Con la brisa

by VioletEyedHero

Summary:

Shuri, unable to return to Wakanda, spends time on the beach thinking about her life and wondering where to go next.
Namor, still healing from his defeat, dreams of the warrior who bested him, and thinks about the woman who set his heart aflame.

Notes:

Hiiii I'm jumping on the Namuri bandwagon and posting this. It was originally gonna be a one-shot, now I'm thinking about breaking it down into 2-3 short chapters (famous last words). Consider this the prologue, hope you enjoy it!

Might think about bumping things up to E but we'll see where the wind guides me)

Chapter 1: Aftermath

She’s hesitating. Standing over him with one cold foot holding down his chest and vibranium spearpoint pressed against his neck, and she is hesitating.

He does not speak. Every breath he draws is shallow and desperate; he wants only to claw his way off of this rough, smoking sand, away from the smoke trying to wrap its tendrils around his throat. The burned flesh on his back is excruciating, as though he is being skinned alive. The broken wing at his ankle is sending daggers of pain through his leg up to his knee. Every cell in his body is aflame, telling him to run, to seek shelter, to dive into the water and never again emerge. He is Namor, he is K’uk’ulkan, a mutant, nigh an immortal. This is not right, he should not be feeling this way, weak and vulnerable and staring death in the face.

He is the Feathered Serpent God, and yet he is unable to move or speak. He is at the mercy of the Black Panther.

And yet she hesitates.

Do it! He wants to scream at her. This battle was always meant to be to the death, one of them has to follow through. 

Her eyes are glassy, burning with rage like he had never seen before. But she says nothing.

Then, she raises the tip of the spear ever so slightly. She says something, though he cannot process it right away. An offer to yield, an offer of peace. Half-delirious from the heat of the beach and beating sun, he nods his head in agreement. A breath passes between them. Then another. Her foot comes off, and then she’s stepping back to toss the spear aside.

Namor lies still a moment more. His eyes flutter shut, then open again. And Shuri is standing above him, no longer holding a weapon, but a bare outstretched hand. He tilts his head upwards and studies her gaze, softer than it had been, but still firm and authoritative.

He swallows and drops his gaze to her hand. Shakily, he reaches up to grab it, nearly yelping as she pulls him to his feet—foot, really. He hops awkwardly on his good leg at first, but then she takes his other arm to keep him stable.

A breath. Two. Three. Despite his shakiness and weakness they breathe as one, chests inches away, clutching each other’s forearms hard.

The Black Panther is regarding him with surprise and curiosity. Her cheeks flush at his touch, and he feels his face warm too. Her mouth is drooped open ever so slightly as if she means to form words, but she purses her lips instead. With a grunt of effort, she takes his arm and slings it over her shoulder, though he sees that she holds her other hand tight over her own spear-wound. Step by step they move as one, until they’re wading awkwardly into the beautiful crystalline water. She does not meet his eyes but stares forward, her jaw clenched. When the sea reaches as high as her chest, she finally lets go.

Namor draws in a sharp breath, closes his eyes and lets himself fall backwards into the sea, embracing its coolness. His wounds heal in seconds, before his back even settles against the sand, and he sighs deeply and gazes up to the sky. The bright beautiful sun is within his grasp. He lets out a long sigh, wanting nothing more than to reach his hand out and clutch it in the palm of his hands—

And then she is above him again, blurred by the green-blue waves but eclipsing the bright sky. She is just there, watching, waiting for him to emerge. Eventually he dose, and they make their way back to the shore and sit in silence, facing the horizon until the jet arrives to pick them up.

His mind is finally clear enough to begin to process what has just happened, and her words begin to plague at him. Over and over again he hears her voice in her mind, repeating her words of mercy. Vengeance has consumed us. We cannot let it consume our people.

 

***

 

It is dusk in Haiti, and Shuri sits alone on the beach, staring out into the horizon. The sun dips low, bathing the sky and sea in warm oranges and reds. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, smelling the smoke of her small bonfire, drinking in the colours, the salty breeze, and the sand beneath her toes. For a moment, she can almost imagine that her family is with her enjoying the moment, just as they used to by the river border at sunset. She imagines Baba’s soft chuckle, Mama’s tender embrace, T’Challa’s cheeky grin.

