to monitor Riri's activities, it had been pitched as a matter of security both for the girl and that of Wakanda. The council only agreed to the proposal, provided that her personal input on how they conducted the operation was limited.
"No, princess. They were present in the area when law enforcement were involved, but they decided against interfering."
Her pulse spiked at this bit of information. "And why did they not interfere?"
"There were police officers already in the area, in pursuit of petty thieves. Miss Williams had come home rather late, based on the building's security footage. They harassed her, among many other younger residents. There was some misunderstanding from the other residents of that apartment, which resulted in a conflict. Some residents feared that the officers were in cahoots with the new owners of the building, while the rest were outraged over their sons and daughters being questioned in a rough manner. There was violence involved. "
"And you mean to say that our agents still did not interfere?" Shuri's voice shook, angered and ashamed that she had not been able to convince the council that her involvement on field operations would have made a difference. But they felt that she lacked experience in such matters, and because she was no despot, and because she was only technically the leader of the Design Group, she relinquished some of the decision-making power over to the council and Dora Milaje.
"There had been no need for their involvement because the safety of the residents was already guaranteed."
"What?" She demanded. "How?"
"A third party." And then Griot stopped abruptly, even though the explanation was clearly vague.
"What third party?" She frowned. "Griot, if you do not explain to me, as you are programmed to do, I will have to expose you to some virus-"
"The presence of a disguised vigilante. The hysteria and violence between the residents and the officers were escalating, and so the third party tampered with the police vehicles, through the destruction of street lights."
Her mind immediately recalled the other headline. The officers had all been killed. Griot had paused again, but there was no need for any more elaboration on that bit. "So this third party has unnatural strength and is capable of taking down eight officers at once. Are any of the residents injured? Dead?" Something about that last question clawed at her gut.
"None are dead. Some have taken a few bruises to the faces and their wrists. Miss Williams was not harmed. The residents are unlikely to face any harassment from anyone over this incident. Temporarily. The priority of the police department will be to apprehend the intruder responsible for the death of its officers, and the destruction to the vehicles."
"And what of this..third party? Is there a way to track their movements? Identity? Affiliation?"
"There are none." Griot said, annoyingly neutral and unfeeling to her mounting frustration.
"Impossible. That is impossible. There are cameras in the building, from surrounding buildings. Not to mention there are some cameras installed by the city government to monitor traffic. There are far too many resources to draw from." She glared down at her beads. "Are you in need of an upgrade? Or are you deliberately withholding information from me?"
"There is no information to withdraw, princess. The third party has fought law enforcement in defense of the residents, including Miss Williams. After the fight, they left the premises, and took every precaution to erase their tracks."
"That is impossible," she insisted again. "No one in this day and age-" Then she stopped, a sudden realization coming to her.
"Griot. The night before our departure from Chicago. You said that no one left or entered for several hours, except for hotel staff. Is this true?"
"Yes, based on security footage."
There was that strange emphasis on the security footage again. "And how else would you be able to obtain information on any arrivals, unless- And then she stopped speaking, the possibility, the idea in her head suddenly becoming more and more likely.
"Tell me, Griot," she whispered. "Where was Namor that night?"
"Princess, the question is contrary to my programming. I am not allowed to violate the privacy of anyone who has used the kimoyo beads, or any device that you have personally authorized with a direct line to my system. This is in accordance with your principles."
She let out a little laugh, floored with both the audacity, and recklessness of the whole situation. "Seems like he has taken advantage of such principles. How clever. Did he ask for your assistance in erasing any incriminating footage of him from Riri's neighborhood and the hotel?"
"That question, I am obligated to disregard."
Unable to bear it any longer, she stuffed the beads back to her pocket, and stood. With barely a murmur of thanks to the woman who had shown her the way, she walked back to where Namor was waiting for her. How was she going to ask him? It had been reckless fighting law enforcement and potentially revealing himself, well-disguised and protected as he was. But there was so much more to it too. Why? Why? Why did you not tell me? Why would you help a girl you once tried to kill?
She found him, still at the same spot. The school children that he had been watching were still nearby, listening to a tour guide. Without looking at her, he smiled and said, "You're back. Those children are here for a history lesson, I suspect."
"Oh? And the tour guide's lesson is not to your standards then?" How she was managing to pretend that there was nothing wrong, she had no idea.
"It hardly matters, whether or not I find it accurate." His eyes had found their way back to hers. She was struck by the haunted look on his face, one of resignation to the past, but also sorrow. "There is no way for me to ever tell those children any of the mess that was the past, or any of the terrible things that had come through the port of Campeche, or the nearby cities without having to expose myself. And even if I could, how can I? How do you explain bloodshed to a child without breaking a part of them?"
Now those were excellent questions, though Shuri could hardly formulate an answer to them without an ache to both her head and chest. He could commit acts of violence without so much of a blink, without hesitation, and yet here he was, reflecting on the difficulty of having to explain human cruelty to the innocent. It was not a direct dichotomy, but there was some contradiction there. That a man so accustomed to the idea of war, believed, still believed in the protection of something beautiful.
"Is that something you ask yourself when the youth and all the children of Talokan ask you about Wakanda?"
Oh, how she wished that she had never said it. If only because something about his face had visibly recoiled at the sudden attack of a question. And even then, his face was bright against the sun, and his hair that would normally be damp and moving in the current of his underwater kingdom, had remained only slightly curled and coiffed. Even at the peak of discomfort, he managed to look decent. 'Beautiful,' as Auntie Em called it.
Suddenly, she felt her eyes begin to mist over, unable to stand the strange onslaught of emotions. She turned away from him and began to walk away from the historical sight. The sea was not too far away, and she felt herself blindly in need of something. A breeze. Some air to drive away the moisture in her eyes, while the unforgiving pace she set as she walked would give just the right amount of physical distraction.
"Shuri!" He called after her. But she did not want to look at him, nor did she stop. But if she had speed, then so did he. He finally managed to catch up, and his fingers, avoiding direct contact with her arms and hands, reached out to lightly tug at the straps of her bag instead.
"Wait." His voice betrayed neither reproach, or even exhaustion on having to follow her. "What is the matter with you?"
She whirled around suddenly, her face nearly colliding with his. The movement seemed to have surprised him, and he let go of her bag, a look of genuine confusion on his face. "No," she hissed. "What's the matter with you ?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand this time."
"Why?" Was all she could say. "Why did you do it?"
"If you are here to condemn me about my attack on your people-"
"No, not that." She shook her head, struggling to keep her composure. "Riri. I thought you hated her."
Then understanding finally dawned on his face, and he looked at her, face unreadable and solemn. "I knew you'd find out eventually. Do you condemn me for it? Will you lecture me about the sanctity of every life, regardless of their profession?"
"You haven't answered the question."
Namor looked torn for a moment, as if the answer was about to take something out of him. For the first time, he looked uncertain. His eyes wandered off to the buildings, down at the pavement, and finally to her. She stared back, daring him to lie. Will you break your word, you unhinged fish man? Will you lie to me?
His eyes were suddenly still. As if he had gained some clarity, and all the while, his eyes had never left hers as he finally spoke. "Two things. Williams was only a child. And it seems as though she has lost so much of what had made her a child. More of it will be taken away by force. Those policemen, no doubt, would be among the first to steal what is left of it."
Williams. He called her Williams. All throughout their past conversations, he had never made any attempt to name her. She was only a 'scientist.' Or 'that child.' Seeing the astonishment on her face, his expression darkened slightly. "This does not improve my opinion of her. And she ought to know better than to be so trusting of those who can offer her relief from her circumstances."
"I don't think she had much of a choice to begin with," Shuri countered.
"That is true, just as what I have said is true."
"And the second thing?" She prompted, unable to believe the turn of events. "You said there were two reasons."
"The second reason is you." And his gaze, the color of his eyes seemed to have taken on the light from the afternoon sun. It should have been too intense, too much to handle. But Shuri could not look away, and she realized that she was transfixed by him at that moment, waiting for his answer.
"It was you who told me about your brother. How angry you were that such a world could not be as beautiful as your brother dreamed. The girl, the scientist, belonged to such a world. And it is a terrible place. We saw it, didn't we? If only for a week."
"We did," she managed to affirm.
"We did." He repeated again. "And it was because you were angry, and sad over how terrible it was, that I suddenly felt that some parts needed saving. So, perhaps, because we saw it together, we could help them as well. Together. Offer our allegiance to those who are just as angry as you and I. I should have told you about- Do you hate me for it? You know very well I won't apologize."
"There's no need for an apology." She looked away for a second, trying to grapple with the image of his eyes, only to be met with the sight of them once more, as she looked back at him. "There is no need to apologize, because I don't hate you for it."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Perhaps it was because of their appearance, or that Namor transitioned from Spanish to Yucatec Mayan with remarkable ease, that the locals did not view either of them with as much suspicion. But without having to listen to an explanation, Shuri guessed right away that some of the elders did not always take kindly to the sight of tourists, or outsiders who came poking about looking for excitement, and afterwards, some way to profit off of the land and the people. She could hardly blame them of course.
They had come all the way from the city, deep into one of the villages, a small settlement at the heart of a forested area not far from a beach that miraculously escaped the clutches of developers looking to mold the landscape into another one of many 'beach resorts.' Their trip began on a hitched ride on the back of a truck, and after being dropped off at a larger town, they followed a narrow road of grass-infused asphalt, and dust.
They had walked around, inspecting handmade trinkets and goods. One of the women, a housewife named Nikte, took the initiative to show them about, even going as far as inviting them to her home for a simple meal of traditionally made tortillas and stewed beans. She had been on the younger side, her tone and energy matched by the rapid way she switched from Yucatec Mayan to Spanish in a matter of seconds. For all of Shuri's energy, even she would have to admit defeat, though her inability to fully converse in Spanish might have given her a disadvantage.
Namor, surprisingly, enabled some of the chaos, acting as the main interpreter, and inserting, every now and then, some side comment or two whenever there was an opportunity. At some point over their meal, they found out that Nikte's husband traveled to Campeche for work every morning, and came home late in the evening. She took one good look at Namor and laughed, "Had you not brought a companion, the neighbors would probably be gossiping, and then they'll call my husband or whatever nonsense. It's not often that I have visitors you see." Too polite to do anything but smile and offer their thanks for the meal, he smiled and suggested that perhaps they were better off staying elsewhere so as to not get the woman in trouble with anyone.But Nikte only giggled and stood, collecting their empty plates and cutlery to be washed. "Oh, I don't really care. But my hut is too small for two guests anyway. We haven't had a chance to make any extensions. I'll take you to someone else's place, don't you worry."
The woman had been terrified to learn that they had initially planned on camping in the forest, and insisted on finding a place for them in the village. "There might have been a time when you can sleep in the forest if you ignore all the bugs. But you can't risk it. Not in this day and age. Oh, I sound so old when I say that, though it can't be helped." She grinned again. "I'll wash the plates then I'll take you to an elder's place. I've been helping them with their garden, so they owe me a favor at least." And with that, she skipped away to do her chores, leaving her guests with little choice over the matter.
It took unbelievable restraint for Shuri not to roll her eyes as she gave Namor a somewhat exaggerated look of alarm. "You've been called 'biblical,' and now you're in danger of becoming a thief of spouses. Surely an almighty amphibian such as you can exercise more restraint."
"Amphibian? Is that a new nickname?" His eyes danced along with her mood, the glint in them an indication that he also found the repeated phenomenon of being uniquely complemented by strangers to be amusing. That, and it seemed like he was aware that many nicknames were indeed given to him. "You talk as if you don't attract admirers," he teased. "When we were in the city, you were strutting to the bathroom, and some of the children looked at you and thought you were pretty. A princesa they said. And the truck driver kept looking at you too."
"I don't strut," she retorted. "Besides, we don't look like our usual selves, so I don't think it counts."
"I have a feeling that if your mask wasn't on, you'd do far better than just turn heads."
Her eyes widened over that, and if she were a schoolgirl or some maiden, she might have squealed or giggled, or had done something foolish and unbecoming enough to regret her very existence. But she was none of those things. She had been a princess with a lab, a cranky mess with a blunt tongue, and most importantly, and perhaps this might be to Namor's disadvantage, she did not like the feeling of loss.
So before she could even think through it, the words came forth with enough silkiness to render her voice unrecognizable. Very deliberately, she looked at Nikte for a brief moment, then whispered, "If your mask wasn't on, I would have to bring out my vibranium claws to fend off everyone else; married or unmarried."
The smug look on his face faded immediately, and he looked for a moment, utterly frozen in place. Then after a blink, it was gone, the stunned look had given way to mischief, and he gave another one of his most devious grins. "The panther knows how to play."
"Come!" A familiar voice interrupted. They turned to find Nikte standing on the doorway, hurriedly wiping her hands on her apron. "I shall take you to one of our elders now."
And as they walked from the hut to the other end of the village, she made the mistake of looking at him again, and was immediately rewarded with a wink. Is this what flirting is? Does one flirt with a former enemy? She felt absolutely nothing, of course. The only overwhelming urge she felt at that moment was the sudden need to pluck out his eye. Preferably the one that winked at her.

The elder was at first, a little bit of a grump. But Nikte persisted, and argued, and persisted again. Finally, an agreement was reached. Shuri and Namor were allowed to stay but only if they agreed to help with the housework, among other things. Before Nikte left, she gave Shuri a pointed look and said, "Atziri's kind. Just make sure you do as she says, and do not try flattery. She says insincerity is an evil thing."
And that was how they had come to share a small room, with barely enough room for a mattress, table, and a shelf. Shuri stared at the space, horrified, all the while Atziri who was standing next her, shrugged. "The sheets are clean, and there's no dust. We will have to wake up early tomorrow before breakfast. Think you can handle it?"
"Sí, señora," was all Shuri could say. What else was there to complain about? She had been kind enough to accommodate them after being practically ambushed by Nikte, and that in the end, the older woman could not bear to have them sleep outdoors. When Atziri left them to settle in, Shuri had immediately claimed the side of the mattress that was closer to the floor, opposite the wall. There was plenty of sleeping space, and for that she was grateful. Still, there was nothing more terrifying than having to share a 'bed' with a man she had thought would be her greatest enemy.
But I'm not a coward, so I'll try not to make a fuss.

Namor however, was strangely quiet and somber. Without so much of a word, he accepted her every condition and demand. The pillow between them will not be moved under any circumstances. No funny business. There were two blankets, so there would be no need to steal from the other. They must never use the kimoyo beads in the room unless it was nighttime, and that the door was closed. They must remember to wake each other when they suspect danger, or if the water from his spray bottle ran out. To each and every rule, he merely nodded his agreement.
It was not until much later in the evening, when they were both clean from the dirt of the city, and they were laying on opposite sides of the mattress, that he finally spoke. He faced the wall, while she fiddled with her beads, reading reports, her toes hanging and almost brushing the floor. A pillow lay vertically as a barrier between them. Then, he whispered, a startling sound in the dark. "I know who she is."
She blinked, her focus on the projection from the beads now completely gone. "Who?"
"The elder. Atziri. I have seen her, and she has seen me. From when she was a child. And some years after, as she was growing up."
Shuri abandoned her beads completely, now intrigued. "Is that why you let Nikte do most of the talking? Did you fear recognition?"
She felt him shift in place. "No. I have never tried to speak to her until now. This might be the first time I have ever tried to converse with her, or anyone who shares our language here on the surface. It feels strange."
"Strange how?" She asked. But he remained silent, letting the noise from the forest take hold. "Namor," she whispered again. She turned her head over her shoulder to peek at him, and found that he now lay flat and still, his eyes to the ceiling. But he said nothing, clearly unwilling to talk about the topic. So she speculated on her own.
He was not immortal, and yet time worked differently for him. To see the changes in a person over time, as they were born, as they learn to walk and cry, and grow, and finally grow old. To bear witness to such things must be incredible, in a sense that few could ever hope to see the entirety of a life, from beginning to end, and how new ones replaced it, all while the world turned with beauty, and chaos. Too much chaos. Perhaps that could be why he resorted to extremes too.
What does it matter, that he has killed a threat, knowing that there were more to come and replace it? Before his encounter with her, he would have gone on that way, emerging from the shadows to eliminate an enemy before retreating again. Until the next threat, and the next. Maybe he could do it for another century. How tiring that must be.

Maintaining a milpa was a difficult task, nearly impossible due to the unpredictability of the climate over the years. Even more so, that many of the younger and stronger village folk who would have had the strength to bend over the crops, and chop away at vegetation, all favored their retail and service industry jobs at the city. All of this, Shuri and Namor learned as they found themselves helping Atziri with her tasks. There were chickens to feed, eggs to collect, and a garden to sweep. Namor carried and chopped wood, while Shuri was left to wipe old jars.After breakfast, they were taken to the woods, where there was more wood to collect, and the deeper they went that was when they found the little plots of milpa, where there were stalks of corn, and beneath it, squash and beans, and some chillies. From what the elder and Namor had hinted to her, such plots of cultivated land covered a great deal of space in the past, but there were risks to attempting and planting far too many vegetables nowadays. Still, the village folk contented themselves with a little bit of it here and there. "We try what we can, because it is a matter of survival," Atziri remarked, inspecting what was likely her own plot. The older woman wrapped the shawl around her shoulders a little tighter. "I might as well take a good look at the other ones too. You can both stay here, and see if you can find a squash to take back to the house. I won't take long."
Shuri caught Namor's eye as soon as the elder left. "You didn't answer my question last night. Is something wrong?"
"I fell asleep."
She frowned, bending alongside him on the ground as he knelt to inspect the crops. "Liar. No one falls asleep as quickly as that."
He plucked the squash carefully, taking care not to disturb the beans beside it. "You think too much."
"So you have learned to sleep with your eyes open?"
He shot her an exasperated look. "You don't give up, do you?"
"If I can't talk circles around you, then I will have to prevent you from trying to do the same to me."
Suddenly, he pressed a finger to his lips. "Wait." Then with narrowed eyes, he set the squash down and crept carefully across the row of crops, making his way into the untouched forest floor. Shuri stared after him, confused. But the tension in his brows awakened something within her too. A sense of danger. He turned back to her. "I think we should go after Atziri. Now."
She nodded and followed him, taking care to not brush too carelessly on branches and the vegetation. The hiking shoes she had designed were made to make minimal noise on the ground. He wore a pair of his own, though they were made of softer material to help with the concealment of his wings. They must have spent five minutes walking around the forest, and it was only then that Shuri began to feel worried. Surely the elder had not gone far if she was only inspecting neighboring plots.
Namor stopped, crouching behind a tree stump. He gestured for her to get down, and she complied, using a cluster of grass and ferns as her main cover. Peeking through the greenery her eyes widened at the sight of a group of men. And sitting on a fallen log, was Atziri. She had not been tied, nor did she look hurt. But she had been staring at the men with clear disdain.
One of the men seemed to be in-charge, with a gun on his hip. A pistol. The rest of them were armed in a similar manner. The leader sat at the end of the log and began to speak. He spoke just barely enough to be heard from where Shuri and Namor were hidden. And as they sparred back and forth, Shuri had to press her earpiece to ensure that she could hear Griot's translation.
"Señora, you have to understand. It is a bit inconvenient that you saw us here today."
Atziri snorted. "Of course. You're scared that an old woman would be able to stop you from taking pictures." Her gaze sharpened. "I know you're not tourists. Tourists don't go around with guns."
"But you're not just any old woman, are you?" The man ran a hand through his dark brown beard. "You're one of the elders who like to run around the cities, talking to reporters. Talking to everybody."
"What I do is none of your business."
"Listen here, woman. We've been told to watch out for you." The man pulled out a phone from the pocket of his black jacket. He flashed her a series of images that Shuri had to strain in order to see. "See here? You've been busy, talking about this land. You've been talking to the wrong people, marching on the streets, putting up signs. My bosses aren't too happy about you making noise over whose got rights and what."
"So? I thought we were all free to say whatever we want in this country."

The man's eyes narrowed over that. "I don't really care about your politics. I'm here to do my job." He tipped his head towards his three other companions. "And right now you are in our way."
Atziri remained unmoved, and stubbornly so. "How much money are they paying you anyway? Enough to build a mansion somewhere?" Shuri bit her lip over the woman's provocation. Surely the elder was clever enough to understand that she may never return to her hut if she did not try to be more amiable.
"So you do know it's all business. We're paid to survey the forest, including the beach. Take pictures and videos and all that. But dealing with anybody who meddles with the job?" He tucked the phone back inside his jacket, his eyes never leaving Atziri's, "We've had to do that too."
Namor's hands were clenched now, clearly displeased with the threat. It was clear that he was preparing to reveal himself, from the way his eyes quietly gazed from the man with the jacket, and to the three others that stood to his right. Perhaps it was because she had the Black Panther's senses, or something else, but Shuri understood, no, felt and heard the quick intake of breath, the beginning of what would have been him rising from his position so that he could finish off every man. So before he could even blink, her left hand, in a way that it never once had, reached over to grab his wrist, snapping him out of his rage-induced intensity. That seemed to startle him, and he stared at her, surprised.
She shook her head, and motioned for him to be quiet, and mouthed, "Wait."
His eyes fell upon her fingers, stewing with anger and impatience. But then Atziri spoke again.
"Oh, I'm sure you've had to do many things to get the job done. One of you will probably shoot me." The rest of the men looked at each other uncomfortably, while the leader remained stone-faced. "But I'm not afraid, because I'm old and I've seen too much to be afraid. You know what I've done in the city, out on the streets. And I've drowned once, on my honeymoon. But K'uk'ulkan saved me." Shuri blinked in comprehension, her fingers still tightly gripping Namor's wrist. So that was how they knew of each other's existence.
The man in the black jacket laughed. "Your gods won't save you. They don't save anyone. They just play with life, and leave us all alone to suffer when they think they're done with whatever they're doing."
"You're young for someone who does this kind of work, and you probably think you know everything. So go on then, shoot me." The old woman raised her head. "You say the gods won't save me, and perhaps you are right. But I've survived after having to fight and rage against the state, against men like you and the people you work for. The Feathered-Serpent was not there to see every moment of danger, but right now, we are near the sea." Her eyes looked solemn now, a note of warning to her voice that betrayed confidence and dread. "Sooner or later, the sea will hear of what you've done to help ruin it, and it will come for you too."
The other men who listened looked visibly nervous, but their leader remained skeptical. "You can't scare us into sparing your life. We do not believe in gods. The only gods in this world are men with all the money to buy everything."
"Perhaps, but not all things can be bought." Namor's voice rang throughout the forest. He stood forcefully, taking Shuri alongside him, her hands still clinging on to his wrist. The leader stood in alarm, while the rest of his companions visibly straightened, their hands hovering over the holsters on their hips. Atziri had turned to look their way too, her eyes wide, and for the first time, afraid. You should not have come, she seemed to say. But it was too late, and Namor, clearly, was unable to bear the possibility of the elder's death.
"Señora, agáchate!" Namor cried out, and without warning, aimed a rock the size of his fist towards the leader's head. There was no time to think, nor did the leader have any time to reach for his gun. The rock struck his face immediately, and he fell back on the ground at the sheer force from the throw, stunned beyond words.The rest of the men had taken out their guns, but Shuri was ready. The kimoyo beads that she had long kept hidden in her pockets, were now wrapped around her right wrist. And before the bullets could come their way, a shield came to life, rendering every piece of metal into a burnt obsolete mess on the ground.
Atziri had done as she has been told, as she bent low on the ground, ears covered, and her eyes closed. "Get her," Shuri yelled at Namor, as the men foolishly tried to circle their way around the shield. He complied, and rushed towards the elder in quick, hurried strides.
As the men neared, so too did their pistols seem to lose bullets. Idiots. Then, without warning, Shuri deactivated her shield, and pressed the command. Bolts of electricity shot from the beads, and zapped all three of them. They screeched as they fell, wriggling and twitching over grass and dirt, their guns and confidence now replaced by genuine fear. They will not be able to move for several hours, maybe more. Confident that they were well-taken care of, she ran back to where Namor was comforting Atziri.
"You will have to run, señora." He urged. "Seek help." The woman stared at him, frightened, but equally grateful. "What about you two?" She turned to Shuri with awe, seeing as how it was her shield that had done much of the saving. Namor shook his head again, "No, no, we must make sure their guns are nowhere near them. We were lucky to save you. Run, and we will be right behind you soon."
Atziri rose from her bent position, and ran away, half-stumbling but determined as she dodged precious crops on her way.
Then there was a groan. The leader was still alive, though his nose was broken and bleeding. With a groan, he tried to sit up, but that was impossible. Namor was upon him immediately, tearing the gun and holster from his hip with enough strength to ruin his clothing. He's going to kill him. He's going to- And then down came Namor's fist, as he bent over the man, grabbing him by the cuff of his black jacket. Then another punch. Shuri rushed over to him, all the while screaming, "That's enough!" But he would not listen. In fact, he was no longer here, no longer with her. There was only him, and whatever weighed upon his mind. Anger, injustice, violence.
She tried to grab his arm, but there was no use. Left with little choice, she gathered every ounce of her enhanced strength and then as quickly as she could, snaked her arms around his neck and chest like some kind of painful embrace. Pulling him back, she managed to wrench him away from the now unconscious body, and together they wrestled and rolled away in the dirt, in the grass, in a strange scuffle. Her back was on the ground one moment, and then it was not, and then Shuri found herself astride him, her knees and upper body thrown upon his chest and belly. "Let me go!" He snarled at her face.
"Shut up," she barked right back, teeth showing. "Have you gone mad?"
"They will come back. They'll come back and finish their job, and she will die." He tried to be free of her hands, but she was too stubborn, and he could only succeed in rolling them away again, and this time, it was her back that had hit the ground, and he was on top. "They will kill Atziri, and no one will care except for the villagers. Everyone will pretend to care, but she will only be part of a list they will show on their news, and then they will forget. And then they will build new buildings, and new resorts here, they will all forget!" He shook against her now, clearly in distress. "They'll drive them away, and the people will have to find a new home again. This is their land. Their home. But then they will not be welcomed anywhere." Shuri felt something warm and wet fall against her cheeks and lashes. But he was not yet done. "They are strangers in the land of their own ancestors, do you not understand?"
"Do you not understand?"
And then she realized what it was that had fallen on her face. They were tears. His tears. She met his eyes with her own, and found in them, the depths of a grief that was all-consuming as the oceans of the world. His hands were tight against hers, and they were locked in a struggle of will. But she felt no fear, no intimidation. In fact, she suddenly felt as though she was about to cry with him too. How it hurt, how it ached, the burden of knowing that so much of what happened before, would happen again. Even if the time was different. Even if the faces were not the same. She remembered what Attuma had said, That he does not know how to weep. To wail. He only knew how to strike first, before anything can hurt him.
"I do understand," she replied. "But you have to let go first. Then, then you can scream and cry as you like."
His grip on her loosened, surprised. "What?"
Slowly, she let him roll to the side, and even though they were still tangled, it was no longer over the other. They lay in the grass, side-by-side, and all the while, Shuri, decided that she would not think of every reservation she had against him. At that moment, she could reach from within and offer him something true and good. Something that she had come to understand after burning the white mourning garb she had worn for her brother.
"There is no shame in it, you know," she whispered. "Tears are only just tears. They demand that they be let out eventually." And then she was blinking away her own tears for some unfathomable reason. "Come on, then. I'll join you."And something about her words seemed to break a part of him, and he let go, his hands and feet no longer intertwined with hers. But they remained still and together, and only then, did he cry openly, his tears falling down on the tiny sliver of green space between their faces.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It took at least several minutes to compose themselves, and wipe away the water from their eyes. Shuri, for all her strength, suddenly felt as though her arms and back were stiff from all the tension of having to hold him down. Namor was the first to stand, his face somber in a way that she had never seen before. She stared at him, and was overcome by the need to turn off her projection mask, as well as his. I want to see what his real face looks like, after being wracked with tears. I don't know why. He looked down, and held out a hand. A hand that he knew she had refused to take several times in the past. But he offered it anyway, and with it, a sad smile, small and subtle. Without thinking, she reached upwards, and met his grip with her own, allowing him to help her stand.
She could tell that it surprised him, from the way his eyes widened by a fraction. His thumb pressed lightly on her skin, but after a second, their hands separated again. "We should go back," he said.
Men from the village soon came, taking the unconscious bodies of the four trespassers.They had come after Atziri had told them of the incident, and that they were to be taken to another elder's house so that their wounds would be taken care of. But as for what was to be done with them, that was a matter for all the elders to decide.
So Shuri and Namor waited by Atziri's garden, with her seated on a wooden stool, while he contented himself by lounging on an outdoor hammock that had been tied between two papaya trees. The faint whiff of chicken dung, the shadows cast by the leaves of papaya and avocado, and the smell of damp grass reminded her of another time. Of frolicking about on the outskirts of the Golden City. But the sight of Namor's head swaying with the hammock pulled her back to the present."I wonder what they will do with those men," she said aloud. She tried not to think about the fact that Namor had come close to killing one of them. If she had done nothing, if she had not wrestled with him, all of those men would have been unrecognizable now. Not that they deserved to be free. It was obvious that they were contracted to scout the area, and kill or blackmail anyone who got in the way of their employers.Still, that did not mean that it was entirely within Namor's right, or even Shuri's, to decide that they ought to die, especially when at least three of them were already unconscious. They were not the victims anyway. It was Atziri.
"You know what my opinion is," he answered. "But I cannot go against the elders of this village."
She looked at him thoughtfully. Without consulting her, he had gone off to Riri's neighborhood, and ended up killing eight officers. While she did not feel any disgust for what had been done, she could not help but wonder if such an act would not come to bite him back in the future. "I hope you can learn to show some restraint next time," she replied. "In fact, I'd like to propose a new deal between us."
"Oh? This would be, what? The fourth?"
She nodded. "If we are going to save anyone, or do anything of consequence such as killing enemies, we will have to tell each other. Especially if it concerns our people in some way."
"Are you afraid of what I might do?" He did not seem to take offense over the idea. "No, perhaps the better question is: are you afraid of me?"
Shuri scoffed. "That's a silly question."
He was silent for a moment, considering the idea. "I suppose, when we agreed we would never lie to each other, this is just an extension of that. I think it's fair." Then he looked at her again. "I didn't tell you about that Williams girl, because I knew you would never agree. And I know you didn't trust me well enough to just let me see her neighborhood all alone." He let out a little laugh, and while she did not understand why, there was a hint of sadness to it that was only made evident by the look in his eyes. A reminder of his tears earlier that day. "Your restraint makes you better than me, and I don't mind. Mercy was never my strongest suit."
Well, he wasn't wrong about that. She would not have agreed. But there was something he was still not able to get right. She shook her head. "Don't talk to me as if I'm a saint. I'm not. Remember that there is a reason why the elders of Wakanda are wary of me."
"Oh, I know." His eyes gleamed. "I know very well why they are wary of you. But do you want to know the strange part?"
"What?"
"I admire your restraint. But I enjoy the dangerous side just as much."
She was spared from replying by the arrival of Atziri, who had walked towards them from the backdoor of her house. The elder had taken the time to change her shawl, and her skirt, and the panic that once crept upon her features in the forest, was now replaced by that of calm, and conviction. "Good. You're still here," she said. "We've taken their cameras away, and we've found where their car is." She turned to Namor and shook her head. "Our healer thinks his face might never be the same. You could've killed him."
Namor kept his features perfectly neutral. "He still had the strength to get up, even after I threw the rock. It is not a crime to defend another life, is it?"
"No," the elder agreed. "But it does make me wonder about who you are."
Shuri stiffened from where she sat, willing Namor not to lose sight of his disguise, or his identity. As much as many of these people deserved the truth, it was still a matter of safety. There was no way of knowing the scope of Valentina's influence, or if the CIA even knew what exactly to look for. Luckily, he seemed to have thought of the danger too. Or that perhaps, he did not want to reveal himself as the Feathered-Serpent god out of fear that the elder woman would treat him differently.
He smiled. "We've told you, haven't we? We have come out of pure curiosity, as my traveling companion and I are both from universities-"
Atziri shook her head, a hint of impatience to her voice now. "Then how was your companion," she glanced at Shuri for a brief moment, then turned back to Namor. "How was your companion able to block the bullets with only a bracelet? Is she some kind of shaman from another land?" Shuri itched for a way to interject, but her knowledge of Spanish was not enough to carry a conversation.
"No, she-" he paused, then found the words, "She is a scientist. And she makes things that protect people."
"And you?" The elder persisted."I am- a historian." It was an oddly specific, yet fitting answer. In all of Talokan, there was no one more qualified to understand and learn history more than him. It was not exactly a lie. "I have not been in this land for a long time, because I have been traveling to study other things."
Atziri's eyes narrowed over that. "So? You and your companion have come here to make a study out of us then?"
Shuri's fingers tightened on her lap. She tried to come up with some way to help him, but that proved to be unnecessary"No." Namor stared back at the older woman, his gaze earnest and truer than he had ever looked. "It has been too long since I have been to the land of my ancestors, and it just so happened that I have a friend who wanted to see it with me. So here we are." He looked off into the distance now, as if remembering something else. "It has changed so much, but so little."
Friend. Was she a friend now? There was never any indication in any of their recent conversations that they were friends, or that they had agreed to be. You understand him, her brain was quick to reason. Still, Shuri held her tongue and glanced at Atziri instead.
Then to her surprise, the elder smiled. It had been the first time she had not looked solemn or grumpy. "Changed so much but so little," she repeated. "You speak as if you have been around a long time to see why that is so."

Bast, this woman is clever.

He shrugged. "I have seen it as a child, but-" and this time, Shuri could tell that he was having difficulty answering the questions, the weight of his childhood and history hanging over him like a shadow. "But, I could not stay. We had to move, and find a better place to live. That was what my…family had to do. They wanted to stay away from disease, famine, and dangerous people."
Atziri nodded at that. "Oh, I can see why they would."
He looked surprised. "Do you? Is it not a shameful thing to leave the others, while they hid elsewhere?"
She shook her head at that. "Why should we blame them for circumstances that are not of their making? When war breaks out, when we hear of these terrible things that happen in other countries, and hordes of people seek refuge someplace else, do we blame them? Should we blame them? If we do, then we might as well say that those who chose to stay are idiots, and that, I cannot take." The older woman's eyes shone like knives as they watered. "I have never strayed too far from this village, even if I have been nosy enough to pester people in the city about the plight of other villages. I do what I can now, because I can't go on wanting for the past to be undone. I can't ask for a paradise or a different time where your family would not have had to leave, or that we were never conquered. All of that is impossible."
"Then what do you do?" Namor asked.
"Work hard for the present, for justice, and for my children. If it goes well, then the future will be better too. Even if I'm no longer a part of that future, I want to do what I can now, and make something good out of the terrible things. And as for my children…I'm sure that I would have worked hard enough to make sure they can go on without me. They can do the rest, while I go meet our ancestors." Atziri glanced at Shuri, and smiled before turning to Namor again. "It's noon. Maybe the two of you can help me with lunch. There's no need to worry about the trespassers. The other elders have already sorted out some kind of deal."
This time, Shuri could not help but interject. "Ask her, please," she said to Namor. "About keeping my shield a secret."
Namor nodded and translated for her. Atziri looked at Shuri again. "No need to worry. I have kept many secrets, and this is no different." Then she looked at the two of them. "How long will you stay here?"
"We will have to leave as soon as possible," Namor replied, almost apologetically. "I feel that it would be inconvenient, if we stayed longer and the trespassers were to wake up-"
"Yes, that is true," she agreed. "It is a shame that you can't stay longer. Do you think you will return?"
Now to this question, Shuri wanted to hear the answer. She could feel his gaze on her now, his eyes laced with something she did not understand. "That will depend," he said, "if my friend would be willing to accompany me again some other time."

"So you agree then?" Namor asked. "Will you see the cities of the Maya with me some other time?"It was evening, and Shuri was now on her place in the mattress, back turned against him in the room that they shared. Never had she encountered such an inconvenient sleeping arrangement. For one, it made her sleep in close proximity to him, which also entailed having to answer his questions.
She snorted. "I only 'agreed' because Atziri was there. Otherwise, you would have looked like an idiot."
"So you are saying that you are not curious at all? That does not sound like you." His voice was a little too light. He was teasing her. Bastard. Huffing, she peeked at him from over her shoulder to give him a glare.
"Taking advantage of my brain now, are we?"
"Oh, I would not call it that. Think of it as me enabling you instead."
She let out a laugh, suddenly infected by whatever it was that seemed to be ailing his mood. "That sounds awful. You? Enabling me? It doesn't sound as terrible when we're talking about seeing a historical site. But in general, I would say that the consequences of enabling me can only be brilliant or disastrous. No middle ground."
"True. But I have a feeling that such a gamble would be worth it."
From the bedroom window, the clouds parted, and the moonlight peeked through, shining down on the open window. Shuri's eyes, already able to make sense of the shape of his face in the dark room, suddenly realized that he was closer to the pillow barrier between them than she realized. He was practically half a meter away. It would not do to stare at him in such a position, so she turned her back again.
"You're acting quite friendly today," she said, trying to hide her nervousness.
"Yes, well, you are fun to tease."
She said nothing in reply. They would have to leave tomorrow, and again, there was that strange feeling of not wanting to leave. Perhaps it was because she had not traveled in so long. And then there was the fact that Namor genuinely seemed like he wanted to see more of the peninsula. If only the world were not so against us. If only. In another life, maybe they would have been the acquaintances from the cover story she had conjured. She, the scientist. And he, the historian who writes books. It seemed so far away, but not entirely impossible.
"How do you feel about another deal?" He asked suddenly, his voice sounding dangerously near. As if he had now glued himself to the pillow that came between them.
"What kind of deal?"
"Think of it as an extension of the one where you said you wanted to be 'princess of nothing.' It's only fair if I get to ask for something too."
She blinked, trying to register what it was that he was saying. "What? You want to have a day where you're not some god that everyone has to bow to?"
"I'm not sure if you understand," he whispered. "No one has seen my tears in centuries. Not one living Talokanil that is alive right now has ever seen me that way. It is not just a day without formalities that I want. See, I would not mind it, if you become my confidant."
Shuri resisted the urge to turn around. There was no way to look at him at that moment and not feel some discomfort. The disturbing thing about it was that her discomfort came from the lack of hostility in her heart. Even if she thought it was strange to share a sleeping space with him, she had no problem with encouraging him to cry.A confidant. A friend. He defended you in front of the council, a part of her brain argued. And as soon as that thought was entertained, a barrage of moments flashed one after the other. I defended him in front of his people too. We ate food together in a parking lot. He held my hair as I vomited. He listened to me grieve T'Challa for a second time. He saved a girl he wanted dead, partly because of me. I saw him cry, and then…And then I cried with him.
She closed her eyes, unsure. Words were always so difficult. Still, she would not look at him.
"It's alright," he assured her. "You don't have to agree." But she could tell that he was disappointed.
She turned around to face him, and she found that his face was practically resting on the pillow now. "Liar," she accused. "You don't think it's alright at all."
"I'm allowed to feel such things." He looked like he was about to turn around and face the wall for a moment, but she was faster.
"Wait," she said. Her brain was scrambling, grasping for a way to say the right words. "Do you remember the hiking shoes? The one you wore earlier today in the forest?"
He stared at her, puzzled. "Yes. What about it?"
"You can keep it," she blurted out. "I made it for you anyway. When we go home, you don't have to return it. If you want to visit the surface world again, you can use it."
"But what does that have to do with anything-" and then he paused, a look of comprehension dawning upon his face. He smiled, eyes and mouth wrinkling at the corners. "I see, so you have agreed."
"Well, you didn't hear me say so," she retorted. But Namor did not appear to believe her attempts at avoiding an explicit agreement.
"What about you? If you are giving me the shoes, I will have to give something in return." The grin on his face, as if such a thing was possible, was even wider now. A mixture of boyish playfulness and something grand and jovial.
"That can be arranged later on. If you want to give something, you can simply use your kimoyo beads to communicate with me."
"Hm," he said. "And I can do that, anytime?"
Her mouth fell open in indignation. "If you abuse that privilege, I will have to block your calls."
"But I can ask you anytime?' He persisted.
She sighed, hoping that she would not come to regret her decision. "It works both ways of course. So yes, anytime."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The waves were upon her again. And while the beach from the past dreams remained as she remembered, there was something else. Something new. The line from the savannah to the shore was accompanied by a smattering of coconut trees, a rather curious addition, and a familiar one. The sky was purplish, and dark blue, a painting, a galaxy of colors. But despite the confusion, there was that wind again. Pleasant, and neither too hot or cold. Shuri swam willingly towards the giant tree in the water, her curiosity over its abilities and structure just as great as her own longing for the visions that it gave.

I wonder if I will see his mother.

But upon contact with one of the roots, she was pulled into a different sort of image. That of a child, a little boy with winged and sandaled feet. Ears pointed and damp on a beach. He wore the telltale green loincloth, and even then, he already had jewelry upon his pointed ears, and his neck. Shuri's mouth hung open at the sight. It was Namor as a child. So young, and even then, he had the defiant look about him.

The boy played in the sand, wings flapping furiously, a sign of an eagerness to fly. He grinned towards the water. A closer look revealed a forehead peeking out. His mother. She was blue now, her forehead and eyes visible in the water as she watched her son test his abilities. With what looked like a reassuring nod from her, little Namor stood still, and with the most comical yet serious face, wrinkled his nose as his wings began to flap and strain, their speed spewing bits of sand everywhere.

Beads of sweat dotted the child's face, and then, with what might have seemed forever, his feet left the ground, wobbling and lifting a meter upwards. Shuri felt her own pulse rise with him, the wonder and excitement of something new and miraculous piercing through her.

Look at him.

She looked to the water, and saw how his mother's eyes had gone wide, and even though her nose and mouth were submerged, it was evident from the crinkling of the eyes that she was proud of her son. Such a look could only be that of love.

Namor let out another grin again, seeing that his mother was watching. The attention seemed to embolden him, and he looked at his wings, willing them to move. With some difficulty, he managed to move forward, towards the water. Then he lifted a leg, trying to glide more smoothly as if was merely walking on air. But with every inch forward, the strength of his wings could not quite keep up, and then suddenly he crashed down.

Shuri held her breath, watching him as he fell on the water with a small cry.

His mother cried out in alarm, her voice muted to a gurgling sound in the water as she swam towards her son. But the boy emerged from the water, hair damp, and unhurt. If anything, he looked even more determined, even as his mother came to him, trying to see if he was alright. He only grinned, and it was a cheeky sort of smile, Shuri noted with amusement. He must have been quite a handful as a child, zooming around with uncontrollable strength and wings that no one else had.

Then, they let themselves be submerged in the water again, and impossibly, Shuri felt her vision shift to something more murky and blue. That of water. Her eyes widened, realizing that indeed, she was seeing both mother and son underwater, conversing in their native tongue.

It seemed like she was scolding her son a little, but it was nothing too stern. The woman patted her son's face, a strange mixture of sadness and happiness in her eyes. And then she looked up at the surface, at the sun that shone so brightly, so close but out of reach. It must have been noon, because the waters looked bright and warm. Too warm perhaps. But the woman floated there, arms around her son, with her eyes closed. It made for a touching picture, a woman and her child showered with light.

Then she let go of Namor, and after a gentle murmur, and a bit of coaxing, the little boy swam away from the shoreline. Back to their home, Shuri guessed. But his mother remained there, trying to feel more of the sunlight. And with one final look of pained longing at the surface, she too swam away, though it was with reluctance. But what the mother could not have seen earlier, was that in the few seconds that she had looked up at the sun, Namor was looking at her.

No, it was not just that. He had looked at his mother, and then the sun. And though such a young boy could not possibly understand the significance, it would seem that even then, he really did understand. His mother longed to be in the light, to feel it, and not just watch from afar. But that could never be, and it would never happen. They must live down below with the kelp and the fish, and the strange creatures of the trenches. It was where they were safe, and the only way for their people to move freely without fear of capture and enslavement.

Suddenly, Shuri felt the waves of the sea upon her too, a current pulling her upwards, and backwards, until nothing. Darkness.

She woke from the dream with a jolt, her right leg jutting out from the confines of the mattress and onto the wooden floorboards. Namor stirred behind her, groggy but awake. "What's wrong?"

She went still. "I'm fine," she lied through her teeth.

"Was it a nightmare?" He asked.

No. It was a dream, sad but beautiful.

But there was no way to tell him, without opening up another round of questions that she could not answer. How old was he, really, when he learned how to fly? What was his mother's name? What did Cha'ah Toh mean?

Why do I dream of water, and your mother? Why do I dream of you?

"Maybe," she lied again, feigning uncertainty. "I don't remember anything though. It's fine, Namor. Just-Just go back to sleep." And with that, she closed her eyes shut, shooting down any more of his questions. But he was only silent, his breathing steady and soft, lulling her back to sleep.

It was just before dawn, and the darkness of the hour had been further heightened with the unopened windows of a room with no light coming through, save for the door that now creaked open. Shuri and Namor stood at the doorway, bags slung behind their backs, their faces cold and without a shred of emotion. One of the elders had given them permission to visit the leader of the trespassers, and after some convincing, and a promise from Namor that there would be no further violence, only then were they allowed to enter.

The man in question still wore the same clothes from the day before, except for the black jacket that had been draped over a chair next to the bed. His face was now an unrecognizable mess. A frightening combination of swelling flesh, and bruises, dark and black-blue splattered from both sides of his face and even down to the chin. The nose had been twisted in a strange angle. Even though the man had been given medicine and a thorough cleaning, there had been no way of erasing the power of Namor's fists.

He was still fast asleep, so Shuri took the opportunity to wake him, by knocking on the wooden door frame.
The man woke up with a groan, and upon seeing them there, squinted, his vision not quite able to adjust in the darkness. Then, his eyes widened in recognition. "W-hat do you want?" He was pale, the pallor of his skin even a shade lighter due to nervousness.

"No need to be alarmed," Namor replied, his words a direct contradiction to the promise of danger in his eyes. "We are only here to talk. Nothing more."

He tried to sit up, but could do little to combat the remnants of pain that had been inflicted upon him. And so he settled with clutching at the sheets, back slightly raised towards the headboard as he stared Namor and Shuri with apprehension. All that bravado from the forest was gone, it would seem. Funny how such people walked around with confidence, only to be confronted with something unknown and of a ferocity that surpassed their own. One good beating, and they cowered, try as they might to hide their fear.

"What do you want?" The man repeated again. In this state, Shuri thought that he did not look mature, even with the beard. Around his early-thirties at least.

Namor's voice rumbled back in Spanish. "Tell us your name. If you do not, we will have to find it for you."

"Juliano Gonzales," he croaked.

"Gonzales," Namor repeated, not bothering with the first name. "Alright then, Gonzales. I will have to tell you the truth. You are very lucky to be alive." He gestured towards Shuri, and raised an eyebrow. "It is because of her that your condition is not worse."

The man who called himself Gonzales stared at Shuri. "I heard one of my men say that you blocked bullets. They think you have some magic. Are you a witch?"

She frowned. "No," she replied. "No soy una bruja."

I am not a witch,

she managed to say without faltering. But she was not going to do most of the talking today.

Namor sneered at the man. "You are in no position to ask any more than that. Much less about who we are, do you understand?"

"Sí," came the subdued response.

"You were going to kill one of the elders, weren't you?"

Gonzales nodded. "She saw us snooping around. If she made a fuss, we would get in trouble with the people who hired us. It was nothing personal." He let out a shaky breath. "The pay was way too good, so we had to do it. Things could have gone differently if she wasn't in the forest. We would have left her all alone."

"All alone?" Namor stared at the man with disgust. "Alone to deal with eventual displacement in the hands of some real-estate mogul, you mean?"

The hired man's eyes widened a little. "I guess it's not a secret. They want more resorts around here. Tourism brings in all of the cash, I've heard. Since it's close to the coast, they'll add docks, and water slides. Probably clear the forest to make it look neat, but not empty. Nature sells, but they don't want real nature." He shook his head over the ridiculousness of it. "What they want is a big garden disguised as a forest, so they can get tourists to pay for birdwatching or hiking. I'm no expert, but you hear these things a lot."

Namor glanced at Shuri briefly, knowing that some of the initial information they both knew had just been confirmed. "So you've been doing this for how long?"

"Six years, at least. I started small. It got to the point where they'd make me go to other countries too. But I've done surveillance mostly. Less gunfights."

"You have a family? Children?" Namor asked. "Answer the question, if you don't want to make things difficult."

"No, no. I do have a mother. And sister. That's all."

A desperate brother, and a hard working son.

Shuri stared at the man thoughtfully. She did not pity the state of his face, but felt his fear nonetheless. Many will do what they feel they must, for the sake of those they love. Even if it was not for the betterment of the world they live in.

"Ask him," she whispered to Namor. "Ask him where they live. If he refuses to answer, tell him that we will not be able to protect his loved ones, should his clients threaten their lives."

Upon hearing the translation to the question, Gonzales looked at Shuri apprehensively. "How do I know that you're no different from them?"

And with that, Namor seemed to have lost a little of his patience, so he stalked forward, and sat on the chair with a coldness and ease that made the other man lean away from the bedside. Shuri, contented herself by sitting on the far end of the bed instead, face affecting indifference.

"Pinche estúpido," Namor said, effectively calling the man an idiot with a sickening smile. "Why do you think you are alive? Why do you think your guns won't work on us? The fact that you are even lying comfortably on a bed and not on a ditch or a jail cell should make all the difference. "

"Mérida," Gonzales blurted out. "They live in Mérida. Please. Just-just tell me what you want. As long as our families stay out of this mess, it's enough. If you want me to die, I'd be happy to do that too. As long as you give me time to send my mother all of my savings."

Even at his lowest, and most pathetic, the man was thinking of sustenance for his loved ones. It was not an indication of goodness at all, no, far from it. But it proved that no one was ever just one thing. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it looked like Namor seemed to have understood this as well.

He now crossed his arms, legs splayed without tension. "See here, Gonzales. Not only would I have gone for your face or your nose. I would have crushed your toes, so that trespassing in the land of the Indigenous would be impossible." Then his gaze landed on the man's hands. "Or maybe all ten of your fingers, so you would never have to hold a gun in your life. But I did not, right?"

Shuri felt her own stomach flip at the gruesome description, but she did not flinch. Nor did it affect her own opinion. She knew where the conversation would lead. After all, most of it was her idea. Execution had been mostly up to Namor. It was almost disturbing, how well they had thought this through, how easily they played their parts. She, the planner. And he, an agent of unbound chaos. Here was another instance of whiplash, she thought, looking at Namor silently.

I dream of you as a child, all innocent and cheeky. And now here we are, threatening this poor fellow out of his wits. If I had taken up your offer to burn everything down, we would have made such monsters out of each other.

But perhaps, they already had a monster lurking within. It was just that they did not reveal it all the time.

"Sí."

"Or I could have beaten you to death in the forest, and sent you back to your clients in a body bag. But I didn't. There is more for you to do. And this is your chance at starting something new for yourself, doing something on your own without having to listen to some bastard living the high life in a mansion somewhere."

"How?" Gonzales could not help the curiosity from overtaking him, even in his fear of Namor's words.

"Simple. You will not speak to anyone about what happened yesterday. You will lie to your bosses, and send them fake pictures of the area." He tipped his head towards Shuri. "My friend over here has sent you everything you will need on your phone. But that's not all."

Namor leaned forward, his voice a low and menacing rumble, a sound that left no room for anything but barely concealed anger. "You will tell them that Atziri is dead, even if she is not. You will stay in this village, until the elders say you can go. Atziri, most of all. You will do as she says. If she asks you to carry a tree, you will carry it. If she asks you to sweep pig shit or chicken dung, you will not complain. If she tells you to kneel on rocks, or something that will hurt, you will fucking do it, because it is also because of her that you are offered medicine. You and your friends will help this village survive in any way you can. Do you understand me?"

"I-" Gonzales stared back at them, horrified but compliant. "I understand. But what happens if I fail? How can I feed my mother and sister if I stay here?"

Shuri had been prepared for this question, in fact, she had been ready to show proof of being able to send money through her smartphone. But perhaps, she should have known to expect something more from her traveling companion.

"Here," Namor said. From his pocket, he tossed Gonzales something shiny. It was a ring, made of pure gold. Then he tossed a few more pieces of jewelry, all worth thousands. If he had it, he could have given a diamond too.

"Pawn it. Do as you like. But remember," he stared at the man with contempt. "If you ever go back to this kind of work, if you ever expose any village, if you ever tell anyone about me or my companion here, then I will find you. I will find you and make sure that I beat you hard enough, that even your mother or your sister won't recognize your corpse."

"What about my clients? Won't they send someone else if we're gone too long?"

Namor looked at Shuri, and after she gave him a reassuring nod, he turned back to Gonzales with a grin. "Just leave them to us, and all will be well for you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was late in the afternoon, when they finally found the time to leave. They stood there, on the trail that would have led to another town that would have taken them back to the city. But that was another lie, a show for the villagers who need not know who they were, or where they were truly going. Stuffed in Shuri's backpack were a little bundle of roasted pumpkin seeds, and a jar of glazed papaya slices that Nikte insisted she take with her. "Anyone who goes on a journey," she said, "will need something to nibble on. I hope the two of you can remember my cooking."
Namor had smiled at Shuri struggling to place the gifts on her bag, before turning to the young housewife. "There's a chance that she will finish all of it before I can try a single piece."
"Ah," Nikte clasped her hands together, equally mischievous. "I see." Then she looked at Shuri who finally managed to zip her bag, after some huffing and light cursing. "I take it that you are not the kind of person who likes to share?" She wiggled her eyebrows, laughing as she did it.
Shuri was caught between the tempting urge to give a good comeback, or stomping on Namor's foot so that he would stop giving her that quiet, laughing look in his eyes. But she was saved by the sight of Atziri, who had been quiet all throughout Nikte's constant chatter. The elder looked at the younger woman sternly, "I passed by your house on the way here, and it seems like you have forgotten about the fact that the soup you have been trying to cook will still remain cold. You forgot to light the fire."
Nikte's eyes widened. "Oh, oh no." She turned to Shuri and Namor apologetically. "I have to-I have to go back now, or it won't cook in time when my husband comes home." She spared them all by running back down the path, all the while crying out over her shoulder, "Both of you should come back for another meal!" And then she was gone, the sight of her frantic figure obscured by the foliage and the trees. There was something endearing about being welcomed by a complete stranger, about being called to something as simple as a meal, and the expectation that one might come back for it. But the chances of coming back were slim.
Atziri shook her head. "A silly girl, that one. But a hard worker." She turned to them both again, while her eyes wandered to the trail that led outside the village. "It seems like I am better off not leaving home for a while. Just until things die down, and the outside world forgets about me. I should have known talking to reporters and radio people will get me in trouble."
Not anymore. Or at least, it had taken a little under-the-table coaxing from Shuri to convince two War Dogs that Nakia had personally worked with, to deal with the company who hired the trespassers. She revealed nothing about her, or Namor's direct involvement with the matter, but under the pretext of protecting the coastline closest to Talokan's caverns, some form of agreement had been reached. No word would come to the council of this mission. The Dora might find out eventually, but all they would find if they dig through the reports, are supposed requests of immediate assistance from the Talokanil delegation. A risky move that might lead to Shuri and Namor having to face the council, and even M'Baku later on, but it would have to do, for now.
The elder had looked at them slyly, with a knowing smile on her lips. "The man with the broken face has been acting like an obedient puppy. I can't say that it hasn't been convenient for me. But," and she turned to Namor with some disapproval, "I feel as though he has been hurt again, somewhere."
"Oh, señora," Namor was quick to defend himself. "I can assure you that neither of us have made any attempts to hurt him since our meeting in the forest."
"Hm," was Atziri's reply. "It's strange." Her black eyes flicked over to Shuri, before settling back on him. "I know that you have been lying to me, but I find that I don't really mind it."
Oh no. Shuri felt her stomach drop, trying to school her features to that of neutral, and innocent denial. But Namor seemed to have a ready answer. "Lying about what, exactly?"
"About who you are," her eyes flashed, staring him down in scrutiny. It was one of those looks that would have peeled through their disguise, if it could. But no matter how strong her senses, the woman was still, only human. And to Shuri's surprise, she smiled again, masking the sudden look of pain that had clouded her eyes. "It is very strange," Atziri murmured. "I look at you, and I see a man. But then I feel that you are not just any man, and that I must fear you, and yet at the same time, I don't feel threatened by you at all."
He shook his head, trying to put the old woman at ease. "Like I've said, this is the land of my ancestors too. You will never have to fear people like me, even if I don't come often."
Atziri stared back at him thoughtfully. "It's too late for me to pry now. Someday, perhaps. If the two of you return. Maybe then, you will tell me your stories, both of you. You have wandered for some time before coming here, of that I am certain. I asked for no payment when I let you stay at my home, but that could change. The truth might be a better price."
Someday. But we do not know when that someday will be. When will we be free to travel and see the world as who we are? When the threat of war is gone? When Wakanda is free from the shackles of isolation and pressure? When the Talokanil are truly safe? Shuri looked at Namor, trying to convey a look of warning. A sign that he must make no promises, give no false hope to this woman who seemed to be attuned to things that not many people understood.
But to her relief, he only nodded in return. "Thank you, señora. We must be on our way," he added hastily, trying not to seem rude. "We would have stayed longer, but we are both needed…elsewhere."
Atziri's eyes fell upon Shuri's face. "I'm sure you are. But you understand, don't you?" She asked Shuri out of nowhere, the question startling her from the nervous spiral of her thoughts.
"What do you mean?" Namor asked on her behalf, catching on to the fact that the conversation had taken a strange turn. One where he was not quite a part of, but still allowed to be.The elder pointed to the trail, and to their feet. "Call me superstitious. Call it an old woman's intuition, or something else." She waved a weathered hand for emphasis. "It is the way you walk, firm and with little hesitation. How he," she continued, pointing at Namor, "is prone to looking to you on occasion. Or that you look at him to say something, without having to say a word. Whatever it is that you must do, you know very well that it must be done together."
Together. Well, they are allies. And she had just promised that communication would be more direct, and that he could tell her anything without embellishments, or falsehoods. Still, Shuri tried not to flinch. It was impossible that this woman was a psychic. But before she could attempt to deny, or to even brush it off, Atziri looked to the sky with a conviction that almost had her doubting her own. "You are where you need to be, but you already know that, don't you?"
Namor visibly straightened, looking at Shuri with interest. But he would not know what it meant, because he had never been told of her strange dreams. You are where you need to be, that had been her mother's words. And despite the urge to lie yet again, she suddenly felt the wrongness of doing so. Of denying something that could be true. So little of her mother was left in the tangible sense. Why should she deny the Queen Mother's parting words, even if it was only in a dream? I don't believe in such things…and I never have. But. But to hear it echoed in the lips of this woman that I've only just met…
She turned to Atziri, and smiled back. "I do know it. More than you think."

The journey back to Talokan had not been as difficult as she remembered. Perhaps it was because she had gotten used to the water, and the lack of natural light. That was the other strange thing, apart from her being able to speak to Namor with ease. Shuri found that even if a part of her doubted that all of the Talokanil would be able to look to Wakanda as a friend, that she still wanted to try and build that bridge anyway. Walls were tempting. But as much as they protect, such barriers can be just as stifling to those on the inside.
She was now wearing her diving suit, black and awashed with a silver glow. The city was not at its brightest, because here, it was also nighttime, and the vibranium sun was at its most dim. For whatever reason, Namor led her to a different route, one that had them going about different squares, and neighborhoods. She thought she had recognized that it was close to where where some of the recently fallen Talokanil warriors and their families lived. But it was also not too far off from where the market was. And it was even more beautiful up close. There were low stalls and buildings carved of undersea rocks and obsidian, some close to the shape of a temple, and some were round like tunnels. It was a web of planned chaos, as any market ought to be. Everywhere, little bulbs of vibranium lights were hung from one structure to the other, while indoor lights were housed in large, multi-colored shells.
It was impossible to look everywhere at once, but Shuri allowed her eyes to feast and wonder and list down everything in her head. A unique plumbing system. Meticulously thought out streets, embellished with carved images of gods and ancestors. The smiles of the youth, still out and about even though they were better off asleep at home. She turned to Namor who had been swimming alongside her all this time, and said, "I haven't had the time to see everything for this long." Then a thought occured to her, and though it was rather presumptuous to say, she decided to ask, after all, filtering words was not something she excelled at.
"Why the detour? Are you trying to delay my return to Wakanda?"
They passed by a section of stalls that sold children's toys and with a masterful dodge from a wayward ball, he laughed. "Perhaps. There will not be many days like today, and I admit that I enjoy this part of the city." He raised an eyebrow, amused. "But yes, I'm not opposed to delaying your return. I can't deprive you of the joy of seeing the city, can I?"
She was suddenly very glad that she could not blush when embarassed. They were only here out of his own impulse to see the market and the wares. Not because, and in no way was it in relation to her having to go back home. That was a stupid question in the first place. She was spared from having to reply, when the nearby stall owners quickly stopped their chatter to send Namor their salute. The sight of his hands, opened like a claw in greeting, suddenly brought her back to the first time she had been here. Within a minute of witnessing such gestures between him and his people, even back then, she realized what made Talokan even more beautiful. That they loved him, and in return, he loved them back.
That was how she knew that things were not as simple as her mother, or the entirety of the Wakandan ruling elite made the situation out to be. And it was certainly not as simple as she wanted it, she thought, watching him greet every passerby that gave the salute. "You know," she said, her voice suddenly shaky. "It is difficult to greet people all day, and not lose patience. I find that if I talk with too many people in a week without dissappearing in my lab, I would scream. But just like last time, you're accustomed to it."
He smiled at that. "I am not as cranky as you." She was about to protest, but he went on. "It would be a lie to say that it does not get repetitive. But unless they've done something wrong, it would be terrible if I glared at them." He shook his head, leading her slowly towards another alley of stalls. "They see me almost everyday, but not all days they get the chance to greet up close. I cannot disappoint them by frowning."
In simpler terms, he could not disappoint them. If not when it comes to greeting, then certainly not in other aspects. No wonder then, that many of his warriors felt let down that they had to yield to Wakanda. But that can't be. You cannot lead them forever with the constant promise of victory. Such a way would only doom them to never find satisfaction once the first prize is won. But something about the way he looked at the stalls, and swimming folk made her hold back on the criticism. Besides, was Wakanda not struggling with internal problems too?
But it was interesting. How we saw his own place as a leader. In this world, most mutants were born, a combination of biology and luck. All monarchs, certainly, were born. But he, had to be extraordinary and a king. He was made by circumstance and choice, and the desperate need for protection. "You feel very deeply," she blurted out before she could stop herself. "There's nothing you would not do for them, which means you love them. Which means that the priest who cursed you was probably wrong." The moment the last words left her lips, she let out a gasp. Namor stared back, unblinking, his jaw stiff with the memory of the Spanish priest that had given him his cursed name.
Shuri felt her insides go cold with her own carelessness. "I- I'm sorry-" But before she could finish her apology, a group of young Talokanil flocked to her, laughing in the water. There were quite a number of them buzzing with excitement. They were either bowing their heads to her, or displaying their hands to salute Namor. Still, it was a challenge to listen to a barrage of muted voices, so much so that Griot's translations could barely keep up. She found herself swimming alongside the youngsters, boys and girls who looked a little under sixteen.
She glanced behind her, and found that Namor was following just a few meters from the little crowd, his eyes trained on hers. "Help me," she mouthed with desperation, hoping that he did not take offense over her lack of tact earlier. But to her astonishment, he smiled softly, and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't," he seemed to have said, trying not to laugh as he watched her struggle.
The teenagers were asking her all sorts of questions. Whether it was about her suit, or whether or not she can show her claws. Or if she had a crown somewhere. They wanted to play games, to take her to stalls, to parts of the city where they might see some of the whales.
They asked her about her singing and dancing, and to which she replied that she was not exactly bad at either. Soon, they had come to a part of the city where the lights were of a darker hue, as if to imitate some kind of night and entertainment district. They were on the outskirts now, where there were more fishes, and strange creatures in the dark.
She didn't quite know how it happened. But some of the questions had taken a rather serious turn. They asked her about weapons and combat. About other languages she spoke. Shuri tried her best to answer them all, correcting misconceptions, presenting facts with as much candor as she could, all the while Griot droned on in Yucatec Mayan, doing all that it could to convey every word. From the corner of her eye, she could see Namor watching, floating by a patch of seaweed. She did not understand what that look in his eyes meant, only that it seared and burned, his gaze traveling from the faces of the children, and even to her face when he thought she would not notice. He followed the way she moved her hands, or tilted her head when she strained to listen to someone shorter than her. Don't.
But before she could call for him, a young boy had come forward, and in his hands, a prized box that caged at least three anglerfish. Her eyes widened at the sight. "Where did you get it?"
The boy shrugged, oddly sullen. "From one of the stalls. They're small, but the merchant said I could train them to be good to me even when they're older." He stared at Shuri with suspicion. "My brother's a warrior, and he has seen you fight."
"Oh! Has he?" She laughed nervously. "And what does he think?"
"I don't know," the boy said, trying but failing to hide his grief. "He's dead now."

An awkward silence had settled upon the teenagers now, and even Shuri was at a loss as to what to say. Dead? From the battle at the aircraft carrier? Or was it the one two years before? Her mouth managed to catch up with her mind, forming the question before the silence could go on. "What is your name?"
"Eloy," he answered.
From afar, she could see Namor frowning. But it did not matter. She would have to handle this herself. "Eloy," she said gently, "Do you believe that the dead are truly gone?"
The boy scowled. "I don't know. I just know that there was a scientist they were supposed to kill." He clutched at his box in the water with irritation. "But one of the generals said you let her go. Why?"
Namora. It was not lost on her, that a boy this young could speak of killing so easily. Perhaps that was the way of any family who had warriors among them. One of the teenage girls frowned at Eloy. "Stop asking rude questions, the Black Panther is supposed to be a guest-"
"There's no rule against asking questions," he retorted. The box in his hands shifted again as he moved about.
"Well, it's not right to ask when we have nothing to do with it!"
"Now, wait," Shuri said, trying to stop the brewing argument, she tried to reach for Eloy's arm, but he twisted away from her. The sudden movement from his arms loosened the lock of the thin vibranium cage, and then suddenly, the anglerfish burst forth, teeth and jaws snapping in clear irritation from being kept in captivity. The children screamed in terror, and as Shuri fought to push Eloy away, she suddenly heard it: the clack, clack, clack of teeth and the sight of bulging eyes coming straight for her visor. She kicked her legs back with a cry, swimming backwards, and then suddenly, there was a brown blur in the water.
Namor.He had blocked the anglerfish with his right arm, with their teeth grazing his skin, drawing blood. Shuri gasped, and scrambled to swim back to where he was. But before she could reach him, he held up a hand in warning. "Wait," he said, calm and cold, his eyes never leaving the animals. There were three of them, but they seemed to have been hypnotized, their large eyes still and large, as if waiting for a command. Namor narrowed his eyes, and whispered, "Je'el u páajtal a bin." He told them to leave. She stared at the fish in disbelief, as they swam out into the dark, outside of the city borders.
"Are you alright?" She swam forward, looking at the scratch on his arms. "I did not think their teeth would be strong enough to ruin my suit, or even hurt you. I was wrong."
"Any fish raised within our borders, fed with food enriched with vibranium, are bound to have some advantage over their peers." He turned to the group of teenagers that floated meters away, their faces terrified. Eloy was with them, clutching at the now empty cage with shame. "Come here, child," Namor commanded. The boy obeyed, hands shaking, as he looked at the wound on Namor's right arm.
"Forgive me, K'uk'ulkan," Eloy cried out. "I did not mean to- it was an accident-"

"No," Namor shook his head, stern and unforgiving. "I am not the one you must apologize to." He gestured towards Shuri. "It is the Black Panther. It was foolish of you to carry something so dangerous, to show that much anger in front of a guest. Tell me, what will Talokan do, should harm come to the princess of our only allied nation?"

The boy's lips trembled as he looked at Shuri. "Forgive me, Panther Goddess."
But Shuri could only look at the boy sadly. This was part of the difficulty. The price of war and animosity, and divisions. She could tell that this child was aching, and did not quite know how or where to place his frustration. "Eloy," she said. "What was your brother's name?"
He looked at her, confused. "Bembe."
She glanced at Namor briefly, and looked down at the boy again. "I did not know your brother. But think about it carefully." She pointed at the wounds on Namor's arm. "Would your brother have liked to see your king wounded because you were angry?"
"N-no…"
"You have every right to be angry, you can be angry with me for as long as you like. Even if your friends tell you not to. But never let your anger hurt anyone else, do you understand?"
Eloy looked up at her in surprise, the tension in his features softening to that of wonder. Namor then spoke again, his voice loud enough to carry over to where the other youngsters were watching. "The Black Panther has forgiven you. Remember that. He looked at the boy firmly, the stern look now somewhat gone. "If you are to cause any harm in your frustration, then part of the blame is mine to bear. Know this, child. The Black Panther is a friend, and I have promised safety. Would you have me break that promise?"
The boy shook his head. "No. I do not dare."
"Then tell me," Namor asked, "has the General Namora been telling you all those stories of the scientist?"
"Yes, and it is told amongst other warriors as well. But it has stopped now, because Attuma has told her not to."
Shuri could see Namor's face tighten in anger. But she would not have him stew on the emotion, not when she was still here.
"Let me," she moved closer to him, trying to snap him out of his thoughts. "K'uk'ulkan," she tried again. His eyes were brown, but here in the dark, they seemed awfully black and brooding. They looked at her, carrying a thousand apologies that he did not know how to express.
"It pains me," he said, almost desperate. If not for the facade he maintained in front of his subjects, there was no doubt of the conflict within. "I do not want to argue with my cousin, nor do I want to punish her.."
"If you let me talk to her first, then there would be no need for punishments," she said, chin raised in confidence.
"But how-"
"It is me that she resents," Shuri pointed out. "Give me a chance to correct her ideas about me, and only then afterwards, you can talk. But it will not be as general and king. You will talk as a family."
"Will it work?" She could see the doubt in his eyes. "I have known her since infancy, but it might not work. She is stubborn."
"So are you," and with that, Shuri gave him a sad smile. One of envy and understanding. "Do not waste the time you have with your kin, Namor. Their lives may feel like a blink to you, but to them- to them you have been the only thing that has stayed from birth to death. To them, you are worth their lifetime."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Over a week or so ago, Shuri would not have considered meeting with Namora alone. Especially when Attuma and Namor and every other guard and attendant were far away from this part of the caverns. They were still close to the water, and behind them, a cultivated area that miraculously yielded cacao trees. She had yet to inspect the crops out of her own selfish curiosity, but that would have to wait. For now, she had a warrior to understand. And an angry, resentful one at that. The woman herself was dressed modestly, clad in a billowy, dark blue dress that reached her ankles. Her hair was twisted tighty atop her head, free of the red-and-white striped headpiece that she favored.
Still, she carried herself coldy, and without a smile. But there was something else too. A hint of confusion. Shuri decided that for someone like her, one must toe the line between frank and delicate prodding. Beat around the bush, and one might face impatience. Show far too much audacity, then expect physical altercation. So she waited. As expected, the general spoke first.
"I am told that you have something urgent to tell me," she started without preamble. Then something in her face twisted in displeasure. "I would not have accepted, if not for my king's command."
Shuri was unmoved. "After questioning his decision in front of his court, I'm surprised that you still listen to what he has to say."
Namora bristled at that. "I have always questioned him when I felt the need. It does not mean that I have lost my loyalty." She looked down at the water with irritation. "The scientists are so quick to accept every shiny new thing. The merchants are all cowards who cannot make up their minds. And the shaman and those from the temples are quick to say that you are a powerful warrior, a newborn goddess from above."
"Oh? And what do you think?"
"You are a princess who thinks that she knows everything," the warrior replied, the accusatory note in her voice as scathing as the point of her raw vibranium spear. "It has reached a point where you think that all of Talokan could easily forgive and forget about the consequences of Wakanda's reluctance in seeking justice. Letting the scientist go. Not declaring war on the Americans, even as they find ways to infiltrate your borders. You are too soft."
Something clicked within Shuri's brain at the last sentence, and whatever suspicion she had of at least one source of Namora's resentment crystallized into something undeniable. She narrowed her eyes in reply, "Ah. So you think it is my fault that your king, your god, has gone soft? That I have altered him?"
"Is it not?" Namora demanded. "All my life, he has never strayed, he was always immovable. He kept his promises. But now?" She shook her head. "Some of the warriors dare not whisper, but they see it. It is a weakness. It is weak to go back on your word, and not bring the victory that was promised."
Shuri stared at the woman, incredulous. And despite the strange mixture of emotions whirling within; whether it was anger at being accused of changing Namor, or shock that Namora and some of the people did so little to accept Namor's limitations and receptiveness to change, she managed to keep her composure."Surely," she let out a laugh, "surely you do not think that I am solely responsible for making him the way that he is now?" Then at the stubborn look on Namora's face, she shook her head. "I can understand your anger. Wakanda has never been radical. Up until a few years ago, our nation was far too preoccupied with keeping its head down so we could keep our secrets hidden. But that did not last long, because we had to battle an enemy that resented us for closing our borders."
"I have heard a little of such a battle," the warrior replied.
"What little you know, cannot cover the consequences," Shuri continued. "Wakanda has a different history. We did not feel the pain our neighbors felt, when the colonizers came and pillaged their land, robbing the people of their humanity. We were hiding so we could build our walls, and make something beautiful and unreachable. But such things come at the cost of the world. Of someone else's pain." Despite her effort to stay focused, her voice wavered. "We lived in prosperity, while those who dared to share that wealth to anyone were killed or banished to suffer in another land. Tell me, where is the beauty in that?"
Namora blinked, her eyes considerably wider than it was when the conversation began. "There is- There is none."
"Precisely," Shuri said. "None. We have our wounds too, and we have plenty of faults. And
even if you do not believe it, I too, feel that we have been lenient on those who abuse our kindness. But I do not want to waste lives either."
"Then what? How would you deal with those who want to take Wakanda's vibranium? How would you protect Talokan?"
And to that, Shuri could not help but smirk a little. "You know, I never did say that we should never use force to defend ourselves. See, that is the problem with you and your king. Both of you think that I can't be harsh, but the truth is that I prefer using my mind to weaken others, rather than killing them outright." She clasped her hands, feeling a little devious. "Wakanda has caught a number of foreign spies on our borders for the past two years. Most of them rot in prison cells, living in a simulation where they do not know the time, or whether it is day or night. All because of my technology. Of course, this is not something I can easily say without the Dora Milaje's permission, but I think, for you, I can make an exception, because you are so intent on misunderstanding who I am."
"Hm," was Namora's response, coming to some kind of realization, as she gazed at Shuri with less hostility. "And what of those countries? Those nations that have yet to pay for all their transgressions?"
"Well, there are many ways to make them pay without flooding their cities." And before the spearwoman could interrupt with another argument, Shuri held up a hand. "There are people, on the surface, who look like you and me. They know our fears, and they live through the pain passed on from our ancestors. What do you think will happen, if we were to bring those nations on their knees with their help? That we could come to their aid, as they fight for a better life? That we could take all that suffering by the roots, and force every single tyrant, and colonizing entity to give their dues?"
The spearwoman could not hide her surprise. "Is that possible? You would do that?"
"Never ask a scientist what is possible, Namora." Shuri had never felt more firm in anything as she said it. For if there was anything that she could turn to, it was the fact that she still had her ideas, imperfect as they were. "You will find that the answers given to you are endless. Something like that will require both of our people's strength, not just my own. Besides, what I am telling you is only an ideal. The real challenge is to get close to achieving it. It would not do for your king or I, to never attempt that challenge."
Namora looked away for a moment, hands now fiddling at her skirts, as she let that sink in. A ghost of a smirk was visible through the blue of her mask. "I think I understand." She blinked once, twice, and stared at Shuri pointedly. "I had a hard time seeing it, perhaps because I cared for nothing but Talokan, and that I cared for no other will, but K'uk'ulkan's. And when that changed, I felt…confused. But perhaps, that was what Attuma meant."
Interesting. "Attuma? What does Attuma have to say?"
"Tsk." The warrior frowned for a moment, before looking at Shuri slyly. "Seems like you've been speaking to him too. A hard worker, you are, winning us all over like that."
"But I am not here to win anyone-"
"Ah, ah." She raised an eyebrow. "Attuma told me that I ought to stop antagonizing you. Imagine that! He has never once cared for what happens outside of battle. Except perhaps, when he returns to his home and to his kin. But he told me that for our king's sake, my dislike of you should be quelled somehow. But I did not understand why. Until now."
Shuri felt herself go very still, not knowing where this was all going to lead. Though her stomach flipped over and over in anticipation. "And? What do you understand?"
For the first time in two years, Namora's face was loose, neither displeased nor tense with suspicion. "You are different from our king. But in a way, you are made of the same thing. I just don't know what it is. And for his sake, I will have to wait and see how this alliance will go."
"What does that mean?"
"Oh," the spearwoman shrugged. The gesture was rather jarring to see from someone who carried herself with poise and tension, but again, no one was ever just one thing. "I just think that when you talk about coming close to achieving an ideal, I feel as though it really might be possible. And because of that, I can see why K'uk'ulkan thinks so highly of you." Her eyes glittered strangely. "He once said he was blinded by hope because of you. But now, he is not blind. It is just that he has learned to hope on his own, and that might be because of you too."
Then, her nose wrinkled beneath the mask. "Still, there are some things that are difficult for me to accept."
Shuri did not quite know how to respond to the fact that Namora was less unpleasant now. Or that Namor was learning from her in some way. That was too dangerous of an idea. So she concentrated on something else. "What can you not accept?"
Then, for the second time, Namora shocked her with something that could have been a genuine smile. But it faded into a scowl. "If I am to fight alongside you, please make it so that I would not have to be ashamed to be led by someone who is not so competent with a spear."
The statement was so imperious, so full of petulant ego, that Shuri could not help but laugh out loud. Bast, does Namor have to have such strange people for generals? "Ah yes, that," she replied with a gasp, trying not to lose herself in her own laughter. "Every Wakandan knows how to throw a spear. Or at least, every child has held it more than once. But you are right. I do not have the experience of everyone else, because I buried myself with my science. Fear not, oh great warrior." She looked at Namora with the determination of someone who fed off of the idea of proving naysayers wrong. "I will improve my skills with the spear just in time for a great battle. Just you wait."

The journey back to Wakanda took far longer than she had expected, much to Okoye's impatience. But given how the return to Talokan had taken place in the evening, it had been too tiring, to not postpone the trip home in the morning. Or at the very least, just until she could clear her head. And make up another round of lies for everyone once she did return.
She had no idea as to how the subsequent conversation with Namor and Namora had gone. Upon making her way back to where his hut was, she had settled for nothing but a nod, and a mere, "You can speak to her now." She revealed nothing else, and said little to Attuma, who had also been waiting outside Namor's hut.
The tall warrior had given her a grin the moment Namor was too far away to make use of his hearing. "Not so terrible, was it?"
She snorted. "No, but I have been challenged to improve on my use of the spear in battle."
"Ha!" He smacked on his thigh as he sat by the rocks. "If it is Namora, then no conversation will end like any other. If not with anyone here, then certainly not with you." He stopped, remembering what she had said. "Did you accept her challenge then?"
"What do you take me for? The Black Panther is not a coward."
"No," he agreed. "I did not think you were. And I think Namora doesn't either. But she will never say it, not until she sees you kill someone cleanly with a spear."
Shuri groaned at the very idea. There was no way of knowing how she could insert more training sessions into an already packed schedule. Still, her pride would not let her back down. "Well, I should be getting some rest now, Attuma. I will have to leave tomorrow."
He nodded back. But before she left, she stopped, and turned back to look at him again. "Attuma?"
"Hm?"
The question came through before she could stop herself. "But when we were talking at the burial. For the last warrior…I asked about whether or not you have seen your king weep. Do you remember?"
"Yes," he answered slowly, the memory of the incident now fresh.
"And you told me that such a question has made you wonder about something. What was that about? You have not told me yet."
"Ah, that." He paused. "Well it was not just one thing. I have wondered if he has ever cried, once, when I was younger. But I stopped thinking about it. And as for the other thing…It is mostly just a guess."
"A guess?"
"If he ever cries, I suspect that he will not be ashamed to do it for you."
If Shuri had been any closer to Attuma at that moment, she would have been frozen. He already has. But it was not for me. It was for your people, who remained at the surface. But that was not her story to tell. So she shook her head. "He has not done it for me, and I don't think he will. That is a strange suspicion to have, Attuma." She had started to walk away to her own hut again, when she heard Attuma mutter under his breath in Yucatec Mayan, "Tin tukultaje' na'at." The temptation to walk back and demand a clarification was great, but she held back.Much later, as she lay awake on her own hammock in the dark, only then did she consult her kimoyo beads for a translation: "I thought she was clever." She frowned upon hearing it repeated to her in monotone. Clever about what?

The current was strong that morning. Her journey to Wakanda, accompanied by an escort of Talokanil warriors and Namor, and at least two orca, had been largely uneventful. Or at least, it was, until they neared the African coastline. Her suit had performed impeccably, maintaining its speed alongside her travel companions with remarkable ease. It was not so bad, she thought. The first time she tested the suit, the speed had rattled her focus. But now it did little more than poke at her gut ever so lightly, and then it was gone. In a way, she might have grown to love using it.
But whether or not it had anything to do with just the feeling of water in general, or swimming in the ocean- she could not tell. Or at least, she could not ask such questions with Namor around.
He was swimming beside her, keeping pace even as some of the warriors raced ahead of them. Aware that she was looking at him, he turned his head towards her. "We are almost there, itzia. You will see your Golden River very soon."
"Oh, I know. I'm not too worried about getting there, really."
"What's on your mind then?"
Shuri bit her lips. "There is so much to do, once I get home. So much to think about. The list of everything that must be taken care of is a mountain. I don't know how I will be able to sleep thinking about it."
The look on his face was stern. "If you dare to drink too much of that coffee-"
"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes. "I have my way of coping when sleeping becomes a chore."
He was about to reply, but then the warriors ahead of him slowed down, and his face grew even more solemn. "We've arrived."
They emerged from the river together, the sound of water almost like a roar as the rest of the warriors joined them as they surfaced. From the shore, she saw M'Baku, Okoye, and Ayo with the Dora Milaje waiting. This part of the river was closer to the city, as agreed upon when Shuri first told them of the day she was expected to return.
The look of relief on Okoye's face was apparent, even from a distance. Letting her visor melt away, she grinned back and gave them all a wave. She walked faster and faster, wading towards the shore with little regard for the mud and the rocks on the way. Upon reaching the shallow end of the bank, she tried to leap forward.
It was a mistake.
She felt her left foot brush against a rock, deceptively solid and steady. But as she stepped upon it, she realized, all too late, that it was far too slippery, even for her suit. The soles of the suit were built for swimming after all. Not hiking. She felt her body slip backwards, but something had reached for her back and arm, a sturdy force that guided her towards the safety of the shore. From amongst the onlookers of Talokanil and Wakandans, someone had gasped. But she ignored it. It was difficult to look elsewhere, not when she felt his fingers giving a slight, subtle squeeze that did nothing to soothe the sudden tittering of her pulse. And then there was his voice, a mere whisper over her ear, "You have not seen your people in a while. I will not have you be embarrassed on your return by stumbling."
She looked up, and found Namor looking straight ahead. When she had reached steady ground, she could hear the tightening of Dora hands on spears. They fear him still. But they could not understand, she thought, that when it came to her, they would no longer have to worry about safety. His left hand was no longer on her back at that point, but his fingers lingered on her arm as she stepped on higher ground at last. Then, with some reluctance, he let go, and Shuri was suddenly aware of the stares that people were throwing their way.
But she could only look at him, and, forcing a polite nod, said with exaggerated stiffness, "Thank you, for your hospitality." Oh, how she wanted to smack herself for saying it so strangely. But he seemed to be doing far worse with his words.
Without so much of an acknowledgement at the crowd behind her, he gave a small smile. "If you like," he said. "You can always call Talokan with your beads. When sleeping becomes a chore, I mean." Then he turned without another word, and dove underwater, his warriors and whales following him without complaint. Call Talokan. Meaning, to call him.

Someone coughed behind her. She turned around to find Okoye and Ayo staring after the Talokanil with confusion, while M'Baku chomped on his carrot, trying to not laugh as he did it. "Well!" The Jabari man cackled, waving his carrot stick in the air. "It seems like we shouldn't have greeted you with so many people, eh, Princess?"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She refused to give an explanation to anyone, not even to Okoye or M'Baku, as to what exactly transpired on the river that day. How could Shuri explain it?

That this god-king that they did not trust, had seen her vomit pancakes, and had wrestled and cried with her in a forest, was now someone that she could freely talk to without fear of judgment. That a part of her mind rebelled in terror and guilt over the ease in which she had accepted his wish to be friends. And that somewhere, if she reached and examined her subconscious, she would find her traitorous heart pounding at the mere thought of his voice in her ear, his arms and hands, gentle but firm whenever she needed to be held. She had never, never ever thought that to be aided when you stumble, or vomit, or cry could be so intimate an act, especially when she had gotten accustomed to letting her emotions fester with only her science as the outlet. Still, foolishly, the feeling was there, lingering like a phantom toothache.

It is already a miracle that I could trust him to contact me frequently. That alone should be enough. Nothing more. Give back when he gives aid, and keep every promise. That is all.

With Griot's help, she tightened her schedule, every hour labeled and accounted for. For the first week of her return home: A two-hour meeting with the core design team for the new defense drones. A follow-up on the reproduction of the Midnight Angel Armor. Reviewing design proposals for the proposed Talokanil beads. Modifications for the Dora Milaje and their spears. Updated defense mechanisms for Wakanda's telecom towers. Submission of her report about her stay at Talokan, to be verified both by the council and the Talokan delegation. Discussions with the War Dogs on intel for the CIA and US military's acquisition of new weaponry, including the cannon-like blasters that had been used to assassinate Zawavari, and kill the Talokanil warriors. Evacuation plans, in case of invasion. A meeting with Talokan's scientists over stealth armor. And she still had her trip to Chicago, and the Yucatàn peninsula to think about.

In between all that, it was expected that she would eat and sleep. Eating perhaps, could be remedied by a steady supply of snacks. But as for the rest, Shuri thought that a pillow on her lab desk would have to do. Not exactly ideal, but she considered the idea, as there were more reasons to be in the lab than at home. She had already arranged for Aneka to help with extra training, four times a week, just after everyone else in the lab had gone home.

It was a mere four days into the insanity of such a week, in the middle of it all, on a quiet evening, that Shuri found herself on the floor of the lab's exercise room, bones aching and temples dull with exhaustion. The exercise room had been a recent addition, one that she arranged in response to the growing physical demands of her body, and for the lab assistants who convinced her that making use of such a room allowed for other tests, and gave additional motivation for the health conscious.

Aneka sat a few feet away, not any less sweaty, but alive with the excitement of being tasked with additional training. She grinned at the princess, all the while playing with a dummy spear made of wood. "Come now. Has the herb finally stopped working? Or are you so behind in skill?"

"Oh, stop it," Shuri grunted, sitting up with some difficulty. "Try wrangling multiple meetings and projects in a day, not to mention, talking to interns and applicants during a break. It's a miracle I have not stumbled on the way to my workstation yet."

"Pft!" Aneka stood up with an energetic leap, and kicked the second spear towards Shuri's feet, daring her to pick it up. "If you are in danger of stumbling, all you need to do is call the king of Talokan!" She exclaimed. "He will catch you whether it's on dry land, or a muddy river!"

And despite every effort on her part to respond with indifference towards any mention of Namor, she could not help it. She grabbed the spear, and pounced, clashing against the former Dora with an irritated snarl. "Not. Funny." Stepping to the left to avoid a kick, Shuri reached for the end of her spear, and attempted to launch the pointed end horizontally. "I wish people would stop asking me about what happened at the river."

Aneka drew back, twirling the weapon on her hands with ease. But her face had become serious. "Eh? I didn't ask you anything. It was just a joke." Then she smiled again. "But you are a little too serious about it."

"Argh!" Shuri threw up her hands in despair, the spear aloft but no longer poised for combat. "I'm only serious because I don't want to be teased. Not over

him.

" She looked at the warrior as if to plead. "I have already done the impossible by making him yield, and visiting his kingdom a second time. I do not know what happened at the river, and explaining it will complicate things."

"I see," Aneka replied, lowering her spear. "But why do I feel that things were already complicated before the river incident? Ayo told me about it, you know. She said that it felt like no one else should have been there to see it."

Shuri walked across the room, placing her spear on one of the racks carefully. She could not bear to look Aneka in the eye, so she pretended to brush off some invisible dust particles, and when that went on too long, she fiddled with her kimoyo beads, making a show of checking through her schedule. "It is not his fault that I had to slip on the way to the shore. He did me a favor, and that is all there is to it."

"If he touches you again, I will have his head on a spike," another voice intoned.

She whirled around and saw Okoye by the doorway, arms crossed with displeasure. The former general glanced at Aneka and said, "I don't see how you get to train her with the spear."

Aneka rolled her eyes, and looked at Shuri, trying not to laugh. "What? You think I'm that bad of a teacher? Our princess is a quick learner, you know. With enough practice, and some speed," she said confidently, moving her spear from one hand to the other, "she might even beat one of us."

Okoye wrinkled her nose. "Practice has nothing on experience, you know that."

Shuri felt the beginning of her own smile drop into a frown, while Aneka stilled, and sighed, sensing the tension in the room. "Well, we can always keep trying, right?" The woman gave her a weary smile, and after quickly ridding herself of the spear, left the room. Aneka was many things: curious, cheery, a little chaotic. But her greatest strength and possible weakness was that she often walked away whenever she felt that she could no longer stand to be where she was.

Okoye cleared her throat. She came forward, trying to smooth away the rigidity from her posture. "I didn't mean to sound so harsh."

Shuri attempted a smile, tired as she was of another conversation that would have her defenses up, though compared to Aneka, this one felt more like an interrogation. "It is fair. Experience is valuable, and practicing in this lab will not compare to a real battle."

"What possessed you to take up the spear again?"

"Is it so strange?" She asked, casually feigning innocence. "I may have the strength of the Black Panther, but that does not mean I have no other areas to improve on."

"Hm," the older woman replied. "I suppose you don't want me to teach you, then?"

She sighed, knowing that she was going to be questioned over this. It had not been meant as a slight, truly. It was just that she personally found Aneka's teaching style to be less…of the grating kind in comparison to Ayo or Okoye. "Aneka had the spare time. Don't forget that you've had more time on the field lately."

Okoye looked away for a moment, but then looked back again, eyes sad and shoulders slumped. "Yes, I've noticed. I'm glad that you still ask for my help, believe me. But I feel as though you are pushing me away sometimes. I do not know what to think. Or whether you are secretly angry with me-"

"Okoye," Shuri interrupted. "I am not angry. Tired, maybe. But I am not angry."

"Tired of what?"

"Tired of being angry," she said firmly. "Tired of not being taken seriously. Tired of being treated as if I have not just become the Black Panther. You may not say so aloud Okoye, but I know that you still look at me as if I am the little princess that you must protect. And while I am grateful for everything that you do, I also need someone, for everyone, to stop looking at me like I am some kind of creature to coddle and tame. I am a woman. A full-time scientist. Gone are the days where my greatest crimes are playing tricks in the lab. I have two nations to protect now, and I will likely spend a lifetime doing so."

Okoye's eyes widened, stunned by the truth of what had been said. "Oh," she whispered, "I did not think- I never meant to make you feel trapped, princess. It is just that I can't help but feel worried. You are the only one we have left, you know. And some of the elders have taken that for granted."

Shuri felt the ache and grief in the woman's voice, and then, felt her own pain, rising again, threatening to spill through the eyes. But she swallowed the sting of it away. "I know what they think of me, the elders. I know that they don't have much faith in a girl burdened by grief. Which is probably the only reason why they tolerate M'Baku, even if they are not used to Jabari being a part of the council." Her eyes narrowed, as she took in Okoye's tense face. "The Border Tribe has been grumbling again, am I right?"

"I-" the former Dora faltered, "How do you know?"

"I am everywhere," she waved a hand dismissively. "I know you're from the Border Tribe, so it might be difficult to hear this. But I will not have anyone trying to cause trouble for M'Baku. Nor will I allow anyone to foil the alliance with Talokan. I know that your husband's family and their supporters are still feeling the wounds from their punishment years ago. It is not ideal Okoye. But they will have to stay that way for just a bit longer, until I can rally all of Wakanda for a better alternative."

"Alternative?" Okoye repeated. "What do you mean?" Her brow crinkled in worry. "Shuri, if you try to do anything drastic, if you try to change our ways again, it will not just be the Border Tribe who will resist. The other elders will be there too."

"Well," she replied. "Some changes take time. And I am not so foolish as to try doing so without careful thought and planning. Or worse, without a care for those who matter the most. And what matters most, are not the opinions of that group of old, cushioned people that we call elders-"

"Shuri!" Okoye exclaimed, shocked over the irreverence at the princess' tone. "You cannot say such things." Her voice had become a shrill whisper. "Is this what your family would want?"

She shook her head at that. "Okoye," she said, slightly disappointed that the former general still did not quite let go of her attachment to rules. "I don't know what exactly my family would say. But they would want me to do what is best for Wakanda. And what is best for Wakanda is no longer for them, or only just the elders to decide. Not anymore."

"Then who?"

Shuri smiled. "I told you that I have been everywhere. It is the citizens, of course."

She should have known, and she did know, that presenting more ideas to the council would be a headache. But some days it felt like talking to a series of bland, immovable boulders.

She had been standing in the throne room on one such day, listening to a representative of the Talokanil delegation repeat their thanks for Wakanda's continued support of their defenses. She had not spoken to Namor in a while since that day in the river. And she had not called him either. But that had been mostly due to the lack of time and necessity.

But she did convene with the delegation earlier that day for something else. A scientist from Talokan had brought about the idea of an agricultural experiment. They had been looking for ways to introduce more crops to the underground plantations that they kept on their caverns, and were eager to see if the Wakandans would be willing to provide some seeds. Not one to refuse a mission to diversify food sources for anyone, Shuri had immediately contacted farming groups that lived on the outskirts of the Golden City, and a few botanists from the lab for a quick consultation.

There was some apprehension from the farmers over the idea of course. But upon hearing tales and vivid descriptions of the underground cenotes that had plenty of corn, cacao, and other crops that had not seen the sun, one of the largest producers had volunteered to provide some cassava stalks. As for what was to be given in exchange, was another matter. Wakandan farmers practically wanted for nothing, except for when they traded their goods on the marketplace.

The Talokanil delegation had proposed that if they could not give their own produce in return, then as a gift, they were willing to part with a batch of authentic chocolate tablets both for the Wakandan farmers and merchants. It had been a recent invention, they claimed. And while they did not drink, it was their king who had developed the recipe that would be easy to cook over a fire for those who dwelled on the surface.

So that had been Namor's doing.

Shuri imagined him, plucking cacao beans, drying them under the heat of his synthetic, vibranium-powered lights, watching over his people as they aided in the process of drying and pounding every piece. She would have to thank him. No, she wanted to.

But as the council session went on, Shuri realized with a sinking heart that any exchange that did not involve weapons and defense mechanisms were unlikely to pass through. In fact, anything that seemed to hover close to cultural exchange was met with barely-veiled hostility. Her gaze landed on M'Baku and even then, not even he, could convince the rest of the council.

She could not help it. The slump on the shoulders of the Talokanil scientist, the disappointment of the botanists from her own lab at such an immediate move to dampen curiosity and exchange beyond that of utilitarian need, gave way to something else. Indignation. So before anyone could dismiss her, she stepped forward, ignoring M'Baku's warning glare.

"It's just chocolate," she blurted out. "Why will you not accept it?"

They all stopped to look at her. The Talokanil delegation had gone still too, upon hearing from Griot's translation of what she had said. "What is wrong with giving a few cassava stalks for an experiment? We have nothing to fear when we have so much."

The elder from the River Tribe looked at her quizzically. "And what use do we have of chocolates when we can easily plant our own cacao?"

Shuri blinked at that. "It is of a different variety. Made of flavors that another nation is offering for our consumption. This one has been prepared for our convenience. Think of how many restaurants and eateries in our city would be interested in something different-"

The elder from the Border Tribe had cut her off. And damn it all, if the man had not been Okoye's kin, she would have said something rude. But she held her tongue, and listened. "Princess," he said with some condescension. "What use do we have for such a thing? It cannot strengthen anything of what we already have, can it? It is of no consequence."

"No consequence!" She repeated with some astonishment. "Cacao is of great importance for the Talokanil and their ancestors. Chocolate is said to be a gift from their gods. What limited quantities they can plant in their caverns, they have chosen to give some of it to us. Can you not see the significance?"

"Significance?" The elder of the Merchant Tribe shook her head. "While I admit to seeing the potential, I see no reason why we ought to pay attention to the significance of their gods. Not when their ruling god was once responsible for the destruction of many of our stalls and trading posts at the marketplace."

Shuri's eyes widened in recollection. Of course, they would remember Namor's attempts to invade. So fresh it was in their minds, that any attempt of exchange and earnest projects like this one was met with suspicion.

They do not want to know. They do not want the people to be curious about him and his people at all. They only want the power of his army.

And it seemed as though the elders, and their subordinates, felt that his violence was all he was good for. Something about that filled her with anger. Hot and fiery, just like the flames from her time when she met N'Jadaka on the ancestral plane.

It will not do. Namor was more than just war, and his people, filled with so much more than just fear of the surface, were so much more than expendable forces at a time of conflict.

She raised her chin, and marched towards the silent Talokanil who carried the chocolate tablets on waterproof boxes. "Can I taste it?"

One of the women, blue and trembling with nervousness, nodded her head, and opened a box for her. Shuri took one round tablet in her hands, and took a bite. The strong cocoa flavor exploded in her tongue, then melted and mellowed out into a combination of some sugar cane sweetness, and then at the end, a hint of sea salt. Oh, was it good. Far too good.

She could almost see Namor in her head, stirring one of the pots to make the concoction himself. And she knew that it was real and true, because he was the kind of man who liked to work and understand how things came together. Because he was curious, like his scientists. Like her.

She did not understand why, but she felt that she was dangerously close to tears. But she dared not cry in front of the council. So she gave them all a glare instead. "If you will not allow the merchants to circulate it, at least give the volunteer farmer the choice whether they want to accept it for personal consumption. And as for the cassava, I will personally compensate the farmer myself. I shall purchase the cassava for personal use, and give it to the Talokanil delegation as a personal gift. There are no rules against that, are there?"

M'Baku had been quick to aid her over the suggestion. "It is only fair. Unless of course, if this council is now allergic to fairness," he very nearly spat. Met with sullen silence, he turned to the farmer and asked, "Well? Will you accept this gift from our friends?"

"Why, yes. But there's so many, I cannot possibly finish them all-"

"I will take the rest," Shuri offered, still unable to quell her anger. "I will have

the boxes that you cannot take with you. We will not waste something so precious."

"Oh, thank you, Princess. But are you certain?"

"Yes."

And that was that. With little words of thanks, the farmer left with most of the boxes with the assistance of some of M'Baku's men. The Talokanil delegation, who had chosen to remain silent throughout the whole exchange, looked at Shuri, then each other. Then, the scientist who had proposed the project looked at her with utmost gratitude. "Níib óolal," he said.

He's thanking me.

She shook her head, and with a cheeky smile, gave him the Talokanil salute. The delegation saluted right back, the smiles on their faces now wide, despite what had transpired earlier.

Then with a nod of disappointment to everyone else, they too, departed from the room.

Shuri turned to the council as soon as the Talokanil left. "I shall be taking my leave now."

"Princess," Zawavari, elder of the Mining Tribe called.

She stopped on her tracks and looked back. "Yes?"

"Is the chocolate so impressive that you would do all that? Or are you now suddenly so enamored with whatever their king has to give?"

"Oh, Zawavari," she said, trying not to tremble. There was so much that they did not understand. So much to learn. And the ancestors, if they had any ounce of sympathy left for her, could lend her the strength to have the rest of Wakanda understand. "It was very good. It was delicious, because it was made with a great deal of care. But it is a pity that your minds are so closed that you cannot bring yourself to try something that would have given everyone in the city some joy. Oh, well." She shrugged. "It will be up to all of you, whether or not you wish to continue to wallow in isolation, or build something good with those who have something beautiful to give."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Perhaps it had been her fault too. That while she had recently made every effort to be available for the village schools, the University, or on the farmlands with the children and the goats, there was no denying that after T'Challa's death, she had become some kind of manic shut-in. Driven by tasks, fueled by efficiency and new ideas. Always new. And it was in that cycle of sketch, create, and repeat, that she might have neglected to look around.
The secret trip to Chicago and Mexico had solidified the idea. She was where she needed to be. Here, and there. Over here was the lab, and there, outside, where there were people who still saluted her and called her 'Princess,' despite not sitting on the throne. And out on the bush where there lay the grass and creatures that she had been in danger of taking for granted. Big or small, it mattered. Like a web, a link; an ecosystem of needs and wants and diverse existence.
But her drive threatened to overwhelm her once again. M'Baku, after passing by her lab, shook his head, and said, "I cannot drag you to your home. But I will have to say it, Princess: Find yourself a proper bed to sleep in. Do not wait for someone to carry you out of here." Then he smirked, a knowing look in his eyes, "Unless of course, you no longer have a problem with fainting because someone from the sea will come flying to catch you?"

Bast, help me.

She shook her head. "Don't you see how wrong it is to imply that I…enjoy being around that amphibian?"
He grinned at the nickname, but immediately turned serious, looking at her, not with judgment, but with something that she could not find the words for. Shuri liked to think that she had gotten so much better with people. But even someone like M'Baku could be unreadable sometimes.
"Whether you like being in his company, is for you and your heart to decide. No one else." He said, his tone was soft and almost, if she allowed herself to imagine, paternal. "Everyone has noticed that you've been getting along with both the fishman and his delegation. And while not all of us can understand, I, personally, prefer to render my judgment as irrelevant. A princess who has given so much of herself, including her right to the throne, deserves to at least have some room to think about her…feelings."
"That-" she looked away, and trained her eyes on the screen atop her work desk. "That is unthinkable. My feelings are far too messy for it to be given time. There is so much to do, and so much more at stake. You know how it is, M'Baku. We both know what he's done. There's no getting past that. We can only fulfill promises and agreements, nothing more."
"Oh, silly girl. No one ever said that feelings were simple. What? You think you can solve all that, like it's one of your equations? Ah, ah, don't fret over that now. I am not looking down on your math. I am only saying that we humans, we are all more than that. More than transactions. See, while it is true that the number of Wakandans who no longer fear that fishman is zero, it is also reasonable to be allied with him. They have patrolled the African coastline, and have provided protection for our ships. We respond by providing technological assistance. The cycle is repeated. He treats you well, because you have empathy for him. I'm sure there's more that Namor has done for you in return, and because you do not want to owe anything, you will reciprocate. Another cycle of adding weight to the scales over a debt that can never be repaid."He looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps, there is more to this than getting even, Princess."Shuri was silent, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with one of her pens as she contemplated his words. Then, she smiled. "You are far more sensible than you look. Guess I was right to give you the opportunity to challenge for the throne."
He tilted his head in response, trying to maintain a facade of humility. "I do what I can. It was once difficult for my people, the Jabari, to be a part of this nation. But now, I am king." He grinned. "The council was always...What's the phrase? Stuck up? Sniffing down at me, like I'm uncultured. But they cannot deny that I have performed well enough to earn some praise from the people, and now they have no reason to insult me. But as for the king of Talokan…" M'Baku tapped on his staff. "Ha! A proud creature, that one. If we are to work towards harmonious allyship, such pride would be an obstacle. Do you think he would be willing to be a little less mighty? The last time he was here with the delegation, he barely spoke, but men like him do not need to speak for the rest of us to understand that he is used to getting his way."
Shuri scowled at the image of Namor, stone-faced and too menacing in his serpent headpiece. "I can assure you, he is now aware that he cannot get what he wants so easily." Her mind had gone back to that day in the forest, when she had stopped him from killing Gonzales. "But he has never been allowed the luxury of compromise, so I can imagine that it would be difficult for him to not think in extremes."
"Hm," was M'Baku's response. She did not quite like the look in his eyes, the glint in them was no longer that of mischief. But they gave the impression of someone who understood something that she did not.
"What are you thinking about?"
That strange grin crossed his face again. "But now he has learned what it means to give. That fishman has probably never done it since birth."
"Done what?"
"Yield. And he has done it. To you, no less."

Sleep was impossible. She had found a proper bed, as M'Baku phrased it. But when she opened the window to her room, it was too cold. And minutes after closing them, her body would ache for the breeze, longing to be rid of sweat. She had tossed and turned over the covers and under, trying to find a position that would allow her body to rest.
But nothing worked.
M'Baku's words felt like a persistent alarm in her head. A reminder of what could not be resolved so easily. He yielded to me. It had been so simple back then. Of course he would, wouldn't he? When he carried so much weight on his shoulders, that an untimely death could doom the people to war? To possible exposure to the rest of the world, and then after that, exploitation? Of course he would yield. Namor prized Talokan above all. Above himself. And even he could not bear to see it crumble with vengeance and the never ending desire for blood and ruin.
But if there was more to it- No. No, that cannot be. I will drive myself mad thinking about the possibility.
And the madness would not go away. Shuri rolled on her side, and glanced at the kimoyo beads resting on the bedside table. Perhaps, she could play a lullaby with it. Or a boring monologue. Or an audiobook about physics, or something else. Or. Or, she could call him, pester, and thank him for the chocolates. And then, she might as well ask about what they were doing with the Wakandan cassava stalks, and whether or not he has had any luck pacifying the more warmongering faction of his people. Or she could simply tell him that sleeping felt like a chore on this particular evening, and that if he was in any way interested in keeping the Black Panther alive, he would help her find a remedy. She remembered what he had said at the river, his voice quiet, and pleasant, the small smile on his lips sincere. "If you like, you can always call Talokan with your beads. When sleeping becomes a chore, I mean."
It was a ridiculous idea. A dangerous one, at least. She glared at the beads, and scoffed. Not a chance. The idea of working through lab reports occurred to her. It did not matter if she was going to read them lying down. Doing something was better than drowning in strange thoughts.
No sooner did she reach for the beads, that suddenly it began to beep in green. An incoming call. It flashed a light in her hands, the letters materializing on the air to indicate the name of the caller. Namor. Her fingers almost slipped, and she sat up immediately, staring down at the beads in disbelief. Then, came the debate as the device began to drone on and on, an indication of the caller's patience. Or persistence.
She sat there for a while, staring at his name, listening to the beep of the beads. Griot's voice came through after seconds of inactivity,
"A call from K'uk'ulkan, Princess."
"I know who it is," she snapped, still unable to lift a finger.
"Perhaps we can dismiss the call instead," the AI suggested. But the buzzing of the device persisted, and Shuri could not help but feel a slight tinge of annoyance, or was it intrigue? But she did agree that he could call her anytime. For all the conflict she felt over being in 'friendly' terms with him, she did not feel comfortable not following through with her promises either. So she took a deep breath. "Put him through, Griot."
And as soon as she said the words, a projection of him lit up right in front of her. She blinked, surprised that he seemed to have figured out the projection mode for calls right away. Namor seemed to be in his private hut, dressed comfortably in what appeared to be some off-white cloak, and loose fitting trousers. He was seated by his table, wiping the handle of a paintbrush. Of all the things that she could have said, a greeting, a question, she went with what she deemed less awkward. "So you've figured out how to use the projection mode for calls."
He smiled, warm and cordial, and even from the flickering image of the kimoyo beads, it was evident that he was pleased to find that she had answered him after all. "Of course. I have a habit of obsessing over the purpose of any object I have never had. This bracelet included."
"Hm," was all she could say.
He stared right through her, his eyes assessing her face, the bonnet around her head, and her pajamas. "You couldn't sleep." It was not a question, but it was his way of repeating what he had already guessed with just one look.
But Shuri was not about to lose to him either. "Neither can you." At the sight of his raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "If I am to guess, you're messing with your paint and your…trinkets to pass the time. But because you called me first, I can only assume that you either have something to say, or that you really cannot rest, and have decided that you will annoy me because of it."
He grinned. "Oh, it's both."
She rolled her eyes, and leaned back against the pillows. But now that he was actually there, speaking to her, her thoughts wandered back to what had happened at the council room. Another consequence, another instance of people not wanting bridges to be built. "I hope you were able to plant them," she said. "The cassava, I mean."
"Ah, yes. We did. I cannot thank you enough for that." He shook his head, and there was a hint of forlorn bitterness in his eyes. The delegation, no doubt, had told him of how the elders had responded to their attempts in giving gifts to the farmers and the merchants. "I am aware that so much of the goods that they sold in the market that we flooded had been wasted. My crops cannot be given in place of what your technology and nation can so easily replenish. So I thought-" He sighed. "I thought I could give them something that their families could indulge in. Something for the children to love. But perhaps, such gestures are not enough."
"Chocolates," Shuri said, thinking of the two little boxes now stacked on her kitchen counter. "They tasted wonderful. Tell me, did you put chillies in them?"
"Well, I-" He paused, looking at her strangely, then he shook his head with a small laugh. "No one else was supposed to know that I made them. But my delegates could not help but be tattletales, I suppose."
Her mouth crinkled into a smirk over the idea, despite the heavy feeling in her chest. The idea that his people had been far too excited and proud to not tell her, was amusing. What else did he do? She could not help but wonder. Paint. Scavenge and read books from the surface. Write. Experiment. Meet with his court. Patrol borders and settlements. "They have been doing so well," she replied. "Your delegates are open-minded." She sighed, lamenting the state of the tribal council. "I just wish that I could make as much progress with key figures here on my end."
Namor frowned. "No, do not be so quick to compliment us. You already know that Namora was not the only warrior of mine to distrust you. And do not forget, that boy we met in the market, Eloy. There are others like him too. They do not know enough about the complexity of your people, and what came
between our nations. The same can be found in Wakanda. They fear me, and are not interested in knowing about the other parts that are less…frightening. I cannot blame them."
"No," she agreed. "Blame them, we cannot." She glared at him, unable to help the bitterness of the past from coloring her tone. "You know, all this could have been avoided had you taken me with you during the negotiations with my mother." And as soon as she said it, the feeling of wanting to run, and end the call, took hold. Bast, I cannot be this foolish. Oh, Bast, help me.
His face seemed to have hardened in place, the hands that held the paintbrush now incredibly still. "Perhaps," he said, equally just as bitter. "Perhaps something else could have happened, and things would not have gone the way they did. But it is too late for what-ifs, princess."
"And when I said I would stay in Riri's place, I actually meant it. I was going to stay in Talokan."
"And I-" he countered, eyes wide, and transfixed, rooting her in place, "I would have kept you. Gladly. Safely."
Oh. Shuri's mouth fell open, then closed, her breathing harried and erratic as the tumbling pattern of her pulse. She had to say something, anything. "I can't sleep, and uh, my head hurts," she nearly stumbled over her words, trying to regain some semblance of control. "I might be feeling ill again."
He stared back, unconvinced, but the conflicted look on his face softened. And she was relieved to find that he too, seemed to have decided that they would drop the topic. He was not so foolish, she thought, to not recognize the danger of where their conversation was going. Of what else could have been. But for whatever reason, he retained his generosity. And still, he had that gentle nature that shone in moments like this one, where there was no outside world, no exploitative aggressor, and certainly, no alliances to lament over.
"Maybe I could help you, then. I know a poem that might be soothing," he offered.
She raised an eyebrow. "What kind of poem?"
He gave it some thought. "It was mostly chanted by my ancestors. They used it for rituals. It is rather romantic, but in your case, the point is that it might be calming to hear. I know it well. Mostly because I have taken it upon myself to learn and remember our customs."
She did not know how to feel about possibly hearing any kind of poetry with some romantic sentiment. Still, the idea that it had anything to do with the history of his people tickled at her curiosity. "I see." There was no guarantee that it would help her at all. "I would like to hear it, if you feel comfortable enough to share this poem. But will I have to ask Griot to translate-"
"No, no." He interrupted. "Have Griot take note of it. And you can listen to it some other time. If this works, you can listen to the poem on your own."
"Alright."
He cleared his throat, and began. She had not had the time to focus entirely on his voice before, but she did at that moment. It was low, and soothing. In some parts it felt like a warm drink. In some words it evoked the sensation of the chocolate that he made. But then, he would go deeper, and it was as if she was hearing a creature purr through a pile of silken sheets. And all the while he droned on and on, in a litany of words that she did not fully understand, but was determined to, even as she felt her eyes droop in fatigue:

Tz'utz'

A chi

T u caap cool

Hok che

Tz'a ex a hatztuutz nok eex

Tz'ooc u kuchul kin h cimac olil

Xeech u tzou

Tzotzel a pol

T'za u
u lemc ech ciichcelmil a

nok

T'za hatz'uz xanaab

Ch'uuicinzah a nuucuuch tuup

T u tupil a xicin

Hop men hop t u nak a kab

T kailbelt caa i laac ciichpam

eech

He biix (ma ix) maac e

Uay tu t cahil

H T'ziibalchee

Cah in yacuma ech

X cichpan colelbiil

Lai beiltic

In kaat ca i(labe) ech

Haach zem pe ech

Cii(chpam) ech

T u men c u y an ca chiicpaac

ech ti x buutz' ek

T u men ca u tz'iboolt ech

Tac

Lail

U

Y etel u x lol nicte kaax

Chen zacan

Zacan

Nok

H x zuhuy

Xen a tz'a u cimac olil a chee

T'za utz
a puczikal

T u men helae

U zutucil cimac olil

T u lacal uinic

Lail

C u t'za ailc

U y utzil ti t eech

When she woke up, the kimoyo beads were right next to her pillow. The call, had been ended. But it worked, and she had fallen asleep, undisturbed. And for the first time in years, Shuri felt that her head had cleared, and that her brain did not feel like it needed to be awakened any more than it already was. But. She still did not know what it was that Namor had recited to her.
"Griot, did you record that chant…That poem he shared last night?"
"Yes, princess."
And as soon as the translation played, Shuri stared at the ceiling, utterly frozen, and embarrassed. Still, she would have to admit that his delivery had been excellent. Close to hypnotic. The words washed over her like the purr of his voice. And because he was no longer there to see, she clasped her hands together and reveled in the words, and imagined that he was saying them for the second time.

To Kiss Your Lips

Besides the Fence

Rails

Put on your beautiful clothes;

the day of happiness has arrived;

comb the tangles from your hair;

put on your most attractive clothes

and your splendid leather;

hang great pendants in the lobes of

your ears; put on

a good belt; string garlands

around your shapely throat;

put shining coils

on your plump upper arms.

Glorious you will be seen,

for none is more beautiful here

in this town, the seat of Dzitbalche.

I love you, beautiful lady.

I want you to be seen; in

truth you are very alluring,

I compare you to the smoking star

because they desire you up to the moon

and in the flowers of the fields.

Pure and white are your clothes, maiden.

Go give happiness with your laugh,

put goodness in your heart, because today

is the moment of happiness; all people

put their goodness in you

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Out of all the dreams so far, only one had come close to an actual nightmare. Where water was supposed to have been cool, and where most nights the sea and the savannah formed the ancestral plane, and the visions of the past had all been accompanied by a quiet breeze and the scent of salt and grass; this one did not.
Shuri felt it from her nostrils and down to her lungs. One touch from her fingers to the base of the tree in the water, and she was pulled into something else. The sharp, tangy scent of blood, the sound of screams, and something that burned. Fire. Smoke permeating the air, black and gray, and angry. But it was nothing in comparison to the screams. How they swirled in her eardrums, the cries of fury and freedom ringing all at once. Her eyes had registered the sight of what appeared to be a plantation. Acres upon acres of corn, owned by shades of the milk-pale wealthy, made all the more unreachable by henchmen in whips, and the favor of holy men who sold prayers and breathed hypocrisy.
Had she the powers of flight, she would have been able to make out the huts, the cramped living quarters of a people that bore a striking resemblance to the Talokanil if they remained underwater: dark-eyed, and brown. She managed to remember, staring at the flaming rows of crops, that not long after, more plantations would sprout. Some for the corn, the same corn that was a staple of every Talokanil household. And the same ones that they sometimes place upon the mouths of the dead. But it was not just corn or vegetables, she thought, her mind going back to what she had read of history. Not long after, there would be more plantations for henequen. From the same family of plants that Namor and his people made their hammocks and ropes. The ones that might have looked the same as the plant that formed the base of his mother's bracelet. The one that grew beneath the ocean, empowered by vibranium.Their salvation.
She looked around frantically, heart hammering in fear as if she were really there. And then her eyes fell upon a clearing, on a path close to a wall of reeds. The little boy from her past dreams was a little taller now. He wore the same garb of green, and jade, and sandals. But there was no smile, and no innocence in his eyes. Only a deadened anger, and a stoic face as he looked down on an old man with a brown hood. All around them, the plantation burned, the men with the whips burning or long dead from the boy's orders, while the laborers and the slaves ran in terror. They fled in disbelief, that escape could be granted in such conditions.Shuri stared at the boy. Little Namor, who was no longer so little. From afar, she could see another one of his people, clutching a wrapped body. His mother. Oh. Oh, Bast. Her eyes wide, she could do little but stay still, and watch.
It might have been faint, but she could hear it. The curse of the Spanish priest, staring at the boy with terror and disgust. "The devil's child," he spat, even as he was sprawled on the ground. Then came the final blow. "...El niño sin amor." The child without love. The child that had been Namor stared at the priest, unblinking. It was not clear to her, how he had understood the language, or perhaps he had to be able to know it in some shape or form to escape the colonists. Still. Something about that moment must have stayed with him, this child that had been born into godhood.
It's not true, she wanted to scream. The priest was wrong. You loved your mother, as your mother loved you. You love the sea and your people. You love to paint. You love to write and record things. You love anything that is new to your eyes. You love places where the water is clear, and the air is fresh. Her chest began to heave and ache with the weight of the vision. She could see the boy now, bending down to strike the priest dead. I know this anger, she thought. I know, but I also wish that you did not believe the priest. She let out a gasp, and reached out, futile as it was. Then came a wave, washing over her, melting the image of the mutant boy she now knew to be the godking of Talokan.
What came next, was a jumbled series of images that should not have made sense, but did. She saw flashes of resentment in the eyes of the Border Tribe. From Okoye's husband, W'Kabi, unable to enact their vengeance on the mercenaries responsible for killing their neighbors and kin. For it was indeed the Border Tribe that bore much of the weight when it came to conflict on the Wakandan borders, and that of hiding Wakanda's true nature from the world. A young N'Jadaka was there too, sobbing over the body of his dead father, her uncle. The uncle that had been slain by her father, he who was king some years before. Then it was her brother, clutching their father's lifeless body in a room of smoke and rubble. How the anger in his eyes came forth. Then came the fighting, the guns, and fallen heroes against heroes on the streets, and in the snow. But it was her brother's face, wide-eyed and noble, retracting his vibranium claws, denouncing the venomous pull of vengeance, that finally broke through to her. And she saw herself too, marching through the UN Assembly Hall with the panther suit, angry and defiant, as the rest of the world looked on in judgement and for some, annoyance and anger at her willful display.Can compassion be of any use, when those who suffer at the hands of the greedy and the colonizer, were not heard? Does justice require that heads must roll in exchange for what had been lost? Or was that vengeance too? What does it mean to be fair, when the world was not? How does one demand to be seen and heard, when all have decided that neither would done be for you from the beginning?
"Brother," she cried out against the waves as it pulled her back to the shore. "Brother, tell me." And when her feet reached the sand at last, she clutched at her white skirts and croaked, teary-eyed and weary, "What does it mean to be just?"
But there was no reply.She had been pulled back into reality, wide-awake in a darkened room, her head throbbing, and her heart troubled till it began to physically ache away, even as she tried to take deep breaths.
Shuri reached for her kimoyo beads, and despite the warring feelings that it evoked, played the poem again. This time, Griot did something she had not told him to do. He played the translation, using Namor's voice. She looked down at the beads, mouth open. For she did not think that the AI was capable of doing anything beyond commands. Perhaps, that was part of the programming too. That it knew what to expect, and thus made its own predictions. That it understood what it was that she longed for.
Namor's voice was there, oddly calming, and a far cry from the automated one that had played some nights before. "I love you, beautiful lady…I want you to be seen; in truth you are very alluring…." She took a deep breath, and felt, with some surprise, the erratic beat of her heart slowing down. "I compare you to the smoking star because they desire you up to the moon and in the flowers of the fields…" She smiled sadly, wishing that it was not so difficult to tell him that his poem was close to a lullaby in her mind. That the poem, even if it was about love, gave her something more. A small pocket of peace."Pure and white are your clothes, maiden. Go give happiness with your laugh…" Shuri stared up at the ceiling, no longer so distressed. Still, the words gave her some room to think, even as her eyes were beginning to tire. How I wish that I could laugh more. "...put goodness in your heart, because today is the moment of happiness; all people…put their goodness in you." I don't know how to find that sort of happiness, she thought drowsily, letting sleep overtake her.

The Border Tribe Village lay to the east of the Golden City, a long stretch of plains and fertile soil that had long served as the perfect setting for the Border Tribe's role in what had been called as a cover-up of Wakanda's true status as that of a technologically advanced nation. Before T'Challa's reign, the people there had stuck to their duty, providing plenty of crops and produce, all the while projecting a false image to the world that Wakanda was nothing but a little nation that relied on its agriculture.
How wrong they were.
The Border had their spears, their blue cloaks that doubled as shields, and their warriors hardened by the constant appearance of gunslinging poachers and mercenaries all throughout the centuries. But all that was hardened and steadfast, also felt the weathering that came with every attempt to drive every threat away. Threats to the safety of prized wildlife. Threats to the secret that had been the existence of vibranium.
But so much has changed since then.
Namor met her by the river, and because she made no mention of his poem, or the late-night conversation some days before, he attempted nothing in return. It was just as well, because Shuri's face had seemed haunted and serious, and so there was no room for anything but business. Namora and Attuma accompanied him, though they maintained their distance. They traveled by stealth hovercraft towards the Border Village, with Shuri piloting the aircraft.
"Remind me again why we are here," Namor said quietly. "We are allies, but this matter may be too delicate for us to be a part of. Neither the council, nor the Dora are pleased with this idea of yours."
He was right. Still, she steered her controls with a steady hand. "Not everyone was pleased with my prolonged stay in Talokan either. But if we are to strengthen our ties, we will have to do all that we can to understand one another. Now, it will be your turn to see what else there is to see of my country."
From the corner of her eye, she could see his hesitation. She turned to look at him from his seat at the passenger area, and smiled wearily. "I promised them that you will remain in this hovercraft. Trust is a difficult thing to win, you see. Your inteference will only be needed, if I cannot make it back. Or if the Midnight Angels are unable to report back to me." She shrugged. "But Okoye and Aneka have been so efficient on border-related missions. So I have nothing to worry about."
He nodded, glancing at Namora and Attuma briefly, before turning back to her. "If you are confident, then I will have to trust you. Besides, it is an honor that you've extended an invitation to my generals. I'm sure it would do some good if they can see what I see."
"See what you see?"
"Ah," he replied, hands clenched on his lap. For a moment, Shuri thought that he would rise from his seat and make his way to her. But he held back, and opted to give a reassuring smile. "I only meant that it would do them some good, if they saw how difficult your work is. So that they would not judge you so harshly."
She turned back to her controls, aware that Namora and Attuma were seated nearby, listening to the conversation. The translation mode in the ship had not yet been turned on. Pressing the command, she looked behind her shoulder, and said, with Griot's voice echoing back in Yucatec Mayan, "We have arrived."
It was evening, and in the dark, the lights from the village were the only solace for anyone patrolling this part of the border. Here in the east, it was far easier for anyone to attempt crossing, than it was in the west, where there were mountains, and snow, a terrain too precarious and difficult for those with little experience in such conditions. For poachers, the extra equipment needed for the trek and the climb would be costly. Mercenaries funded by private individuals would probably have more funds to do so, but that would mean facing Jabari warriors, and that, was another risk that none of them deemed worth the prize.
Still, the warriors of the Border have given tresspassers their own kind of hell over the years. It was not until recently, that Shuri had assigned Okoye and Aneka with special missions on the border, specifically when special operatives from foreign countries or large tech companies were involved.
Shuri rose from her seat, and went over to Namora. In her hands, she held out a new set of jade earrings. The spearwoman looked at the jewelry with some suspicion. "What is that for?"
Shuri gestured at Attuma. "He's wearing it too. It will allow you to speak to each other, and your king, even if you are too far apart. You will be able to understand any language, and ask any question of the land, the people, or even how many enemies you are about to face."
"Hm," was Namora's reply, accepting the earrings with hesitation. "They're just like the ones I already have. But-" she stared at Shuri, trying not to seem ignorant, "I have never removed mine before."
"Well, Attuma did it," Shuri grinned wolfishly. "We would not want to lose to him over a pair of earrings, right?"
Namora glared at Attuma, before giving her a scowl. "It is not just any pair of earrings. But-" She grinned back, teeth showing through the transparent mask she wore, "I never lose."
"Now that's more like it!" Shuri smacked her hands together, feeling a burst of energy. She turned to Namor, who had been standing by, silent and stewing in amusement. "Griot will show you everything on the field. I've plenty of my little Bug bots with me to provide footage-"
Her kimoyo beeds flashed red, cutting her off. She looked down, eyes wide.
"Princess," Okoye's voice was raspy through the comms, a little out of breath, and irritated.
"What's going on?"
"Aneka has not answered my last two calls. I was busy taking down down a group of poachers up north. They've got a bazooka, believe it or not. Seems like they're looking for ivory. But really, they've been looking to steal anything made of vibranium. Caught some of them snooping around the Merchant Tribe too."
Shuri automatically readied her gold necklace, bracing herself for the panther suit to make its appearance. "And Aneka?"
"No calls. She should be down south, near the Rwandan border."
She glanced at the screen hovering by the pilot's controls. "We're close to the south. I should go check on her, just in case."
"Perhaps I should-" The sharp voices of men interrupted her, and she could hear Okoye's sharp intake of breath, and a strong gust of wind. "Never mind. There's a lot of them here today. Not all are of the same group."
Shuri looked down at the beads sharply. "Are there any other warriors from where you are?"
"A few. Most families have been too afraid to send their children willingly in recent years."
She blinked, remembering the fallout between W'Kabi and her brother. "It's alright. Just keep at it. Don't forget to call the Dora Milaje in case you need backup." Since her return from Haiti, Okoye had been slowly trying to make the case for a new unit: the Midnight Angels. The idea was that they would assist the Black Panther in missions, and provide support in times of conflict, should the Dora and the War Dogs have their hands full. But recruitment was difficult, since Ayo did not seem very open to the idea, and had only backed down when M'Baku openly expressed support for the project.
"Copy that, Princess."
When the call ended, she turned to Namor, who now stood closer to her. "Looks like I'll have to go sooner than expected."
His eyes had roved at her glowing beads, then at her necklace, watching with fascination, as the suit crept from her face and all over her body. The Black Panther in action. She wondered, for the first time, if he was ever curious as to how it all worked. Or if perhaps, the idea of being close to her as an ally in battle intrigued him.
"Should things go wrong, we will be here."
She took out her Bug bots, and waited as they flew out of the aircraft, before taking a deep breath. "Let's just hope that I won't have to call for assistance." The hangar was a few meters away now, but before she could jump off, he called to her again, unable to help himself.
Shuri looked back, retracting the Panther mask. "What?"
"Don't go easy on them."
He had said it with not as much anger as she expected. Still, she could see it in his face, from the way he gripped his spear so tightly; that hunger, the aching impulse to take back what had been unjustly stolen. And she felt it too, she realized. How she longed to jump down, claws out and ready. The truth was that neither of their people had anything left to prove to the world. No justification was needed for their protection, no debate needed on some assenbly over their right to live in peace. But to see him exhibit a form of pettiness, was far more comforting than a thousand treaties and promises from everyone else.
He wants to see them stumble. For them to fall flat, and fail in their greedy endeavors. And so do I.

"I don't plan on it," she replied. Then the mask was on again. She ran out of the hangar, and out of the ship, into the night, where there was only the faint faraway lights from the village, and the darkness of the greenery to welcome her fall.

From tree to tree, bush to bush, she followed Aneka's traces.
"Griot," she whispered. "Flash me the last known location of Aneka's suit."
"Ten miles southeast of the Mining Tribe Village."She ran at full speed, allowing her stamina to follow the winding trails in the more uninhabited parts of the Border Tribe's domain. There was no moon, and no stars. Only pitch black darkness, and the thick foliage of trees and tall grass that had been allowed to grow wild. In the past, allowing some parts of Wakanda to seem unkempt had been intentional. Anything far too maintained was always the first indicator to even the untrained, foreign eye, that this nation they had thought small and weak, had far more in its interior than anyone realized. But now, it hardly matters. The world knew, and as the knowledge grew, so too did the number of entities that longed for a piece of the land that they can never have.
In record time, she made found her way some miles from the Mining Tribe's village. Nothing. She looked around in confusion. Up ahead was a small clearing littered with abandoned equipment, some armored cars equipped with wheels for rough terrain, and bodies strewn about, machine guns rendered useless. The conclusion to a fight, no doubt. She reached for the nearest tree, and opted to perch atop the tallest of the branches.
"Griot, I need eyes on the surrounding area. Any traces of Aneka?"
"Scanning the area. We should note, Princess, that her armor has taken significant damage. Strong enough that it is difficult even for me to remain functional within the suit."
"That doesn't sound good," she whispered. "I don't think we're dealing with regular poachers."
Namor's voice had cut through the comms,
hearing and seeing all that Griot and the bots could show on
the hovercraft screens. "Will you need our help then?"
"No," she said a little too quickly. "I need to find Aneka first. If I can't find track her within ten minutes, we'll have the hovercraft fly to where I am. Deal?"
"If you say so," he replied, though it was clear he did not feel that it was wise. But Shuri grit her teeth, determined to carry out the mission on her own. Exposing Namor and the Talokanil without guaruanteed capture of every eyewitness would be disastrous. Her lips curled over the idea. More prisoners. Stunning them with the moderate mode of her sonic blasters would have to do. Or if not, then she would have to go all the way.
It was faint, but she could hear some activity to the right, kilometers away. She leapt from the ground, then on to trees, making very little noise in comparison to the animals that roamed about. "Get the Bugs to scout ahead for me. Take out any recording device you find. Take over any vehicle. If possible, record any incriminating conversation. We will need to find out who they work for."
"Understood."
Within minutes, she found it. Far off the main trail, by a patch of smaller eucalyptus trees, stood a worn-out Aneka. Her Midnight Angel armor had been battered, her mask no longer functional. Shuri remained still, perched on one of the taller trees that overlooked the small area. Then she saw them.
Operatives in heavy equipment, black and military green. They carried in their hands, smaller versions of a blaster that looked a little too foreign to be standard pistols. Then a voice came through, cold, with a clear American accent. "Surrender now. And we will not shoot." A woman's voice. Shuri looked on, as a dark-haired woman stepped forward. "Your armor is done for. You have nothing left. Just put your weapon down, and everyone will make it out of here alive."
Aneka spat on the ground, and clutched at her blue twin-daggers. "Go home, colonizer."
"I'm here to do my job."
A shield had formed from Aneka's daggers, and it glowed, bright and blue in the dark. "You're a child," the warrior retorted. "You clearly don't know enough about what you do, if you think you're right."
Then before anyone could blink, Aneka spun to the right, and cut through the nearest man, slicing off the tip of his pointed gun, and just a barely a sliver of his fingers. A scream tore through his throat. Everyone else had fired at Aneka, but she held on to the man's body, cruelly, but effectively using him as shield. She grinned. "Ah, ah. Think again."
The unknown woman, clearly the leader of the group, had the audacity to look indignant, as they all stared at the body of their dead comrade. "We gave you a chance to surrender peacefully."
"Peacefully?" Aneka countered. "You brought weapons and military equipment. You came prepared for a fight. You're getting one, and now you can't even finish what you started?" The warrior sneered. "I suppose it's true, then. Colonizers are spineless."
The pale, dark-haired woman's jaw had clenched. Then Shuri saw it, a brief, but split-second signal to one of the remaining men to continue shooting. Not today. She crawled, and aimed with her sonic blasts, and jumped to the next tree, still unseen.
Cries of panic resounded. The men closest to Aneka had been knocked down, unable to get up from the shock. Shuri grinned. She was not able to tone down the impact of the blast after all. Aneka had abandoned her human shield, and had retreated farther away, taking advantage of Shuri's distraction. The farther away they were from any settlements, the better.
One, two, three, four, five. Five operatives left. She counted at least three armored cars nearby. "Griot, have their vehicles collide."
"Gladly, Princess."
At the sound of the engines, the woman screamed, "Who the hell is driving?"
One of the drivers shouted from the window, "It's not me! It started on its own!"
"That's impossible," their leader screeched right back, looking around wildly in the dark. The other four men left standing were standing in pairs. One duo to the right of their leader, and the other closer to the trail that Aneka had run off to. Then the cars began to clash. Hearing their panicked cries, Shuri blasted the men trying to run after Aneka. She swung back to the other tree, and aimed for the other two that had been glued to the leader. They shot at nothing, their mini blasters flashing bolts of energy that reminded her of the one that had been used for Zawavari's assasination. The bolts singed branches and leaves, missing her by mere inches.
Shuri sent them flying again, knocking everyone else down. All but the leader, who tracked her movements with frightening accuracy. Naive enough to demand surrender from a warrior, but far from incompetent. She felt a blaster bolt brush against her right shoulder, as she swung from the branches. The suit was not ruined, but it burned from the heat nonetheless. Damn it. Losing what had been left of her patience, she regained her footing, and pounced straight down, aiming to tackle the woman on the ground.
They crashed together on the grass in a flurry of screeches, arms, legs, and futile punches. Wrenching the blaster away from the woman's hands, Shuri wasted little time. She had pinned the woman's arms behind her back, and had ripped the woman's spare pistol away. "You're CIA aren't you?"
The woman made a feeble attempt at throwing her off. "So. It's the Princess."
Shuri sighed and tightened her hold. "Griot, ask Aneka to come back here. Send Okoye our location."
"Understood."
"Finally got to see her royal snotiness in action," the woman grunted from her place in the grass.
"Might as well tell me your name."
"Why don't you guess? Try using that technology you're too selfish to share."
Shuri glared down at the woman, and purposefully tightened her grip, ignoring the wince of pain that followed. From within her mask, she could see that the system could not match them with anyone from the CIA. But that was impossible, she thought. The weapons were similar. Griot's voice came through, "They're associated with the military, Princess. Authorized by the Pentagon, but not part of any well-known division. This mission is likely supported by the CIA. A quick mission."
Footsteps over grass, broke her from her reverie. She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw Aneka running towards her. "Hurry!" Shuri called out. "Are your binding cuffs still functional? We need to keep this one."
Aneka looked down at the woman in disdain, "Eh?" Then she switched to Xhosa. "I could knock some sense into her first. She's got a real attitude problem, that one." She took out the portable vibranium cuffs with a flick of her wrist. "If Okoye was here, she would have been unconscious already."
Shuri considered the idea, trying to resist the temptation. "Maybe later. We need to check if they've got anyone else hiding around. Okoye should be here soon, and Griot, I'll need you to dig deeper for a name. Anything."
With their prisoner in tow, Shuri and Aneka walked closer to the outskirts of the Mining Tribe Village. But the smell of something burning stopped them in their tracks. "Oh, Bast," Aneka muttered, the dread creeping into her voice.
Shuri broke off into a run without a word, swatting away branches, and brushing past shrubs, while Aneka was left to drag their captive along.
The outskirts of the Mining Tribe Village did not have too many residents. Or at least, there were not many families that lived close to the border. Still, there should be a few of them, with Border Tribe guards, and some warriors nearby. Then, she realized with a start, that there was supposed to have been a warehouse of polished and cut vibranium around the area. She racked her brains out, trying to remember when was the last time that a map of Wakanda had ever been available to the world. Eyes wide, she remembered the cultural exchange programs that her brother had started, alongside the outreach centers.
Damn it.
They broke through another wall of grass, and was met with the sight of screams, people barely dressed, fleeing from their huts. "Griot!" Shuri cried out. "The emergency fire response system!"
"Already in effect, Princess."
From outside the huts, little knobs planted on the ground began to spew water everywhere. Shuri whirled around frantically, and turned around to find that their prisoner remained unfazed. It's all part of a plan. It has to be. She found a Border Tribe warrior running from a smoking hut, a child in her arms. Shuri ran up to her, "Who started it?"
"It-It wasn't us!" The warrior cradled the baby a little tighter. "Someone said that one of us did it, because one of the Mining Tribe warriors saw someone in blue lurking around."
Shuri's brow wrinkled. Something wasn't right. She ran past the warrior, and dodged other warriors from the Border and Mining Tribes, and other panicked residents. It was not just the huts that had been set on fire. Someone had also lit the surrounding plains and trees aflame, intent on causing chaos. She could hear the sound of a siren from the main village center, a call for rescue and for the Wakandan Disaster Response team to arrive. But there was no time, she thought wildly.
She tore further northeast, and found at last, the warehouse. It looked oddly undisturbed from afar. But she knew better than to be fooled. "Griot, any hostiles?"
"One at the back of the building. They're trying to turn back around south."
Then she saw the trail of bodies. Blood and burnt and unrecognizable. Some were dressed in Border Tribe blue, others in Mining Tribe red. Burned and blown to bits, she realized with horror. It's the same weapon again. The one from New York. From the Atlantic. She kept running and running, all the while her stomach churned and her throat began to constrict in a silent scream that could not be let out.
Finally, she spotted the arsonist some kilometers away, running at full speed. A man, wearing stolen Border Tribe clothing. On his back, a bag of what she presumed to be the stolen vibranium. Samples, they're here to steal samples, and blame the whole fire on the Border Tribe. Cause a little chaos just before we figure out what really happened.
But Shuri was faster, and so she leaped forward, claws out, and with one slash, tore through the straps of the backpack. Surprised, the man stumbled on the dirt. And immediately, Shuri was upon him. She turned him over, back against the ground, so he could see how her left hand pressed against his chest, and the right, hovered in the air, prepared to tear him apart with the vibranium claws.
"You set the fire, didn't you?" She all but snarled.
The man stared at her, eyes wide.
Her left hand had snaked up to his throat, choking him. "Answer the question."
"I-yes," he choked out. "I was the fastest runner of the team."
"Your team leader," she spat. Her claws extended further. "What's her name?"
"T-theodora."
"Full name! " She screamed at his face.
The man coughed and strained against her grip, barely able to croak, "Theodora de Fontaine."
Shuri was so surprised, that she almost drew back, so great was the shock of the last name. From behind, she could still smell blood and smoke. The screams, and the shout of Wakandans, never having encountered this level of intrusion. Then she remembered her dream of the plantation. Of a boy who was no longer a boy, but had been cursed as the devil's spawn. It was a dream of someone else's past, that now echoed her present. Her fingers began to shake, her vision fading in and out of her own fear, and then, something else. Rage. Then all she could see was flames, and blood, and Valentina's smug face, staring at her like a vulture perched atop a podium.
The man beneath her, began to choke, desperately trying to beg for his life. "P-please. I just did what they told me to-"
"Shut up!" She let go of him, then smacked his face with her left hand. Something cracked. She might have bruised him, or more. She might have ruined his cheekbone for good. But nothing mattered. Moving would be impossible for him.
Shuri stood, wrenching the tattered bag of stolen vibranium bars from underneath him, and marched to the front of the warehouse. A few Border and Mining Tribe warriors had gathered, and amongst them stood Aneka, the woman who shared Valentina's last name, and Okoye. Shuri unmasked herself, and walked up to Theodora, dumping the bag right on her feet. Then, as everyone watched in shock, she wrangled the prisoner from Aneka's hands, and dragged her to where the bodies of Border guards and Mining Tribe warehouse staff now lay, unmistakably dead and drenched in blaster burns and blood.The smell had been awful.
Shuri made the other woman kneel, and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look down on the bodies. "Is this what doing your job looks like? Huh?"
She kicked the back of Theodora's knees, and with trembling hands, forced her to sniff at the blood. "Smell it. Sniff it. Look how your job killed my people."
When the agent tried to resist, she smacked her on the back, forcing her face to hit the ground, her nose, now merely an inch from the nearest pool of blood. "Smell it!" She screamed. She could hear Theodora coughing, inhaling all that she could inhale. Then Shuri turned her over, and landed a blow from the fist to her face. "de Fontaine? Another punch. "Is she your sister? Your wife? Your mother? Your aunt?"For every question, she landed blow after blow, and Theodora could do little but gasp, eyes wide in terror as the punches began to bruise and draw blood. But Shuri felt nothing. Nothing at all. In Theodora's eyes, she could see the resemblance to Valentina. The dark hair. The haughty chin. And even as Okoye and Aneka screamed at her to stop, she aimed nothing but a glare, and her sonic blaster, glowing blue and purple. They moved out of the way, as she attempted to shoot them down.
She could hear Aneka screaming at her kimoyo beads for Ayo, while Okoye tried to get closer. Shuri shot another sonic blast towards the growing crowd of people that were attempting to come closer, and grabbed Theodora by the collar of her long-sleeved green uniform. "I'm going to feed you to the lions. Then I'll send the bones back to Valentina. Whoever you are, whatever you are to her, I'm going to use you. I'm going to-"
Then she was cut off by a small gust of wind. A light from up above. A gasp had gone through the small crowd, as a stealth hovecraft flew overhead, stopping only to shine down almost directly above the cluster of bodies. Above Shuri, who had gone stone cold, and dead in the face. Then, the whispers grew louder as Namor descended from the small ship, his ankle wings flapping against the light of the launch system. He landed a meter away, spear on his right hand.
She had looked at him blankly, stewing with anger still, but feeling the drain of her temper. "Namor," she whispered.
He walked towards her, careful to avoid the streaks and pools of blood. He did not even look at Theodora, or anyone else. All he could do was look at Shuri, the pain in his eyes evident as he took in her bloodied panther hands.
"Namor," she choked out.
Then to everyone's surprise, he placed his spear on the ground. And reached for her, both of his hands out in an open gesture of non-hostility. "Shuri," he said, achingly gentle. "Shuri," he repeated. "It's me."
"I-yes. Yes," her lips trembled as he came closer. "I know it's you."
"I'm sorry," Namor smiled at her, then he clasped her hands, slowly drawing them away from Theodora's face. "You told us to wait for your signal. But we didn't. I am sorry."
Shuri stared at him, feeling blood and life coming back to her chest, her veins. "It's my fault," she cried. "If I asked for backup sooner, they would be alive."
"Perhaps," he agreed. Then his fingers threaded through hers in a firm, steadying knot. He rose slowly, and she, transfixed, had stood alongside him. From the crowd, she could hear sighs of relief, and gasps of awe. Still, all she could hear was his voice. A grounding voice, just like that recording of him, reciting the poem. "Your people might have been alive," he said. "But it is not your fault. It is no one's fault, but theirs."He tipped his head down towards Theodora's stunned body below them. "I heard you. You said there is much to learn from this woman." She saw how his eyes burned with anger too, matching her own. "It is not for me to decide what is to be done with her." He looked over at the crowd of Border Tribe guards, and Mining Tribe folk. "Would you like it, if you ask them instead? It is their kin, and their fellow tribesmen who died after all."
"I-" She felt her body tremble, a little unsteady, as he led her away, slowly but surely from Theodora's body. The crowd had followed their movements with bated breaths, barely paying attention to the fact that a team from the Wakandan Disaster Response had arrived to collect the bodies.
Namor's right arm were around her now, his left hand still holding on to both of hers.
Shuri stopped to face him, trying to breathe out the smell of the bodies from her system. Don't vomit. Don't vomit. Her eyes had begun to water, but she blinked the moisture back fiercely. She had grabbed both of his hands, her grip, unnaturally tight and unforgiving. But no one else would have had the strength to match hers at that moment. So she held him, even more tighter, and begged, "The poem. I want to hear it."
His eyes had widened in surprise, not expecting to hear her speak of it again. But he nodded, and brushed his thumbs against her hands, back and forth and back again. And as the dead bodies from behind him were loaded onto stretchers, and as the march of the Dora Milaje could be heard from the distance, he began:"To kiss your lips besides the fence rails…Put on your beautiful clothes; The day of happiness has arrived…"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Well?" M'Baku glared down at Ross. "What have you got to say?"
M'Baku had rushed from the Jabari, solemn and uncharacteristically devoid of his usual quips. They had all gathered in the dark, over at the Dora Milaje's headquarters, with the Disaster Response team now having completed the horrid task of identifying every corpse. But the prisoners had been whisked away, and swiftly out of the Mining and Border Tribe's reach. Wisely enough, the king had asked for an additional group of guards lest the vengeful of them tried anything foolish before the Council could come to any decision.
The Talokanil had remained out of sight, electing to stay on the hovercraft, with the exception of Namor, who remained a quiet glowering shadow behind Shuri, now drained of any visible emotion. She had wiped her hands clean of the bloodstains, though she had them clasped uncharacteristically behind her back. It was just as well, for it was hardly the time for anyone to see her lose herself to her anger as they had at the Mining Tribe warehouse. Her eyes were trained on Ross now, spine straight in cold attention as she awaited the former CIA agent's answer to M'Baku's hostile inquiries.
He had looked pale and confused, as he usually did, but even more so with his appearance unkempt and hurriedly dressed. He looked at M'Baku, irritated. "I don't know this…Theodora person. I've never met her."
"They look alike, and they share the same name. You didn't tell us that she had any other relatives," Shuri insisted, eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps, this was something too personal to disclose-"
"Like I said, I don't know!" Ross's eyes were wide, as he paced, and silently argued with himself, while Okoye and Aneka stared at Shuri, and then back at him with a knowing look in their eyes, catching on to the possibility of a personal truth that the man was slow to consider. Then finally he stopped, slowly turning to look at all of them, and never had Shuri seen him so horrified. "Oh," he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Oh god. She doesn't have a sister- I've never seen or met any Theodo-" He bent over, hands on his knees, before standing upright again. "I can't say it." The look from his eyes was that of despair. "If it's true, then it means all this time, she's kept her away from me."
M'Baku stared at him with what looked like pity, before it faded away to determination. He was still king, and he was nothing, if not sensible. The frank comebacks, and the brazen way he carried himself were but layers to what he also was: a warrior attuned to the initial hints of danger. "If that young woman is indeed related to you, we will have to keep you away from any meetings that involve the CIA. Or the de Fontaines. You have been our consultant, but that will have to end."
Ross shook his head. "I'm not- I don't really care about Valentina. Too much time has passed since then."
"Don't you?" M'Baku challenged. "Even if you can set aside your past with that…eh, woman…Now you are confronted with someone else. A daughter. And yes, we now have enough sources to confirm that they are indeed mother and daughter. And whether you are the father or not, will eat away at your conscience. You do not know, and that purple woman has not given you any indication of Theodora's existence." He glared at the former agent, his gaze leaving no room for further constestation. "It's best if you stay out of this, and from any case involving the CIA and the US military."
"I don't have much of a choice, right? I'm only here because you were nice enough to let me live." He smiled bitterly, then his eyes found Shuri's. "Where's the girl now? Any chance of me at least finding a way to communicate? I still know enough about Valentina, so if you're interested in conducting an interrogation, it would confirm her identity-"
"No," Shuri replied coolly, not quite in the mood to indulge him. "Griot has given us enough about her. Besides, she's in no condition for an interrogation right now."
Ross stared at her, then with some difficulty, at Namor. "Did he try to kill her or something?" He looked at the two of them, the discomfort written on his features as plain as his anguish over Theodora's identity. "You brought him here, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Namor bristled at that. "You're assuming that I had anything to do with that pale American girl. Or that I fought anyone tonight."
"How can I not? No offense, but you've got a record of committing mass atrocities-"
"So when it's resistance and retaliation over the safety of the vulnerable, you call it an atrocity? That's a great word." Namor sneered, the venom in his voice enough to make Ross flinch, and the nearby Dora tense up with their spears. "What would you call tonight's events? An accident? A misunderstanding? Because that is what you do, you and your government. Sprinkle pretty words over the ugly truth to make yourselves look good-"
"Well, you can't blame me for thinking it!"
"I am blaming you. Your fragility over blood being spilled is hypocrisy. What? Just because the Wakandans have shown you mercy, you thought that you would be spared from condemnation? You are part of the CIA."
"Were. It's in the past tense, meaning-"
"Do not school me about the tenses of your stupid language. I studied it as I have every language of those I consider to be the greatest threat to my people."
Ross huffed, trying to hide his exasperation. "Do you have to be so…extreme?"
Namor tipped his head towards the direction of where the Disaster Response Team had carried the bodies. "Try talking to the souls of the dead, then we can talk about extremes."
An uncomfortable pause had ensued, with M'Baku deep in thought, while the Midnight Angels and the Dora bore the silence, their gazes flitting from Namor and Ross, and then back to Shuri. They're waiting for me, she realized. Waiting for her to mediate. So she cleared her throat, and stepped towards Ross, and with some distaste, decided that she would have to tell him what she had done. And as the words fell from her lips, she found that there was little regret in her heart. Self-loathing, perhaps. But even if anyone were to demand restraint or an apology the next time she ever battled with Theodora, she would not give it. Not for anything, and not for anyone.
"Namor didn't try to kill her, Ross. I did."
His eyes had widened, shocked. "What do you mean? What did you do?"
She kept her hands hidden behind her back, away from prying eyes, and certainly, away from her nose that would not stop remembering the scent of blood. "I punched her in the face," she replied, letting out a shaky breath. "She looked so pleased with what was happening, so I tried to make her smell it." Her voice quavered a little, but regained control as she gazed down at the concrete floor. "I tried to make her smell the blood of the people who died." And then her eyes were upon Ross now, bright and furious and insatiable. "I did not kill her. But a part of me wanted to. Is that wrong?"
"I…I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"What do you want me to say? If I said yes, I'd be a coward. If I said no, then I'd be advocating for her death before your council can even call for a trial."
Shuri frowned. "Not a coward, but a hypocrite."
"That's what he called me," Ross quipped back, his usually quiet voice now tight with suspicion, as he glanced at Namor apprehensively. "Is he starting to rub off on you?"
Sensing that Namor had tensed up behind her, she held up a steadying hand, and pinned Ross with the coldest glare. "If you think that I'd let anyone tell me what to do or influence me so easily, then you do not know me at all."
"Right," he replied. "I guess I don't. But I wonder if anybody here does. You know, actually know you."
And at the words, she heard Aneka stifle a gasp, while Ayo and Okoye remained deathly still, looking at the American man with distaste.
Oh, damn you, Ross.

"I think we've all had enough for tonight," M'Baku had cut in, giving no room for any more awkward pauses, barrelling forward, despite the added layer of tension. "The council will convene tomorrow in the morning. All who were present at the field will be questioned." He turned to Ayo, who had been standing behind him wordlessly. "General, I trust that the prisoners are settled in?"
"Yes. With the guards you requested."
"Good!" He clamped his staff down on the floor with a resounding thump. He looked at Shuri pointedly, then at the rest with a weary sigh. "I had my Jabari warriors come all this way. If I ask anyone else from the tribes…" His voice had trailed off, unsure how to voice what Shuri had initially feared. More grievances on the Border Tribe's part. M'Baku is stubborn. He will wrangle all of Wakanda till it becomes stable. But if it does not work, well, there is always me. I will have to make sure he succeeds, and protect the people.
M'Baku waved a dismissive hand. "There is much to do. We cannot go on standing here arguing." He looked at Okoye and Aneka. "I suppose you will have to prepare to meet the council tomorrow as well. But for now, I suggest that the two of you go home." He turned to Ross, and stared him down. "You will have to stay put. No poking around on the Citadel, or anywhere else. Do you hear me?"
Ross looked sullen, and suddenly, it looked like he was even more older than he already was. "Yeah, yeah, I got it." He avoided Shuri's eyes, and turned to walk away, escorted by the rest of the Dora towards a hovercraft that would take him back to the Golden City, where he had been given a place close to the newly rebuilt market. Okoye and Aneka, had elected to return to their homes on their own, though before leaving, Okoye had given Shuri a reassuring squeeze and a pleading look. Or perhaps it was a look of fear, sorrow, or whatever it was that she had felt as she watched Shuri lose her temper for the first time. But even more significant, was how the former general had glanced at Namor, her gaze no longer so hostile or fearful.
Shuri was shocked to find that she had looked at Namor with curiosity. A strange, and new development that she did not quite understand. Oh. Perhaps she found it strange that I allowed him to hold my hand.
"Well!" M'Baku had said, looking after the former agent with pity. "I have never felt particularly fond of him, but," he turned to Shuri with a shrug. "That man will have to live with eternal exile, and a broken family. I do not feel sorry, but you must admit, if it is indeed true, that his life is rather messy."
"I'd like to ask," Namor interrupted. "Why is that man alive? What use do you have for him?"
"Ah, that." M'Baku's eyes twinkled. "He is useful for helping us understand how the CIA and how their government works. But personally, I find him amusing to keep around. But do not let the council hear that, or else they will tell me that I do not know how to be serious."
"I see," Namor said, unconvinced, but amused over the answer nonetheless.
Ah, Shuri thought. The fishman and the Jabari king's shared dislike of white men is the key to diplomacy.
"Perhaps," Namor had said, "We should leave now too. We will be ready to enter Wakanda through the Golden River tomorrow, and attend the council if called to do so."
"There will be no one to see you off," Shuri could not help but say, vaguely aware of M'Baku's pointed stare. "I can fly you to the river tonight."
Namor smiled. "Are you certain?"
"I live close by, so it is not a problem."
"How convenient. I did not think that you lived close to the water." The interest in his eyes was evident, and try as she might, she could not ignore the fact that when he spoke of convenience, he was not merely referring to the ease with which she could escort him and his generals back home. It was that he was of water, and she had lived close by.
"It is," her hands had found their back to her side, no longer so conscious of what they had just gone through not too long ago. "I like not having neighbors."
Suddenly, she heard a barely audible chuckle, fading away from her right. She turned and found that M'Baku was already walking away. "Wait!" She called after him. "Where are you going?"
"I am going home, where else?"
"Just like that?"
M'Baku grinned, and suddenly, Shuri realized all too late that he had left quietly so that he could leave her alone. "Yes. Just like that. I cannot stand listening to a conversation that I am clearly no longer a part of."

Namora and Attuma had gone underwater, already in agreement that their king would follow not long after. Theirs was a soundless and careful departure, out of consideration for the elephants that had gathered for a drink. This part of the river was shallow, not so busy and surrounded by canoes as it did in the docks closer to the city.
Perhaps that was why Shuri had chosen to live out here on the bush. She had learned to appreciate quiet spaces, and excellent scenery. And, as an added touch of sentimentality, she had loved soft breezes, and places where one could gaze at the stars with nothing but nature for company. She had been cooped up in her lab, that coming home had felt like a welcoming hug. Except, that there were days when it was too unbearably empty. No, not just empty. Lonely. But no one needs to know that.
Namor sat next to her, his broad frame settled atop a smooth rock that had been glued next to the one that she was on. "A good place for a home," he murmured, glancing behind him to look at the modern, one-story circular house that she had designed. Then he turned back to look at the water again. "I can see why you would want to live here."
"The wind…" she trailed off, unsure whether she was prepared to admit it, as her hands fiddled with the gold necklace around her neck, the Black Panther suit now tucked away.
"The wind reminds me of my brother. It was not exactly the same, but when I went to Haiti two years ago, I sat by the beach. And there was a really good breeze, and I don't know." She felt him looking at her now, and so she met his gaze. "I felt at peace, reminiscing. Remembering his face."
"That you can now live in a place that would remind you of him, is a good thing."
She smiled at that. "Yes, I suppose it is."
Then she looked at her hands, and felt her smile fade, the memory of Theodora's bloodied face haunting her, and spiraling her stomach into angry coils.
"You're still angry," he whispered. She looked up in surprise, and found him looking at her with concern. "There is still tomorrow. You can be angry tomorrow, when they decide what to do with that woman."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't think it is something that I can turn off so easily."
"Ah, well," he stood, and said. "That is true. Still, I thought that I might as well try to offer some comfort. As pointless as it is."
It was not entirely pointless. If there was one thing that she did not understand, it was that she could speak to him, and listen to him, and suddenly feel as if she could rest and be still. Then, in other times, she wanted to withdraw and not think of him at all, because to do so would be to remember what he had done. And how she felt that the comfort from his presence was at war with those memories that had given her so much pain.
But because she had some foolish qualities, she smiled up at him instead. "Thank you, for what you did at the border. It may not have been a battle, but you helped me, somehow."
He had looked at her hands and shook his head. "It was nothing. I only did as you asked. When you said you wanted to hear the poem, I had to let you. It is that simple."
Shuri now stood up alongside him, and grinned. "I forgot to thank you about that too. I like listening to it. I should consider asking Griot to download more poetry. And what is with your voice?" Before she knew it, she had walked away from the river now, leading them both closer to the house and close by the surrounding garden of shrubs and cactus. "You ought to consider recording your voice, reading stories for the Talokanil children. That would save time for everyone who wants to hear you read."
"And if I were to sell the recording," he teased, "would it make me wealthy?"
She had leaned forward, beaming in agreement. "Undoubtedly."
Then, without warning, he had stepped closer, his face merely inches away from hers. "Would you purchase a recording?"
She was so surprised, that she stepped back, her right hand flinging out widely behind her instinctively. A mistake. She felt the sting of thorns from a nearby bush cutting through her skin. "Ow!" She hissed at the pain. Turning over her hand to look at her fingers, she winced. A few cuts, but nothing too serious. Then, much to her annoyance, she noticed that little bits of the thorns seemed to have been stuck somewhere between her flesh and skin. She looked up at him. "I will have to take them out. I have tools inside the house. Y-you should get on your way now."
But Namor only looked at her hands, troubled. "It is my fault. If you're going to take out the splinters, at least allow me to accompany you."
After a minute of back and forth, she finally relented and had led him to be seated in her living room. She had been so preoccupied with the task of removing the thorns, that she had not even stop to think of what she was doing. That she had brought him inside her home.But upon closer inspection at the splinters on the tips of her fingers, she had found that the pieces inside were far too buried to be easily plucked out. "Bast," she muttered. "Perhaps I'll need to find a thinner, smaller tool. Or some moisture-"
"Do you happen to have honey?" He asked suddenly.
"It does not sound scientific," he admitted. "But I have heard that honey is useful in cases like these. It would help with drawing out the thorns."
She blinked, considering the idea. Well, it certainly would not hurt to try. " I have some in the kitchen."
He stood up. "I shall look for it then. Can I ask where you placed it?"
"I-uhm, there is a jar. On the table- Yes, that one."
He came back, carrying a clay jar that had been covered with a little lid. Then without so much of a word, he had poured a dollop of the honey on her hand, the substance carefully dripped down upon her fingers. "What are you-"
"Shh," Namor hushed her, face solemn with concentration, as he placed the jar carefully on a side table, and then to her utter shock, took her right hand in his, and clinically examined her fingers.
He began to coat the rich, golden syrup carefully directly over where the splinters were, and even more so, over where there were cuts. Then he stopped to look at her and said with even more urgency, "I hope you don't mind, but the tool that you are holding is far too thin. We will have to draw them out some other way."
Shuri stared at him, speechless, then with some difficulty, managed to gather her wits for a reply. "How?"
He stared back at her for a few moments, then taking her hand, began to gently squeeze on each and every finger, pinching each spot that held a splinter. "Does that hurt?"
"I-No."
Then, she watched, terrified, as he leaned down and pressed one of her fingers against his lips, and carefully, grazed his teeth against one of the sore spots that had the splinter. "Wait, wait," her heart hammered against her ribs, as she watched him try to draw out the thorns with his mouth. But he had looked so serious, that she had stopped to look at him instead, watching as he carefully, with gritted teeth, and with his lips, worked on each and every affected area.
It smeared upon his lips, golden and brown, funny, and almost obscene. But he was shameless just as she was fascinated. And then he stopped, holding her own hand out for her to see. "Look," he said.
And sure enough, she could see the tip of the splinters more clearly now. Taking out her tweezers, she plucked each and every piece out without a problem. But even when she was done, he had not quite let go of her hand. Not yet. He looked at her, eyes nearly the same rich color as the honey that had so grazed his lips. "We will need a cloth," he whispered.
Wordlessly, she gestured at the tissue box that sat next to her box of tools. Taking a piece of tissue, he wiped at her hands carefully. "What about your-"
But he did not bother with his mouth at all. He had merely licked away at the honey in one swoop, and with a heavy, almost intense gaze, said, "In Talokan, we do not have much of this substance. Only syrup, from sugarcane. The ones you have here are good. More than good."
Shuri forgot herself for a minute, not knowing what to do, or if she should let him hold her hand, or if she ought to slap him for his audacity. "What are you doing to me?"
Seeing that her hands were now clean, he clasped both of their hands together, just as he did hours before. "I saw that you did not want to look at your hands earlier. Are you afraid of blood?"
"Not me," she swallowed at the memory. "But I kept thinking that other people have seen them…looking like that. That they might not want to look at them, because they saw what I did to get them bloodied."
In response, he leaned down to press a kiss to her knuckles, the contact leaving nothing but a trace of heat, some kind of unspoken promise. And then, very quickly, he untangled his own fingers from hers.
"I have held your hands. I drew splinters from them with my teeth. And just now, I kissed them, knowing that they have done something that may not be so good. There is nothing wrong with them." Then Namor kissed her hand again. And with a hurried goodbye, he marched away from her living room, and out of her home, leaving her all alone to stare after him, her mouth open and whole body awake and trembling with the phantom sensation of the path that his lips had traced all over her right hand.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She dreamed once again, of that place that was not quite the ancestral plane, but of something that could only have been possible because of her proximity to a god king who had unwittingly given her power through an herb from the depths of his watery domain. Like before, it began with her feet on the sand, knees drawn to her chest, and her head tucked over crossed arms.

What she wore had never been altered since the second dream. It was always that lovely, translucent dress of white, and jade, with earrings to match, and her collarbones open to the wind. While she had chosen to ignore its origin, she had long known that it was the exact same dress she had worn from her first visit to Talokan two years ago. And even though it was not real, it had become almost familiar to her, the one constant thing in a plane that changed far too much, and provided so little answers despite the number of times it had given her visions of Talokan and Wakanda's past and even of her own memories.

She waded out into the blue-green sea, hands reaching out to touch the tree that seemed to hold all there was to know. But upon contact, the image nearly made her reel back in anger, and dread. There was the nonchalant tone of voice. The prim posture that was usually wrapped in suits and shades. A pair of smug eyes that had been emptied of warmth, only taking on color as the person who owned them took great pleasure in someone else's discomfort.

Valentina.

Shuri then realized that the vision before her was of that evening, many nights ago in New York, when the CIA Director had asked for an audience. She stared at herself curiously, well-dressed and proud in an upholstered chair that she had found too old-fashioned. Despite the injury on her arm, she looked rather well, refreshed and spirited, but stern enough to counter Valentina's energy. But now as she watched herself, seeing the memory replayed, Shuri could not help but see how futile it was of her to play the naive and worn-down girl. It did not matter if Valentina had fallen for the act. The CIA and their allies will push forward anyway. That much was clear, she realized, allowing herself to relive parts of a conversation that she thought she had locked away on a report she had made for the War Dogs not long after the New York trip.

"...How precious is this thing that you're trying to protect?" Valentina had asked, coy with her scant knowledge of Talokan's existence.

Shuri watched the past version of herself blink only once, features wrinkling into a scowl. "My people's lives are not to be negotiated over, and their worth cannot be quantified or explained in simple terms." How easily she had ignored Valentina's implied reference to that of another group, a third party. But the older woman was no fool.

"Interesting. Your people, you say? So you admit it, then? The Wakandans had something to do with the sinking of the ship, and the disappearance of that mission two years ago?"

"When they said you wanted to speak to me, I never imagined that it would turn into a pseudo-interrogation."

"Oh? But it's only an interrogation if the other party has something to hide. Do

you

have something to hide, Princess?"

"Meeting me this late in the evening without the presence of other American delegates and the press has me thinking that it is you, who have more to hide," Shuri had countered, putting in her lifelong skill of throwing words back to those who first uttered them. Seeing Valentina's frown, she smiled. "We've made ourselves clear, Director. Wakanda was always conscious about the use of vibranium. And while our former queen has stated that the world is welcome to try looking for the mineral elsewhere, we also have reasons to believe that your attempts to do so are just as dangerous as attempting to steal from within our borders."

"And those reasons are?"

"We only need to find a well-written history book for that, and some other articles of your exploits in the countries you like to call the Third World."

Valentina scoffed. "Materials for a lecture. Those are not reasons."

"If that is unsatisfactory, then perhaps I should pull up Wakandan intel of the CIA's connection to mercenary groups, some of which have also supplied weapons for wars that the US has declared abhorrent in front of the United Nations?"

Valentina had gone still, and at the look on her face, Shuri had struggled not to bare her teeth in anger.

I look like a panther, eyes wide and so serious,

she thought, looking at this past version of herself in surprise. She wondered if her brother had ever felt non-human in certain moments during his time as the Black Panther too.

"I'm sure you know by now, to never underestimate my people. We have long played this game of protecting the valuable and the vulnerable, and we will continue to do it."

For a moment, there was another silence. Shuri felt her own stomach tie around in knots at the sight. It had been a tense meeting, filled with stare downs and awkward pauses, and grating replies that made her want to claw out her own tongue over the horrid feeling of having to spurt white lies and barely-concealed hostility. Then there it was, Valentina's strange, knowing smile. "You know, I admire you, Princess."

"If it had come from someone else, I would have accepted that statement as a compliment."

But the CIA Director was now undeterred. "I remember how your mother marched into the UN. Electrifying stuff, really." She clasped her hands, and shuddered in a mocking display of awe. "And those soldiers? Making the French kneel like that? My god. It made me realize just how protective Wakandan women are." Then she leaned forward. "And then, there's you. When your mother was queen, she was perfectly content to wish us…what was it?

The best of luck?

On finding vibranium elsewhere?" Valentina motioned with her fingers, quoting her mother in a manner that made her want to scream. "But something's changed. You now care about vibranium beyond that of your people's involvement. I must say, considering that your mother passed away, it's bold of you to take on a stance contrary to hers. But that's not the most exciting part." And then her smile turned into the most terrible grin that was enough to fuel nightmares and half of Shuri's anxiety.

"What excites me is that you would now defy your mother's policies. Typical for a daughter, I guess. I know that all too well. But defy her over what? Oh, I know you won't tell. That's fine, don't tell me. But I, oh, I will find out what that is. And when I do,

I intend to take it from you.

Which is unfortunate, considering how hard you've been trying to protect it. It's almost like-" and then Valentina's voice had dropped into an exaggerated hush. "It's almost touching really, just how protective you are over this…this thing you refuse to tell anyone about."

And it was at that moment, that Shuri had finally stopped giving a damn about her manners. She had looked at the woman, hands flexed, claw-like, and menacing. "You have overstayed your welcome by speaking of my mother callously. If you do not wish to come face-to-face with the wrath of the Black Panther, you will leave. Now."

It was only then that Valentina had left at last.

And soon the memory, the vision was washed away by waves, replaced by voices and images of smiling Wakandan and Talokanil children. Of the goats bleating on the farms by the Border Tribe Village. The sound of singing and dancing, and the joyous chatter from Xhosa and Mayan tongues. And then she saw Namor's face, smiling and frowning at different stages of a life too long-lived. But it had been mostly a life of stoicism, as he battled and hid in the shadows as countless tragedies struck the surface world. And then she saw him again, smiling so, so openly, as he watched the children of Talokan flock around them during her past visits.

But before she could stare too long, the dream faded with the crashing of waves, and the tide pulled her away, all the while her hands had unconsciously reached out for that vision of him. Towards Namor and his unburdened smile.

The throne room gleamed in flecks of gold and gray, the light from the early morning sun coming through so brightly, that Shuri would have deluded herself into thinking that nothing had gone wrong just hours before, if not for the elders who sat around M'Baku, with frowns on their faces. She had been given a seat, painted in deep black, a courtesy that M'Baku had extended to her as Black Panther, though it was not often that she had ever found the time to be seated in previous meetings.

Namor and his delegation had been the last to arrive, their seats away from the inner circle that had formed the tribal council's. He wore his serpent headpiece, and his ceremonial outfit, though his generals had elected to remain as they had always been dressed in previous battles and appearances. Shuri could not bear to look at him, and upon receiving a salute from him upon arrival, gave nothing but the Wakandan salute in return, her eyes fixed on his headpiece the entire time. She will not, she had decided, look him in the eye, nor will she look at his hands or any part of his face. In fact, it was safer to pretend that his head had become a coconut husk, though that might prove impossible, and so she settled for his headpiece instead.

It was M'Baku's voice that had knocked her back to the present. Immediate approval of Shuri's new defense drones for the border had been given without question. But now came the difficult matter of deciding what to do with the CIA Director's daughter.

"What is most peculiar," said M'Baku, "is that Theodora de Fontaine has not been seen anywhere near her mother's people. She is not of the CIA, and as our War Dogs tell us, neither of them have been seen together in public. Not for a decade at least."

"Theirs is an estranged bond, perhaps?" Zawavari guessed. "That might be to our advantage. If their relationship is strained, we might have a chance of gleaning more information from the child. Resentment from the daughter can be a useful tool."

"Yes, well," the Border Tribe elder had cut in drily, his eyes darting to Shuri's. "We could have conducted an immediate interrogation to gauge the strength of their relationship, had she not been so savagely accosted by our Black Panther."

Silence fell as every eye turned to her. Standing to the left, Shuri caught Okoye and Aneka glancing at one another, before staring back at her sadly. Not even M'Baku's gaze was devoid of ambiguity, and suddenly, she understood.

They want me to apologize.

Then, she saw Namor, looking right at her, accepting, and expectant. Then his eyes dropped down to her hands, and on to his own as if to say:

Your hands are bloodied, and so are mine. You have nothing to be ashamed of.

And she did feel some shame, but not for fighting back. Certainly not over her anger. It was that she had forgotten that justice would have to come first. And she would not have gotten it, had she gone through with beating the girl to death in the grass.

So Shuri straightened up in her seat, and reached deep down for what she knew to be true. "When we took Theodora de Fontaine prisoner, the outskirts of the Mining Tribe were already in flames. I saw that she looked smug, and pleased. When I caught the arsonist who told me her full name, I lost all sense and decided that she needed to smell the blood of our people. It seemed to me that before I had knocked her down, she did not see any of us as anything more than a mission. It might not have been the right thing to do," she paused, looking at the Border and Mining Tribe elders in the eye,
"but every blow I inflicted was for every person that died. I will not deny that my actions have delayed an interrogation. I know this, and I take full responsibility. I will spare no effort in demanding justice for those who were killed."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Zawavari queried in return. "We have been to the United Nations. They have more speeches than they have concrete plans, and more suggestions than they have results."

She could sense the Border Tribe elder's discomfort over the idea. After all, for so long their people had longed to avenge their fallen tribesmen over their clash with Ulysses Klaue and his band of mercenaries. Her brother had not given them the chance, electing to have the man captured on a joint operation with the CIA instead. An unfortunate mistake, she thought with some sadness, knowing that T'Challa's caution and longing for cooperation had alienated the Border Tribe.

She knew that some Border Tribe warriors had been there to witness her draw blood from Theodora's face. She wondered if the veterans among them had ever seen a Black Panther grapple and tremble with the anger that they had long carried as frontliners. Perhaps not. Her father was calculated, sparing and killing for as long as necessary, but all to align with tradition. Her brother stood tall with his beliefs even if it made him seem unpopular. And now, her. Shuri liked to think that she understood what it meant to be efficient in a terrible world, as her father did. And she had always admired her brother's unflinching honor. But she was not always ruthless, and she faltered, unlike her brother.

I am neither. And…justice is never just about me. It's not just about what I would do, or about what I want.

So she stared at the Mining and Border Tribe elders and said, "Have you consulted with the families of the deceased?"

A beat passed, and for a moment Shuri thought that she had asked the wrong question. But it was M'Kathu of the Border Tribe who answered first, "Only to extend our condolences, as preparations for the funeral are already underway. Are you suggesting that we personally ask families burdened by grief, of what punishment they want enacted?"

She raised an eyebrow in challenge, curious if he would take the bait, and fall to bloodlust as W'Kabi had done. "Is that not what you want? For the head of the murderers to be delivered to the Border?"

"I have not had time for such a conversation," Zawavari interrupted. "But know that the Mining Tribe will demand justice. Only…" she looked at Shuri doubtfully, "I do not understand it either. Do you want the families to decide the punishment? Or will we do as your mother did, and send them home all tied up for all the world to see?"

Shuri turned to grin at M'Baku's anxious face, before replying, "I am suggesting a little bit of both, but better, obviously."

M'Baku leaned forward, intrigued. "How is it better?"

"I will have to work to ensure that Theodera de Fontaine and her team swiftly recover for that interrogation you all desire. But we will leave some scars, just so that the world understands what happens when we are crossed. My mother warned them, but they did not listen. It is time we show them the consequences."

"And those consequences are not war, I hope?" M'Baku eyed her warily. "I would love to give the colonizers a good whack on the head, but sending people to their possible doom for a war that could take years? Even if we win, and we likely would, only emptiness will await our people by the time it is over. The young would know nothing at that point, except that their parents, older siblings, and friends have been sent to fight and then returned to them, broken. That will not do. That cannot be the future."

No," Shuri shook her head. "Not a war. But a campaign nonetheless. A dismantling. For justice. In front of the world. We will keep our prisoners, gather evidence, and build a case. We will take the families of the deceased with us to the International Criminal Court, and give their Prosecutor no reason to ignore us. Only, it is not enough that the prisoners are tried and are punished at the Hague or wherever they are. No. Let us demand that they be tried here too. And let us demand that the superiors who gave people like Theodora de Fontaine their orders, and the politicians who allowed it to happen, face the world with their crimes. Let their governments pay, and bow their heads in shame."

The eyes of the elders had widened, while M'Baku stared back, mouth opening and closing at the enormity of her suggestion. "Bold. But too ideal-"

"You said that we could easily win a war," she interrupted. "This is a different kind of battle. We have our technology, our…" she glanced at Namor briefly, trying not to linger too long, "we have our allies, and the best spies in the world. If we can blow this out in the open, imagine the possibilities. There are nations who have yet to answer to the crimes they have committed over the decades. Now, there will be no escape. All the communities and people that they have enslaved and are exploiting will be free. Or at least, that is the goal." She thought of the Talokanil again, and had looked at their delegation, quietly listening to the translation system installed in the throne room.

The look on their faces were mixed, from fear to apprehension, to admiration. A little bit of doubt. The Wakandans seemed to mirror their thoughts, as the elders began to mutter and argue amongst themselves over the idea. The last thing that they wanted was an idea that could prolong Wakanda's place in the spotlight. Shuri had known that they had gone back into the mindset of retreating and making as little trouble as possible. But that was no longer possible, not with enemies at their doorstep, and not when the Talokanil were at risk too. Not with the world being the way that it was.

"I'd like to speak," Namor said, his voice cutting through the multitude of voices trying to outdo each other.

M'Baku blinked, surprised that the king of Talokan would want to speak when he had not said a word since his arrival. "Ah, of course."

Namor looked to the Mining Tribe, but even more so at the Border Tribe with narrowed eyes, his lips on a thin line. "The Black Panther's suggestion is giving you and your tribesmen the opportunity to make your grievances be seen and heard. Not just in all of Wakanda, but the world. This is an opportunity that you cannot take for granted."

The Border Tribe elder glared at him. "You are not from the Border. How can you speak for us?"

"I am not. But I do know the burden of protection, and the loss that it brings. I have been alive since the 15th century, and every few years since my birth, at least one of my people would die due to interference from a surface dweller. Their death was usually in the name of protecting the rest of us. But now we have spent so much time in the shadows, and so we will never be seen and heard, and perhaps for our safety, we do not need to be. But Wakanda is now exposed, and so you must own that exposure. Own that injustice, and pain, and show it to the world so that they cannot look away."

It was the elder from the Merchant Tribe who posed another question. "And what can you, as an ally, offer in aid, if we agreed to the Black Panther's suggestion?"

"My army, should further conflict arise. We have a spy network that understands the inner workings of every port that exists. But that might not be enough. I understand that you feel as though Wakanda carries the burden of keeping our existence a secret." Namor's gaze had landed on Shuri, and suddenly, she felt as though he was speaking only to her, and that the throne room had been emptied and sucked of air and people and all things.

"I can only offer possibilities. First, we choose to do nothing about the de Fontaine child, and things go on, then another mission is sent, and more of our people die. This can go on till, eventually, the US will find some justification to openly engage in conflict, and not just through secret missions. Second, if you reject the proposal, Talokan will have to follow its own path, and flood the governments who are after the vibranium in the ocean." He glared at M'Kathu and the Border Tribe guards. "And I will consider fighting those who seek to destabilize Wakanda. A terrible thing, you might think. But what else is there for us to do?"

Shuri could not help but ask, trying not to tremble. "Is there a third possibility?"

"Yes," he answered. "If everyone agrees to the Black Panther's idea, then Talokan will spare no effort in accompanying every mission, and every investigation you conduct. Since you carried the burden of taking the blame for the sunken military ships in the ocean, we will have to do what we have never done: offer assistance even at the risk of our discovery."

A flurry of gasps had echoed around the room, shocked that Namor had even considered the idea. Shuri stood from her chair in disbelief. "Have you gone mad?" She had clasped her hands, her mind still fresh from her dreams and visions. Of that memory from the tree with Valentina. The threat of discovery.

I intend to take it from you,

the Director had said, her voice echoing.

I intend to take it from you-I intend to take it from you-I intend-

But Namor remained unmoved. "I have had long discussions with my delegates and generals. We are here for the long-term, and we are prepared to commit. Your idea," he said, eyes still on Shuri, "if it works, will lead to a world where the downtrodden can stand tall. And if such a world comes to fruition, then the Talokanil will no longer fear the surface, and we too, will be free. The Black Panther has made me and my people long for such a freedom, the freedom from fear. Fighting for justice with Wakanda will be worth the risk."

She could see M'Baku, from the corner of her eye, calling for order, scrambling to get her to sit down, and when she finally did, all she could do was watch. Then, they called for a vote, the need for a unanimous decision reiterated. One by one, every elder raised their hand. Even M'Kathu, who hesitated, had looked at Namor and Shuri strangely, and only then did he raise his hand in agreement.

"Shuri," M'Baku urged. "Your hand?"

She blinked, trying to process the dread in her heart. For the first time in her life, she had presented an idea that she could not be happy with. But backing out from it was no longer possible. Blankly, she raised her hand, her eyes finding their way to Namor's across the room. And when she saw that he was looking back with confidence, with a strange kind of pride, she dropped her hand and looked away, unable to bear the weight of his belief in her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

From time-to-time, over the past two years, Shuri would think of the bracelet that Namor had given her. Jade, and pearls, and a string made from agave fiber. So much of her intellectual curiosity over its preservation and craftsmanship had prevented every urge to have it ruined and thrown back to the sea. Back to Namor, where it should have been. But it remained where it was, for he had given her his mother's jewelry, the one object that had been a promise of his fate as king and leader, and he did not demand its return. So she kept it. Since recreating the herb, she had the bracelet hidden away, laid out in a cushioned and airtight box that saw some form of self-cleaning every week. But she had not touched it since then. Not once. Even if something about the jade carvings tickled her brain. Even if she had researched her fair share of Mayan hieroglyphics, and had, in some way, managed to understand them.
But her reluctance to understand him beyond what she had already known since the day he yielded, had halted all progress of her curiosity over his language.
She had escaped to her bedroom, her head still unable to recover from the lack of sleep. She left the throne room the moment M'Baku had dismissed them all for that morning, with the dreadful promise of dealing with the rest of the prisoners in the days to come. And beyond that? More work. Teeth-gritting days in the lab, with the War Dogs, and the Dora, and…her training sessions with Aneka. Always more, she thought wearily.

Her kimoyo beads blinked insistently on her wrist, filled to the brim with unacknowledged messages from M'Baku, Okoye, Aneka, and her lab assistants. She knew what it contained. Questions. Mini interrogations. Thinly-veiled messages that aimed at her ideas. And while on an ordinary day she would have welcomed more discussions, she hated having to talk and explain away her reluctance to vote by the end of the council session. I don't understand it either, and I'm not sure if I want to know why.
She had been sprawled on her living room floor, staring at a pile of untouched packages, when her eyes found a small, silver box that she had long kept squeezed behind the rest when it had been in her lab. The bracelet. Eyes wide, she crawled towards it, and then, by some strange impulse, opened the box after nearly two years. Still beautiful, she thought, staring at the delicate beadwork, and carved jade. It was just as she had remembered it, unaltered from the first time she had gravitated towards it on Namor's hut, and even to the times when she had seen it in her dreams. Namor had been so willing, surprisingly open to having a stranger touch what was likely an object that no one else had ever worn for centuries since his mother's passing. Why? And then the questions spiraled and spiraled as she lay on the light marula floorboards, the necklace resting on two hands that had been clasped over her chest. He would risk discovery, she remembered. Discovery was the one thing he fought against. But now, he would risk it.For what?
Freedom from fear, as he so claimed in the throne room. But she did not understand what that meant exactly. Fear was not something that could ever go away. No amount of research, no amount of her 'genius' was enough to cure her brother. Every day since then, she fueled herself with paranoid efficiency. All subsequent inventions: from the new Midnight Angel suits, to new kimoyo beads, and diving suits, and underwater barriers, drones, and even the new heart-shaped herb had done nothing to assuage her fears. Fear of failure. Fear for the safety of everyone that the new creations would protect. Fear that no amount of preparation and science and ability could ever keep all that she held dear to where they belonged: with her.
The thump, thump, thump of her front door startled her, the bracelet almost slipping from her hands as she sat up. "Shit," she hissed, taking great care to not leave the jewelry on the floor. Hurriedly, she placed it back on its box, and with a quiet snap, closed the lid carefully before rushing to the front door. The house was equipped with every security measure she could think of. Fire and smoke detectors. Portable shields on the window and door frames. An alert system on every door that was connected to her kimoyo beads.And yet, when the screen to the right of the door identified Namor on the other side, she realized that she was wholly unprepared for a visitor. Or at least, none of the things she had would be enough to keep him out.
"Shuri," she heard him call out. Then he pressed the buzzer, a faint tinkling sound that reminded her vaguely of chimes. But all she did was stand in place, staring at the image of him on the screen, his headpiece now gone. All that remained was his usual garb, the red cape, and his spear, a weapon he never changed.
Then he tried again, staring right through the door. "I know you are there. I can hear your heartbeat."
And so she opened the door barely a second later, the scowl on her face a searing and scorching thing that would have made a lesser man flinch. But he was not just any man, and the sight of her seemed to relieve the tension in his posture instead, his eyes immediately going soft as he sighed, "There you are." He tilted his head. "You left the throne room too quickly, and now everyone's gone looking for you."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"
He seemed to be taken aback by the hostility in her tone. "Can I not seek you out for a simple conversation?"
"Nothing is ever simple with you," she said, trying not to think of what he had said in the throne room, and certainly not, of the evening before, when he held her hand and had pressed his mouth on her fingers in some strange and unnecessary method of drawing out splinters and then- "Leave me alone, Namor. I shall see you when they interrogate the prisoners. Goodbye."
"Wait," his hand reached for the open door, fingers inches away from where she had placed hers. "Perhaps, it is not so simple. But we promised that we would tell each other everything that concerns the safety of our people." He looked at her, and if she had not known him, it was almost like he was pleading to be heard. "I know you are confused about what I said to the council. Allow me to explain."
She debated pushing him back and shutting the door in one go. Certainly, it would have been doable. But that achieved nothing, except to prolong the agony of not knowing his intentions, and the postponement of an encounter where he would undoubtedly try to explain himself. So she stepped back, giving him some room to enter. "Fine," she gestured to her living room. "Sit where you like."
It had been the wrong thing to say, for there was hardly any furniture, apart from the side table, a stool that was too little to hold his weight, and the couch that covered most of the living room space; a golden-legged piece with clay-brown cushions and embroidered pillows. It had been shaped like an infinity symbol, and anyone who used it would automatically be enclosed together, with the curves of the infinity symbol on either side, and nothing but a meter and a half of sitting space in the middle. But he sat down with little hesitation, and waited for her, expectant and irritatingly earnest. The couch had been one of the few impractical things that Shuri had ever designed, and she found herself internally cursing over the choice, seeing that she would have to sit close to him.She positioned herself on the end as much as she could, conscious of how easily their feet would touch if she dared stretch her legs. "You are acting strange," Namor observed, his body leaning sideways and down on the pillows.
"Oh, I'm acting strange!?" She exclaimed. "You took great pains to show me that you will never risk Talokan's exposure to the world. Now you're telling the council that you are willing to do the opposite?" She made a show of knocking on her temples, unable to hide her astonishment. "Are you sure that your head has not been bludgeoned by your cousin? Or have the sharks eaten your brain cells?"
He laughed, an amused sound that oscillated somewhere between a chuckle and a suppressed grin. "The last time anyone tried to hit me on the head, I sent them flying. As for the sharks, well, their teeth and bones have been used as adornments for my warriors. And the largest of them, you've seen it, haven't you?" He smirked, sensing that she did indeed, remember the Megalodon throne. "I now sit on what's left of its jaws every time I face my people."
She scoffed. "Spare me your arrogance."
"I'm afraid, I cannot. That look on your face is far too good when you are teased."
"I'm supposed to do the teasing! It is what I'm known for."
"Ah, then you should practice more often. See if you can beat me."
"Ha! Bold of you to challenge me, when it was I, who had the upper hand the last time we had a battle."
It was only then that he stopped to look at her more seriously, his voice as gentle as the waves from the ancestral plane of her dreams. "I'd like to think, that should I challenge you to a battle, I would know better than to allow myself to be lured into another trap. But by then, I am sure you will change your strategy, and once again, I will find that I am nothing against the enormity of your spirit."
Shuri looked away, trying her best to dismiss his deference to a mere attempt at wearing her down. "Thank your ancestors, that none of your generals are here to hear you say such things. You have yielded to the Black Panther once, and they will not like it if you ever speak of yielding again. Besides," she stared at him, eyebrow raised. "You talk of my spirit as if you have never encountered anyone else's."
"None as strong as yours."

"None with enough guts to tell you that you cannot plunge the world into ruin, you mean. Namora would, but she won't, because you are alike, and you are still her king. You have never faced this much friction in your life."
"I suppose you're right," he stared off into nothingness, and then sadly he added, "My mother, perhaps. My mother would argue with me for as long as she can."Shuri nodded in agreement. "That is what most mothers do. But I think-" She took a deep breath, thinking of her own mother, her image and her voice gently but firmly telling her, "Show him who you are." "I think," she repeated. "That the best mothers will love you more than you can ever do wrong."
"Ah," was all he could say in reply, and then the living room was silent for a minute, the lack of words replaced by that of the contemplative and shared silence and the memories of a battle that had forever changed their lives.
"It is a fantasy," he finally said. "That anyone could ever love anyone more than they can do wrong, and that such a love could be returned."
Perhaps, Shuri thought. But she does not respond to his musings. She does not tell him, for instance, that her brother had mourned Killmonger in his own way, despite all the wrong that the latter had done. She dared not say, that at the height of her rage, it was her mother that spoke to her, or that, when all she wanted to do was hurt Theodora beyond recognition, it was Namor who arrived; floating down from the hovercraft bathed in the light, clutching her hands and chanting a poem that was, oddly enough, about love.
"So, about the council," she said instead. "You said that you have had long discussions with your people before. Surely there are those who are opposed to your…renewed commitment?"
"A good alliance will not last if either parties operate in half-measures," he replied. "I remember our trip to Chicago and Campeche, and I remember the people we met. They are us, and we are them. It is either we do something about that, and stand together, or we do nothing at all. If we do nothing, there can be no alliance, and there can be no freedom for anyone."
"So you told them, then? Namora and Attuma? Everyone?"
Namor looked at her then, and she was struck by how there was so little hesitation there, in the eyes that had been so sure of keeping things as they always were. "Everyone. I have recorded and told stories from our time on the surface in the best way that I could, in a way that even the children can understand. I did some murals too," and at that he smiled again. "If you want, I can show you the paintings."
But she could not quite let it go, no matter how ideal and bold she had felt when she came forward with the idea of demanding justice from all the other nations. Even if he was actually right.
So she pressed again, the words tumbling out before she could think twice and temper them with nuance and a multitude of reasons that she did want to admit. "I spared you because I knew that keeping Talokan a secret was your life's purpose. Does that mean nothing now?"
Namor bristled, a flash of anger in his eyes, barely contained by the widening of his pupils. "So is that what your hesitation is all about? You feel as though I have robbed you of your justification for not killing me?"
She knew it was wrong of her to say, wrong to play with words when all he had ever given her was honesty. But she could not help her confusion, could not help that she normally did not care for complicated feelings and people, and that for the first time, she was talking to someone she could not easily dismiss, avoid, or disobey. He was neither her parent, counsel, or relative. He was a stranger who had come barging into her life; borne in water and made a leader out of a collective need for safety.
She looked at him, pleading and almost desperate. "Then make me understand. Explain it. Why would you risk so much? Why go through all the trouble of convincing your people for a world that will likely treat them with suspicion? Why-" She paused, trying not to be overwhelmed with the enormity of her questions, "Why would you…change now?"
"I suppose I didn't have time to elaborate before. Do not misunderstand," Namor said, scooting dangerously close enough for his knees to brush against hers. "I will kill for my people, and I will die defending them. That will never change. For centuries, I was perfectly content to strike and retreat into the shadows. But ever since that night, when we sank the second American ship over the Atlantic, those from our capital, and those from the settlements in the Pacific and Arctic have been too afraid to travel. We locked ourselves within the barriers you so generously provided, and then I thought that all was well. But it was not. The youth, this new generation of Talokanil are curious, they want to see the other settlements and make a world of their own in the seas. But they cannot do that now, because the powerful surface nations have their ships, and underwater bots, and technology, and sometimes they place cameras upon sea animals to see through the depths of the ocean. I could destroy all of it, but we will always retreat. We will always hide."
Her heart ached at the thought. She thought of her initial ignorance over T'Challa's decision to open Wakanda's borders and felt herself open up, her voice quiet and soft. "So you do not want to hide."
"No. We will hide, for as long as we can. But decades from now, the surface world will evolve and adapt and then we will have to leave our current settlements and retreat further into the depths of the ocean. If it was possible, we could dig a hole down to the earth's core. But what I want is for my people to live. They are safe when I kill and retreat. But are they truly alive? Are they-" and he swallowed, taking great care not to break, "Will they be happy with a life down below, where they must kill their curiosity and their desire for stability just because the world above is too broken to let them be? It is only a matter of time, may it be decades or another century, before a generation breaks under such a life."
Now, Shuri could understand. She could not imagine ever having to kill her curiosity, the feeling of wonder over worlds beyond her own. Of possibilities. "Happiness," she repeated thoughtfully. "It has been so long since I have had that sense of joy with my people. For too long the Wakandans have had nothing but news of death and threats. The elders are wary of me, but I too, wish that I could give everyone room to be happy again."
"Yes," he agreed. "But I am also content to wallow in the depths of misery for my people's happiness. And yet-" then he stared at her, eyes wide and beseeching.
"And yet what?"
"You asked me why, and I have given you many reasons. But there is one more that I have to share." Something about his look revealed something. An open, naked fondness that had him staring into her eyes, and everywhere else, her living room, her walls, her face. Then she began to realize what the other reason might be, and she found herself drawing away, trying to move back within a couch that did not have much room.
"No," she whispered faintly. "I do not want to hear it. Do not say it." She scooted backwards, but he moved with her, and suddenly their faces were but a hand's length away from the other, their breaths mingling and permeating in the limited space between them.
"Let me say it," he rasped.
"I will kick you out. I will block your kimoyo beads from calling mine. I-"
"Let me say it."
"I will clip your wings if you do not-"
"You can do what you want. Just let me say it." Then came a horrid beat, as he pressed his forehead against hers, and then came the plea. "Please."
She closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of it. "Go on, then."
He breathed in for a moment, the feeling of his forehead and nose a pleasant combination of warmth and cool jade. "Everything changed the moment you asked to see my nation. Then when things went wrong, and when I did you wrong, I thought that all my hopes were dashed and that hoping was truly a poisonous thing. Then you spared me, and I saw you." He reached for the sides of her face, his thumbs caressing her temples in a soothing dance. "If you were not so willful and clever and angry, if you were any less than yourself, I would not have changed my mind at all."
"But," and she felt the tremor in her voice as she said it, "that is too much credit to give to one person. Let alone me."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "But you are you. And I realized that even if I have given up on love and happiness, you made me want, and you know that I have never wanted anything for myself."
"And what do you want?"
"You made me want to be human," he whispered. "Not a king," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Not a god," he mumbled, his lips gliding to her nose. "But just another human, angry that a world could be so unjust and cruel."He drew back from her, and smiled, the sight filling her with a kind of terrifying hope and gut-wrenching desire. "It is another fantasy of mine, that I could ever be a man. But you made me want it, and even if it means nothing to everyone else, I felt that you should at least know. There is so much more that I want to say, but I am afraid-" there was a hint of bitterness to his voice now. "I am afraid that if I say them, you will never let me speak to you in this way ever again."
Shuri reached out to touch his face, feeling her own heart pound, knowing that he could probably hear how erratic it was, and how it longed to want in return. But she knew the dangers of falling, and the difficulty of the road that they had both chosen. Their burden was worth two nations, and there so much to do, and so little time. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you," she admitted, tracing his face with her fingers.
"You don't have to."
But she was not finished. "Wait for me," she said, leaning in, and this time, it was she who pressed their foreheads together, a hint of tears in her eyes. "I stand with you, and you will stand with me. I will fight with you, and you will fight with me. Together, we will give everything that we have to build a future with our people. We will have to do all that, and it will take a long time. I do not want to give you false promises- but, I am willing to fight for the happiness of my people, seeing that you are so determined to fight for yours."She pressed a hand to his chest, delighted to find beneath, a beating heart that thumped just as quickly as hers. "Then, when it is all over, I can be Shuri, princess of nothing, and you can be the man you want to be."

"Ah," he sighed, wiping her tears with a thumb. "I do not mind waiting, and I had a feeling that you were going to say that, if you did not reject me of course."
"It is not a rejection," she sniffed. "You make me want too." She saw his eyes widen, and he pulled back, surprised.
"Do I?"
Then she pulled him close, emboldened and afraid. "It is too soon, but-'" And then she craned her neck, and pressed her lips against his, tasting cocoa and salt, her nose smelling a hint of sea breeze and the fruits of his cavern. He had gone still for no more than a second, before wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her back as he did.Shuri sighed against him, unable to stop, letting her breath and her tongue do what it wanted, letting him envelop her with the ferocity of his kisses. And all the while her hands had wound its way through his hair, and his face, unable to stay still. They had stayed that way for what must have been a minute, though deep down, she wanted it to last longer.

When she drew back, she found herself sprawled over him, while he lay against the other end of the impossibly small couch. "Ah, that was too much wasn't it?" He asked, a little breathless and spellbound.
"No," she laughed. He kissed her mouth again before pulling her to his chest, letting her curl up against him. "No, that was a seal," she finished.
"A seal?"
"A kiss to seal our promise."
She found that he had little self-control, as he kissed her again and again, till she felt her lips bruise, till she found herself laughing and giggling as she pleaded for a reprieve from his lips and his hands. And it was not until she nearly fell to the floor that she had screeched, and giggled even more, so much so that she had to pause for a breath of air, wishing that her science had given her the ability to preserve that memory of them there together: intertwined and frightfully happy.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She often wondered what had brought the dreams about. Her constant exposure to water certainly might have played with her mind, and had given it something other than just her initial image of the ancestral plane. It gave her a sparkling sea of unfathomable depth, and a tree growing in the middle, not far from the shore that led to the grassy plains.Upon a simple search on her free time, she had come to understand that this was the ceiba, or ya’ax’che, a tree that usually stood tall and up to seventy meters, though the one in her dream appeared much larger. Its peculiarity was in its form, generous with how it formed its branches and leaves, and remarkably solid and finely curved down from the trunk and to the roots, where it seemed to reach deep. Namor's ancestors appeared to have believed in its power, for the tree was said to hold up the sky, its branches reaching for the heavenly plane, that the roots led to the underworld, while the trunk was supposedly meant for the earth, acting as a conduit in between.
Shuri was surprised, even with her usual skepticism, that she did not feel the need to dismiss the findings of her research so quickly, or at least, not as quickly as she would have before having met the Talokanil. The tree had given her a glimpse of the past after all, moving images and flashes of a time and a life that was not her own, and it had felt too vivid, the details in them a startling match to that of Namor's stories of his childhood. But that had been the strangest part, being able to see some parts of his life. Of a people not her own, though in another dimension their fate of fear and displacement could have easily been Wakanda's.
No. Before her clash with Namor, they were Wakanda unexposed and unchanged, with the added and unfortunate exception of constant migration in the ocean, in places darker than the Mariana Trench. And now that Wakanda was isolated and surrounded, trusting very little in the stage of the world of spies, heroes and politicians; there was no doubt, she thought as another dream overtook her, that Talokan's fate was Wakanda's and Wakanda's would be theirs, for they were the sole guardian of each other's secrets.
The dream came about again, and she was content to find that the beach remained the same. But as she turned to look at the savannah, a flash of black caught her eye. There was not one, but multitudes of them, lounging on the low branches of the trees with flashing purple eyes, glowing and twinkling in the constant midnight blue of the plane. A pack of black panthers stared at her, silent and waiting. Waiting for what? Her jaw had dropped and closed at the sight of them, unable to believe that she was finally able to meet her ancestors after having no luck in seeing or hearing them for so long. And yet, they did not speak, or growl. It was only their tales that swished with the gentle breeze caressing the grass below them, as they each fixed their bright eyes upon her.
Shuri, being the unorthodox, irreverent thing that she was, stood on the sand stupidly for a while, before holding up a hand in greeting and flashing an uncertain smile. "Ah, hello?" There was no reply, and she swallowed, wondering if she should kneel or say some kind of prayer. "I'm sorry," she tried again, looking at each of them anxiously. "I have never done this before."
Then from the topmost of the branches, a panther stirred. The largest of them, if her eyesight was to be trusted. It crept down, jumping past the rest, its eyes glowing gold, silver, and purple. Then it walked away from its tree, and padded towards her. Shuri stiffened, eyes wide as the panther made its way in her direction, the crunch, step, crunch of its paws in conjunction with her heartbeat. But to her surprise, it moved past, its breath and body stirring her white skirts as it slipped away to the sandy beach.
She turned after it, puzzled. What does it want?
The panther stepped on the sand, head raised, sniffing at the breeze, looking out into the distant sea with some curiosity. Then it looked back at her, its head tilted strangely, and nose twitching.
"What?" Shuri whispered.
Her mouth dropped open then, as it walked further south, wading without hesitation into shallow waters. Then it turned its head again, beckoning with a rumbling snarl and slightly bared teeth. She took several steps forward, confused and almost entranced by the strange display. "You-you want me to follow you?" It seemed to purr in reply, tail swishing against the little waves that licked on its back legs.
"Alright, alright, I'm going."
She splashed water as she went, and stopped meters away from the creature, the water now reaching her knees. But the panther was tall, larger than the rest, its head reaching up to her waist. It stood there, staring at the ceiba tree for a moment, and looked at her again. Something about its gaze felt less supernatural, and more beastly. Then, as the wind howled, the purple eyes began to shift into something else entirely, but only for a moment. Had Shuri blinked, she would have missed it: the twinkling of something wise, and ancient, but human. Her breath had caught up in her throat at the sight. Then it was gone, replaced by the purple eyes once more.
She stared at the panther, the hairs on her spine now tingling. "Who are you?"
Its eyes glittered, a sentient knowing look of awareness that told her nothing. Seeing that it would not say a word, she turned to look at the ceiba tree in an attempt to soothe her impatience, her fear and uncertainty of the panther's mere presence winning over the urge to quarrel. "It is a strange tree," she managed to say. "They say it holds the key to all the realms that people in this world cannot see unless they die. I have never thought that it was real, but I have grown so used to seeing it in my dreams, that it might as well be."
The creature stirred next to her, the rumbling from its throat emitting a low purr. It began to wade through the water, playing with the waves as it swam in circles. Shuri tried not to laugh, the image reminding her of footage captured by documentaries of panthers in the wild. They have never been afraid of water. Then it circled back towards her, growling and using its head to twist and gesture towards the deeper part of the sea.
She blinked again, unsure as to why she was communicating with an ancestor's spirit that somehow only found it convenient to appear as an animal. As if reading her thoughts, it stared back at her balefully.
"You want me to swim," she guessed. It growled right back in agreement. After some hesitation on her part, she immersed further and deeper into the sea, the panther swimming ahead with ease. As far as she knew, panthers were far more accustomed to streams and swamps, than they were to salty bodies of water. But this one moved better and even faster than she did, leading her towards one of the protruding roots of the tree.
The panther climbed, claws grasping on wood, as it made its way from the roots to the base of the trunk, while Shuri was left to scramble for a spot on one of the larger roots. She stared at the animal, a little out of sorts, but still curious to see what it would do.
Its tale began to move as it stared back at the shore, towards the savannah where the rest of the panthers remained. She gasped at the sight. A long line of panthers had gathered at the beach, growling and snarling as if they had been left alone. They seemed to vary in size now, though their eyes all glowed that same shade of purple, pulsing deep like the previous iteration of the heart-shaped herb. Then the panther next to Shuri began to roar, jaws wide and teeth flaring. So great was the sound that she could have sworn that it had rattled her bones and eardrums, the volume so unlike that of the panthers she had ever seen in the wild. She turned to look at the shore again, and found the other panthers snarling back, restless and stubborn, many of them pawing at the sand in disdain.
He wants the others to follow us, but they won't. Wait. How do I know it's a 'he?'

She glanced at the panther next to her, and asked, her voice more insistent. "Who are you?"
It stared back, blinking slowly as its pupils began to shift and change in swaths of gold, silver, and purple. With each quiet and shaking breath and swish of its tail, it seemed to know all that there was, and all that was past, and all about her, even if she was sure that it did not know her the way that anyone in her life ever did.A voice in the wind, no, a multitude of voices began to whisper then, speaking to her in the mother tongue: "Intombi kaRamonda." Daughter of Ramonda. " Unemvukelo nendelelo." Rebellious and defiant. "Uyitshintshile le ndawo, wayenza eyeyakho." You have altered this place, and made it your own.
Then the strange panther began to growl from its place in the trunk again, its eyes moving back to hers and to the shore, where the rest of them remained unmoved. Shuri let loose a shaky breath, a sense of understanding in her heart of what it wanted. "You want them to come here, but they won't."

It seemed to nod, pleased. But its eyes were upon hers, firm and almost commanding. With a raised paw, the panther pointed to her, and the shore.
"I-You want me to get them here?"
If she had not been so astonished already, the panther closed its eyes and nodded its large head, ears flicking in pleasure. But Shuri was not about to tolerate vagueness, nor was she foolish to not know the possible meaning behind the request.
"They didn't follow you when you called. Why would they follow me?"

The tide began to rise, and the waves crashed against the tree with more frequency, causing droplets of salted water to rain upon her and the panther. Then the creature gestured towards the shore again, aching to return. She gathered her skirts, carefully untangling them before shouting over the crashing waves, "You want to go back for them then?"
And a voice she could not place began to murmur, close and unidentifiable in her ear. "Ulapha, kwaye zikhona." You are here, and they are there.
"Yes," she agreed, trying to make sense of it. She was here, as she usually would be, learning and swimming in the memories, visions and dreams of her past, her present, and the lives of those from another nation. She was here, and they were there. I am here, but they are there. I-
Shuri turned to the panther, its eyes no longer so purple but a dark, dark, shade of brown. "I cannot lead them from here, can I?"
And as the waves and the current began to sway them, the water pulling their bodies from the safety of the tree and back to the beach, then and only then did the panther's growl turn pleasant, its agreement clear as the newfound determination in her heart.

She underestimated his patience, and had overestimated her own. But perhaps that was neither her fault or his. Still, Shuri managed to find something to cling to, in the same way that Namor would come to her when he did not feel like speaking to his own people when tensions rose, or when plans could not go so smoothly as it did whenever talks on allowing more of the Talokanil to see Wakanda, or the the other way around, came about. He would quietly listen to her rambling through a call on the kimoyo beads, and sometimes, on a night where there was no one else about, he would wait for her by the river near her home, and sit by the rocks.
There, they talked of everything, or on terrible days, they said nothing at all, allowing the animals of the bush to feed into the silence.As per their promise, they exercised restraint, and gave no indication of what had occurred that day in her living room; when he gave his confession, and when at the height of her own longing, she had responded with a kiss. She was long grown, that much was true. But something about the shameless way she thought of kissing him when their eyes met every time there was a council meeting embarrassed her, and had her scrambling for some semblance of a facade: that of the Black Panther and the Feathered-Serpent merely seeing eye-to-eye on certain things.
But much to Shuri's annoyance, M'Baku and the Midnight Angels often watched them like a trio of anxious hawks, hovering and asking pointed questions about 'her fishman,' or that 'fish king,' and all sorts of nonsense that neither she or Namor had much time to entertain. It did not help either, that Attuma was always looking for an excuse to leave them alone, so painfully obvious was the effort that not even Namora could keep her composure, leading to frequent episodes of bickering and cursing in Mayan.
The lack of privacy fueled the need for restraint. And time. She thought of that dream with the panthers again and hardened her resolve. Someday. A future better than the ancestors can ever imagine. Wakanda will be safe. Talokan will never have to distrust the surface anymore. And then- "You're frowning," Namor's voice broke through her thoughts.
It was another one of those evenings, where they would sit by the river, the lights from her home twinkling behind them.
She smiled apologetically. "Ah. Overthinking. Again."
"Am I allowed to know why?" He grinned back, prodding only so gently. Oh. That look on his face had hurt a little, not because it was terrible, but because it had looked far too pleasant, and curious. It was an expression that she wished she could store and use as an eraser of unpleasant and bitter memories. But alas, she was stuck here, wrestling with both guilt and desire, and the genuinely pleasant feeling of being able to find comfort in someone who was not there to guard or offer counsel.
"The same worries," she hedged, still unwilling to reveal her strange dreams to him. She glanced down at her kimoyo beads, and sighed. "They've gotten statements from all the prisoners. Except for that de Fontaine girl. But there's been no word from Valentina's camp, and I find that strange."
His gaze had clouded at the mere mention of the name. "None of them have given us anything useful. That girl is stubborn too. Were she not part of a despicable organization, I would have respected her resolve under the Dora Milaje's questioning."
Despite her dislike for Theodora, Shuri could not help but find it impressive too. "Silence is a cause for concern, truly."
Namor turned to her, his face perfectly serious. "You could threaten to have her dragged by those rhinos from the Border Tribe-"
"Hush, fish face. We will not be using torture."
"Ah, yes, but we are all allowed to pin her to the ground and hammer her face with our fists," he replied, face unchanged even with his attempt at sarcasm. "And I do not like that nickname-"
"Don't you dare," she glared at him, ignoring his displeasure. "Her nose will never be the same, and we have left enough scars from the treatment process to make a point. That is enough."
He shook his head. "There are worse things than scars." Then he blinked, an idea having crossed his mind. "Perhaps, you should question her."
She stared back, incredulous. "Me?"
"Why not?"
"Are you implying that to be questioned by me is far worse a fate than leaving her scars intact?"
And at that, his lips curled upwards into a menacing grin, the kind that held a promise of danger, and worse, pride in the possibility of an enemy's demise. She would have shuddered at the sight, if not for the unsettling truth of her own anger: a lingering spark that had never truly faded, even if her desire for a better world had so far superseded the need to have the flames of her temper stoked.
"It cannot be anyone from Talokan, or me," Namor turned to the water, resigned. "I do not have your restraint. Nor do I have enough of your compassion. In this alliance, it is you who must dabble in the light for as long as you can."
Dabble in the light, she thought. She longed for peace, back when she burned her funeral clothes, when she thought of her brother next to the little pyre. That had been her one beacon. "Only me?" Shuri asked, a sense of dread creeping in. "What about you? I thought we were alike."
"We are alike," he replied. "But I have been in the shadows for too long. Should a day come when the world sees me, it will not be with favor. I am not a hero, but there are enough people out there who will see you as one. It is better that way."

Shuri frowned, her dislike for the turn in their conversation apparent. She could not stand how he
was so certain. But then again, perhaps that was the price he had to pay for a longer life.
Praise, and buzz, and all the honor of having done the right thing. But I do not want to be praised as the heroes are. I only want to succeed, and keep our enemies away so that Wakanda and Talokan can be left alone. Maybe by then, I can forgive you…Maybe then, you can take me back to the land of your ancestors, and to all the oceans of the world, and then…We can be happy.

She stood abruptly, taking great care to not let her voice waver as she wiped dust from her trousers. Then she looked down on his face, stubborn and insistent that he need not be so gloomy. "Enough of that. We have agreed to face everything together, and whether or not that entails being in the light or in the dark, is no longer my concern."
"I think you should be concerned-""I don't care where I am, or how I am seen." Shuri's tone had sharpened, cutting through him with a clarity that not even she had intended. She neither had the reasons to explain then, why she was responding in such a manner, or as to why, that in her attempt to dissuade him from such doom-like thinking, she had reached for him with a trembling hand; every nerve and blood cell that longed for his company humming in her fingers, sensing a desperation that made little sense, but felt natural. "All that matters to me is that our people are safe, that we succeed in helping those who need us, and that I have you to rely on."

Namor looked at her outstretched hand, and for a moment, she had the strangest feeling that he would not take it. But he smiled again, and she was relieved to find it devoid of malice. Unperturbed and unburdened, sprinkled with what was left of his boyhood. It was, perhaps, the only kind of smile she had ever wanted to see on his face. He reached up, hands squeezing hers as he stood. They were face-to-face now, and in the dark, she thought she saw a flicker of doubt on his face, only for it to disappear as he gave her a searing, desperate kiss.She drew back, eyes wide, "Why must you be so shameless-"
But he pulled her back again, unable to help himself. "If you keep saying things like that, then I will have to kiss you senseless in front of everyone," he gasped, his lips an unrelenting force that made quick work of her mouth, her nose, her neck. "Show my devotion to you, their approval and opinion be damned."And all she could do was stand and lean, and sigh against him, taking every bit of his kisses even though she had thought that they were a frightening phenomenon; her fear coming from how they started achingly gentle, only to ease her into something more insistent whenever she felt his tongue swipe against hers. Then he stopped to press their foreheads together, eyes closed and calm despite the intensity of his longing, and the rapid beating of her heart.
"W-we should go back to the Dora now," she said, trying not to give in to the temptation of his touch. "They'll wonder where we are."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Theodora de Fontaine sat on a slab of immovable vibranium rock, hands clasped and face subdued against the dim light of the interrogation room. She had been issued a drab prisoner's jumpsuit of smokey gray, the shade no different from the walls and the floor. There had been no need for tables, or cuffs. A gray-beaded bracelet had been tied to her left wrist, a marker of her status as prisoner, and an indestructible tracking device that monitored vitals and movement. But it had one thing that the Dora could control without her knowledge: a mechanism that could stun her into submission should she ever attempt to escape. The 'window' to the right of the room projected an image of a moonlit Wakandan plain, another tool that allowed them to monitor the interrogation without their prisoner's awareness.
Okoye had greeted her before the session could start, face warped and tense with what Shuri assumed to be mere nervousness over her decision to personally meet their captive.
"It'll be alright, Okoye. Nothing else has worked, so we need to try, and be more upfront."
The older woman had shook her head, her gaze faraway and distracted. "Oh, I know. But that isn't the problem. It's that what little we know has not helped us so far, and I don't know if our people will have the patience to let that girl rot in her cell without facing some form of retribution from the families of those who died. They have not seen that much bloodshed in years, and it will be difficult to make them understand."
"Is that wise? Giving in to our bloodlust?"
"I would have asked the same question, that night when you nearly punched the girl to death."
"I won't lie to you. It felt good to hurt her back. But there is more to this than just that, and I don't want anyone to be lost in their anger in the same way that I was."
Okoye had sighed then, taking her hands for a tight squeeze. "Then let us hope that you succeed tonight. For the sake of peace."
And so it was Shuri who held the authority from that moment on, face unmasked and body clad in her Black Panther suit, gleaming gold and silver. She sat opposite the prisoner, braids tied like a crown over her head, face betraying next to nothing.
Theodora grinned at the sight of her upon entry. "Finally. I was wondering when they were gonna bring you out."
"Seems like you were anticipating my appearance," Shuri drawled, easing her way into the flow of the conversation."More like, expecting." The girl huffed, then stared at the details on the panther suit, before looking directly at her, eyes searching and plying with a level of scrutiny that Shuri had yet to understand. She has Valentina's face. And eyes. So very little of Ross- Ah, wait. The small lips ought to be his. I wonder if she knows about him. "Huh,"Theodora finally said, a little confused.
Shuri raised an eyebrow, ignoring her stare.
"So you're not CIA."
She scowled at the mere mention of it. "No, and thank god I'm not."
"A terrible place for employment, I can imagine."
The girl scoffed. "Most people wanted to be in it, but not me."
Because of her mother.
Shuri had taken some time to review her profile before the session. Here was another prodigy. Entered university three years earlier than her peers. Studied international diplomacy, and had gotten into counter-terrorism circles. Interned for a senator. Theodora had been hired as a researcher for a military base, before taking up a job offer at the Pentagon as an analyst. But from what the War Dogs could gather, the girl had fit into so many of the qualities that her organization looked for in their analysts: the obsession with goals and results. There was no doubt that whatever program she signed up for after her initial occupation, she too, excelled enough at training to be given a team to lead, even though she was at least around Riri's age. A remarkable feat for anyone within the intelligence community, though Shuri could hardly muster the energy to be complementary towards someone responsible for what was essentially a massacre.

Another overachiever. I wonder if she's here against her mother's wishes. Or in accordance with them.

"Guess your talents would be wasted, if you joined them. Too much fuss. The Pentagon was a better fit, for people like you."
Theodora smirked. " People like me? What? That I'm way too young, or that I've got a famous mother?" The way she said the last word dripped with a tinge of sarcasm, as if the word 'mother' was a laughable concept. A strained bond, then. Zawavari guessed correctly. But there was an awareness to her tone, a haughtiness that proclaimed: "I'm young, and I share the same name with the CIA Director. So what?"
Shuri offered an empty smile in return. "Depends. Which one do you think it is?" She had asked the question, hoping to find an opening to talk about how Valentina had anything to do with the mission. Pieces of information had trickled in through other prisoners: it was not a high-profile mission. Almost a suicidal one, in fact. It was likely that higher ups would blink this particular mission away, should it fail. None of the vibranium samples had made it out, but that did not mean-"You're not getting shit from me," the girl replied, her pale, freckled face warped in gloom. "You already know who I am, and how I got here. There's nothing to tell."
"Fine," Shuri said, tone clipped short of impatience. "Before you curse again in my presence, do take care to remember that it was I, who ruined your face. If you can't carry a proper conversation, we might as well go for another round of that."
"Princess," Okoye's voice warned through the comm system.
"Didn't expect that to be honest," Theodora turned to her again, touching her face almost self-consciously. "You did knock me out."

She wasn't conscious when Namor arrived. As impulsive as it was to hurt her, I suppose I am lucky that she is not aware of his existence. Yet.

"And? Before that? Do you remember what I said?"
The girl's face seemed to have visibly taken on a sickly color, her eyes now wary as it looked away from Shuri's more pointed, unflinching stare. "You told me to smell the blood."
"Do you know why?"
"N-no."
"I thought you'd be intelligent enough to understand."
"You just want me to feel guilty."
Shuri's face had curled in disgust. "Trying to induce guilt, would mean that I entertained the possibility of your empathy for Wakanda. You had none."
Theodora shifted again, her discomfort and petulance clear. "So what was the point?"
"The point was that you will see my people as flesh and bone. As life unjustly trampled. Whether you like it or not, whether or not you care." Shuri leaned forward, every muscle coiled tight with the feverish essence of her temper. "You do not get to smirk, or walk away, or roll your eyes and call it a day's work, after killing one of us. I made you see their bodies, and then I made you bleed. But I put you back together again, because I am brilliant enough to understand that your scars are more valuable than your corpse."
She felt the silence, and heard the stuttered breathing from the Dora and Okoye in the observation room, while Theodora stared at her wordlessly, palms curled into fists. It gave Shuri a little satisfaction, that the right words could draw out some fear from people who fancied themselves impenetrable, and free of the consequences of their actions. She had never had the chance to engage with that many people outside of Wakanda that behaved the way Theodora did, but this truly was an irksome display of dehumanizing entitlement.
No wonder Namor has no trust in his heart. These people are raised to revel in the downfall of those they consider different, if only because it fulfills a mission of some kind. They are eager to be rid of the blood they spill, but are too afraid to confront it, when it comes rushing back.

Then the spell of the moment broke, and it was the prisoner who spoke first, her voice no more than a hushed pondering croak.
"No wonder she's obsessed with you."
"Who?"
"Valentina," Theodora clarified with a nonchalance that surprised Shuri. It suddenly made sense, how the sound of the word 'mother' felt foreign and unnatural when she said it. The girl likely never addressed Valentina as mom or mother, and would never do so, unless needed. She wondered what their family life was like, and how it could result in a lack of deference from the child. "I mean, she's obsessed with vibranium. But you're literally the princess of everything vibranium, and you're in her way. And you pissed her off, so."
"Have I?"
"I think it's the idea that you've got a lot of power, and that you're smart and have everything you want. She likes that, I think. Makes it even more interesting for her, taking you down."
Shuri raised an eyebrow at the thought. Anyone who looks at their adversary with genuine interest can be just as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than the ones who are simply content to simmer in their hatred or indifference. "Do you find that interesting then? Taking me down?"
Theodora looked away again, and suddenly, Shuri felt as though all this time, she had been talking to two people. An entitled, but competent agent with no regard for morals. And there was that wandering, angry child within, too eager to prove herself to the world at the cost of everything else. The former was reminiscent of every foreign operative stereotype, while the latter was indicative of something deeper, a dark festering disease at the heart of what fueled the need for conflicts seen and unseen all across the world.
"You're a lot angrier than I thought," the girl replied. "The UN speech you gave barely scratched the surface." Then, she scowled, as if burned by an unpleasant memory. "Valentina's gonna love that. She likes it when people are too much, you know? Gives her more room to work with. For manipulative reasons, of course."
"Is that your way of scaring me?"
"No. It's just how it is!" Theodora snapped, finally. All throughout her time in confinement, she had been nothing but smug, and if not that, she had been closed off and vague, giving the Dora and the Midnight Angels nothing but cool sarcasm and deflection.
But Shuri was at the brink of something here, and if honesty was the only way of getting to it, then she would have to take the risk. "So your mother enjoys playing with people. That should not be a surprise."
"Oh, believe me," Theodora said with some venom. "With her, everyone should expect all kinds of surprises."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I'm her daughter-"
"And how is that relevant?"
"It is for me!" Theodora seethed, the gray bracelet on her wrist glowing from the sudden tension on her arms. She was brimming with a familiar look that Shuri understood, but had never fully felt till recently.
"I see." Shuri said, looking at the girl thoughtfully. "So I am not alone in my resentment."
And then they were both silent, bound by one thing. Here was another person who understood the enemy, but had gone about it in a different way. If Shuri was to attempt naming the forces that stained Theodora's motivations, then it would have to be complacency and spite, whirled together like the anger and grief that she had come to know. Unrepentant, entitled, and spiteful. Possibly imbued with apathy. It's the resentment that gives her some humanity, however stained and malicious that sense of humanity has become. I wonder…if I can use that resentment as a weapon. "Don't pretend that you've gone soft on me now," the girl whispered. "I know you're just fishing for information."
But before Shuri could reply, she felt her earpiece buzz with a private message. Pressing a hand to her right ear, she stood abruptly, turning away from the prisoner, making her voice as low as it could get."What's going on?"
Namor's voice came through, a deliberate and slow thing that crawled to a deeper timbre whenever he sensed danger. "You should come outside. Now."
"I-I don't understand."
Then she heard the Okoye and the Dora over the comms, whispering and agitated from their place at the hidden observation room. Something's wrong.
"Shuri," Namor said. "There are people from the Border Tribe right outside the Dora Milaje's headquarters. They're trying to make their way to the prison complex."
She whirled around to find Theodora still seated, though the girl's eyes had gone wide in alarm over the tension.

"How many are there? How big of a crowd?"
Shuri could hear the faint hiss of his wings in the air, as he went silent to confirm. "I can see that your general is trying to speak to them, but it is not going well. They've come with their spears and some have torches too. At least a hundred, but not all of them are warriors, some of them look too old or too young."

"Torches? Please, tell me. What are they saying? What do they want?"
She felt him exhale then, an indication of dread. "They want her, Shuri. They want Theodora de Fontaine's head."

The prison complex was a fortress, an expansive rectangular-shaped building that spanned acres in length, though much of it ran several feet deep underground. Every inch of it had been made of polished vibranium gleaming in black and gray, accented by swaths of the Dora Milaje's signature red on its doors. The surrounding area had long bridges and gaps that made a mere walk from the main gate to its entrance a near impossible task. But despite its austere appearance, Shuri knew that it would be foolish to underestimate anyone who tried to enter, unauthorized. Especially not, when the potential intruders were her own people; angry and determined, brimming with an indignant impatience that she should have immediately worked to pacify from the moment the council approved her plan with Theodora.
But she had not made her move fast enough, and had relied on M'Kathu to relay the specifics of their discussion to his tribe. She remembered her dream with the panthers again, how she had waded into the water, leaving them all behind.

Is this how it is? When I am too ahead, and I leave others hanging in dissatisfaction? One must build trust with the people, but it is too soon to leave some tasks to just anyone among them. Not when there is resentment at work.

The Border was not satisfied with T'Challa's approach to Klaue, and they were certainly not satisfied now. I wonder if M'Kathu approved of my plan only for show, or…he is still not convinced that the tribe will take it well…and now he is pushing me to tell them all myself. Even so. There are better ways to do it. But it's too late for that now.
Shuri rushed across darkened halls, and out into the night, where the dark, expansive grounds that surrounded the complex seemed to have come alive with the raging clash of bright lights and the sharp rebuke of the Dora Milaje over a throng of angry voices. She could see Ayo's back from a distance, hand on her spear, with her stubborn, unyielding figure standing on a grassy mound that stood a few feet away from the main gate. The other Dora and prison guards surrounded her, blocking the crowd from approaching."Guarding colonizers is the new job of our army now," a voice in the crowd sneered.
"Bring her out!"
"Avenge our warriors!"
"Are we going to let the Americans have her again?"
"No," Shuri's voice replied, sharp and loud enough to startle the rising volume of assenting murmurs from the crowd. The guards offered no resistance and questions, parting for her as the gate creaked open. Ayo's eyes widened at the sight of her, but quickly melted back into the fearsome mask as the crowd visibly fell into a hush at the sight of the princess.
"We will not give her back to the Americans, or to anyone!" Shuri cried out, climbing on the raised mound alongside Ayo.
A woman stepped forward, her hair bound and gray, betraying her age. Her eyes looked slightly red-rimmed from mourning, and it was at the sight of her that Shuri felt the painful echo of an all-too familiar pang. There was nothing like grief in this world, how it bled from every blink of the eyes, even as you wrapped yourself in denial and a facade of strength. The old woman wore her blue robes about her, and leveled a gaze that held nothing but an emptiness that screamed in quiet agony over the dead. "Every year, we fear that our children will not be able to return from their shift at the border. But we say nothing, because it is their chosen path, and such a path requires some sacrifice. It is part of their duty." Then the old woman's lips trembled. "I lost another son to the American agents on the night of the fire. My eldest fell to the poachers a decade ago. I have had enough. I am tired of being told that to die in the line of duty is a great honor, when neither of my sons were treated with respect before their demise."
Then before Shuri could reply, a multitude of voices began to scream and cry out in response to the woman's story, the words too jumbled for her ears. It was a melting pot of grief and rage and a rumbling that she had never seen her entire life. "Our warriors are tired!" She heard someone rasp through the crowd, as the people pressed closer and closer, the distance a pressuring mere meter away from the surrounding Dora that stood on a line ahead of Shuri and Ayo. "Give us the girl!" The crowd drew nearer and nearer, arms out and fists in the air, their eyes darting from Ayo, and to her. It was a game of push and pull, as the Dora Milaje knit together in formation, the shields from their spears activating to build a wall against the people who pushed and swayed against each other, all longing to be closer to the gate.
Any further movement, and someone of a weaker disposition would be crushed, or trampled over.
Ayo stamped her foot and spear with a roar, "March forward!" The Dora Milaje obeyed at once, angling their spears at slight incline as they nudged the crowd back with their shields in well-practiced unison. "Step aside, princess!" Someone had screamed in protest, as the people resisted against the unmoving force of the Dora's defensive formation."Coward!" "The Black Panther is a coward!"Shuri felt her breath hitch upon hearing the words, and as if by instinct, strained her ears for the source, only to find none, the words now swallowed up by the crowd. The people in front of her had different roles; grieving fathers, mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers, and friends and all at once. But they had all become one swarm, one body of anger that had come back to haunt and demand and explode.She wanted to scream back- that they were wrong. That she was no coward, and that they seemed to have forgotten that her mind had worked to serve and protect them from the moment she surpassed her brother's scientific rigor long before reaching adolescence. But then she saw herself again, in the past, an image of her pointing the spear towards Namor's neck, and felt a thread loosen in her chest. For there lay an aching, partial tragedy of a realization: that resentment fed resentment, and the only way out was to seek another path that did not end with anyone dying. Even if it felt good to seek death, be it your own or another's.
Ayo had stalked forward, her usually unflappable demeanor fading to that of frustrated indignation. She had slapped on her kimoyo beads, and upon pressing a command, activated voice projection mode, allowing her voice to ring with that of a much higher volume to combat the noise of the crowd. "If you do not go back to your homes we will call for reinforcements-"
A blur of red had sailed through the air, swift, and no more than the size of a child's fist. Shuri's heightened senses had seen it clearly, and knew, in the split second before it hit, that someone from the crowd had thrown a tomato. But she does not move, or fight. Namor's voice had cut through Shuri's earpiece, his words harried and dangerous over the private line. "Shuri, let me fly you out of there."

And within one, two, three seconds- a series of vegetables collided with his face, and shoulders. It was not her body, but his, that had taken the splatter of rotten produce. And even so, she felt it all, every smack on the forehead, to the chest, and to the cheeks. He had come flying over the chaos, the bulk of his body shielding hers upon landing. She had gasped, her palm reaching out to touch his back.
In a flash, Ayo moved back, clutching her spear and using its now activated shield to block all incoming objects being thrown their way.
Ayo began to hiss curses under her breath, and as if to concede with Namor's words of taking Shuri away, yelled to the crowd, "Anyone who tries that again will have to face punishment!"
With another stamp of her spear, the angle of every Dora's spear changed to a dangerous ninety degrees, their shields flickering shut. The sight of the pointed weapons stunned the crowd into a temporary retreat, with the people on the front lines stepping back in alarm, though they continued to mutter their dissent. But Shuri could not bear the threat of punishment hanging over their heads, nor could she endure having to escape them all. What is there to run away from? She took a good look at them, all of them, as far as she could see, hoping to find an answer. Brother, what should I do?
She heard Namor's wings before anyone else could, and knew that he was close to taking her away. She could see Okoye from afar too, arguing with her people, her Midnight Angel armor gleaming and free of its mask, while Ayo remained behind the Dora Milaje, anxiety etched upon her face. But Shuri had already made up her mind, and before her courage failed, she knew that she needed to say it. Needed to be seen and heard before the crowd lost itself again.
"No! Stand down!"
"Don't-" Namor whispered, as he faced her. But he stopped, the rest of the words dying on his lips. He stood close, closer than she thought he ought to be. But said nothing. It was only his eyes that glowed from the flashing of the lights, staring at her, understanding and questioning, and finally, there came his quiet acceptance of her will, his eyes soft as he turned to look back at the crowd, determined to leave her be, but unwilling to risk her safety.
But the Dora did not hear her cry, nor did Ayo and Okoye and Aneka. The crowd pressed back, and so did the warriors and guards that held their spears and shields. And the fear was back again. Of the past that held dissent, and infighting. Of wounds never remedied, but scabbed and torn over and over, till those who bore the infliction could no longer bear it. Let them be angry, she thought. They have every right, even if there are things that they must understand. Just as I have taken a long time to do. She dashed towards the crowd.
Readying her sonic blasts, and the voice projection mode from her suit, she stopped short, right behind where Ayo had taken her position. "Stand down, General."
Ayo turned to her, confused. "Princess, the danger-"
"Danger? You think a few vegetables will turn the Black Panther away from her people?" She had snapped back. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Okoye and Aneka had stopped to look at them too. The volume of her voice had reached a proportion high enough to distract the rest of the Dora, and the people's cries had suddenly faded down to a confused murmur, their attention and stares now drawn back to her.
"Lower your spears! Or I will render every weapon obsolete!"
Ayo's face had gone still, but whatever it was, whether it was the fire in Shuri's eyes, or the stance, or the loyalty that molded every Dora and warrior in the field, they listened. Little by little, every spear, and rock, was lowered. Then the soldiers parted for her, the question in their eyes unsaid but clear. She made her way then, towards the front of what could easily have been a mob, but was not. She saw the old woman who shared her grief earlier, trembling with exhaustion and the lack of air from how close the people had pressed against one another.
Shuri reached for the woman immediately, calling to the crowd with urgency, "Stay back, and let us help her sit down!" They all stared at her, frozen and confused, their glares apparent over being interrupted."She cannot breathe!" Shuri cried out, her hands around the elderly woman's shoulders. "Please, look after anyone who might be hurt. Please."
She led the elder back to the grassy little mound that she and Ayo were on, and gently, and had her sit down. With a careful and steady hand, she checked the woman's pulse carefully, and noted the erratic beating of her heart, and the panting breaths that emanated from her mouth. Any longer in the crush of that crowd, and she might have fainted too. Shuri turned to look at the crowd again and found to her surprise, the people sitting on the grass, checking the pulses of the elderly and the young who insisted on making it all the way from the Border Tribe Village.
"Ayo," she said. "Make way for them. Have them spread out and sit closer to where we are. Some people will need the air. Many of them have come with their families and friends. Let them be grouped together that way, so as to not let anyone be lost."
The general regarded her for a moment, face unreadable as ever. There was a quiet war that seemed to have been waged within Ayo then, from the forced blankness in her eyes, and the visible tightening of her fists as she debated over the sensibility of Shuri's ideas. Then it broke with a nod, as she went off to direct the rest of the Dora Milaje with the task of helping the crowd settle down.
Shuri had glanced behind her, and found Namor keeping his distance, electing to awkwardly sit by a rock just meters away at the base of the mound that she and the elderly woman were on. The splatters from the vegetables had smeared upon his shoulders, and chest. But he made no move to clean himself, electing instead to stoically bear it, though for any leader, to maintain an unpolished appearance amongst a people that was not his own, ought to be a blow to his pride. She wondered if he felt the sting of that, or if he was simply careful about keeping it all to himself."Thank you," she said, giving him an apologetic smile, though deep down she did not see much sense in him acting as her shield at all.
He shook his head at her attempt to placate him. "There is very little pain from such objects being thrown. But," he paused, careful as he nodded towards the elderly woman next to Shuri, "I suspect that the sentiment behind the action would hurt far more than anything."
Shuri looked at the woman then, aware that she had yet to know her name. "I have not had the chance to ask for your name yet."
The elder raised her head, though her eyes darted towards Namor warily. "I am Chipiliro, daughter of Chisomo." Confusion had added to the wrinkles above her brows, as she glanced from Shuri to Namor. "You told the Dora Milaje to lower their spears, even when you knew that we would use all means to get our way. And now the king who once tried to drown the capital is protecting you. I do not understand."
She smiled, and looked at the crowd that were now clustered around them in a large semi-circle, with the Dora milling about in response to Ayo's orders. When Shuri finally spoke, everyone had already been looking in their direction. She remembered with a start, that she had not yet disabled the voice projection mechanism from within her suit. But it was just as well, for this moment of collective calm was all she needed.
"The Dora Milaje do their duty, just as you are all here, trying to do right by the loved ones you lost to the fire and at the hands of the American agents. We are all bound by our roles, and our grief. As am I. I do not know what M'Kathu has told you, or if he has failed to tell you anything at all, but when I asked to
keep the American girl from you, it was not because I wanted to let her escape from her crimes. I keep her in a cell, because she is part of a much larger evil, and I need to know how to face it. We will all need to face it, with the world watching."She caught Namor's eye, before turning to the crowd again, as she found herself echoing his words, but adding her own sentiment, her own trembling inflection. "We will own all that injustice and pain, and show it to the world so that they cannot look away. We will make it so that they cannot look elsewhere."
"And how will we do that?" Chipiliro had asked over the contemplative silence that ensued.
So Shuri told them of what transpired in the throne room, of the disagreements, and the stakes. How Wakanda will work to employ an investigator and expert on international law. How Namor and Talokan will stand with them through every conflict, their strength and numbers unlike anything the world will ever know. The future will be bright or bleak; but neither of those possibilities will change the indisputable fact that when there is no more to hide, they will all stand tall in the end. They will have their justice.
"Tell us then!" Someone from the crowd had called out to her. "Are you not angry that we have accused you of cowardice? Will there be no consequence from what we have tried to do tonight?"
Shuri took one good swallow of the anxiety that had crept upon her throat. Was she angry? It did hurt to be accused after all. But there was only so much of that left within her, and even if she could stand, and accuse them all of attempting to tamper with the investigation and interrupting Theodora's interrogation- No.
So she took Chipiliro's hand, and stood on the mound, feeling quite bold. She was not the queen. She hated council meetings, and chafed against the veils of small talk, and ceremony. But there was nothing wrong with discussion, with the push and pull between people, between this and that, of right or wrong, or both. She liked it there, and here. In the in-between. Here on the grass, close to the people that had so cursed her name. Here, where she held the hands of a grieving mother, and where the mutant king that she once loathed had become her most powerful ally, and the one she felt had seen every vulnerable crevice of her being.
"Your grief is my grief. Your anger is my anger." Shuri said by way of a reply to that voice in the listening clustered crowd. "I am the Black Panther, and when I fight, I will carry your wounds, and your spears, and all your cares with me. It would be a lie to say that this was always my ambition, but that is no longer the point. M'Kathu will have to answer for this misunderstanding. But there will be no more talk of punishment for the Border. We are not in the business of handing down punishments like cheap goods! It is justice we need, and we will have it! It is to live with joy and freedom that we long for!" She heard herself scream then, her own conviction bursting from the seams of her body. "And we shall have it! Or else, I am not the Black Panther!"
They cried out to her in return, fists raised in whistles and woops. They cried out for their ancestors. For Bast. For Wakanda. And she let them. She was going to welcome everything from now on. Every possibility. Nothing can be left behind, unlike that dream of the panthers left on the shoreline, while she waded in deeper waters.

I am no queen, and I have no crown, she thought. But she would be her own kind of leader, the kind that the world will remember for a long, long time.