Then, she opens her eyes, alone once more. She sighs, lets her eyes fill with tears, and hugs her feet in closer as the last rays fade. Dusk settles into twilight, and the bright stars begin to emerge. One by one, as if they were nothing but shy fireflies emerging from the shadows.

Mama used to tell her that they were spirits, back when she was five or six years old, sitting together in the sand, her hand stroking her hair. ‘Umntwana wam, the stars are lights from the ancestral plane,’ She’d said, echoing one of the old folktales of Wakanda. ‘Whenever you are lost in the shadows, they will always be there to guide you…’

She does not fully understand why that memory has remained in her head for so long, nor why she would only call upon the scene now. The hippocampus has a near infinite capacity to store and call upon bits of episodic memories, but with time it grows more difficult to keep track of them all. The archives get messy, the timelines lose all meaning, and over time the faces begin to blur and voices begin to fade into a chitter in the back of your mind. Dreams and memories become one and the same, and then they fade for good.

Perhaps she is recalling this now because it is an emotional memory, which means that it’s partly stored in the amygdala. The spot where emotions, memories, and physical triggers like scents act as one. Perhaps it’s because this memory elicits an emotion that is not pain or grief. And part of her needs that right now. She sometimes longs for the nostalgia of her childhood, when she could be content with stories and gods and was not so obsessed with finding a black and white answer to every question that the world posed her. Back when she could enjoy the twilight sky as a time of magic, as the blurring of life and death, and not have to think about the why.

Or, she just wants to hear Mama’s voice.

Shuri sighs, then shifts her position in the sand until she is lying flat on her back and staring at the night sky. Nakia will probably come out soon to check on her or offer a snack. She’s been an incredible host, and Shuri’s enjoyed spending the past month with her and little T’Challa. But it’s been almost a month, and it’s clear that she’s trying to give her a little push out the door.

Aneka called me today. She asked how you’ve been. Says your beads are off.

Okoye has been asking about you. She wants to know ‘where to stash your coloniser.’

Have you heard anything about M’Baku? I wonder how he’s adjusting to his new position.

For the world’s greatest spy, Nakia’s not particularly subtle.

She’s going to go back to Wakanda at some point. It’s not like she’s worried about the country blowing up in her absence. M’Baku is a great leader, wise and adaptable. She talks to him occasionally; he teases and dotes on her the way that T’Challa used to. When they chat, his words makes her heart flutter a little, but then the ache returns and she hangs up abruptly, unable to take any more.

The reason that she continues to stay here, in Labadie, on the beach overlooking the sunset, is because she needs a break. She needs time to break. She needs some quiet before committing to the rest of her life as the Black Panther, the leader and indomitable protector of Wakanda. She needs time to heal. The spot in her side where the spear pierced her had closed over within the first week, but it is still slightly sore to the touch. And there are so many other wounds that need to settle down. Perhaps they won’t close. But maybe they will stop bleeding.

Only the most broken people, can be great leaders.

A shudder passes through her, as her mind calls up the memory against her will. The way he’d said it quietly, his shoulder brushing up against hers, his brow furrowed and eyes full of empathy. He’d smelled of salt and aloe.

He’d seized on that, her brokenness, and tried to thrust leadership onto her for his own ends. Attacking the city, bombing the palace, killing her mother. All of it, so that she would do the right thing and yield Riri, her kingdom, everything she had left.

She’d won the battle. She’d done the right thing and forced him to surrender…spared him, shown him mercy, and then saved him. (Not because of any care for him. Or even because it was the right thing to do. She’d buried anything of that sort long before the battle started. It was more of an act of spite, one last middle finger to N’Jadaka.)

It is not something that she likes to dwell on, but on nights like this it still manages to creep up on her.

She stares longingly at the sky for awhile, wishing for the moment that she was a child again who believed that they were fireflies or the spirits of her ancestors. Eventually, she sits herself up and lets the breeze wrap around her a bit longer, while the crescent moon glows dimly above and black waves beat against the earth near her feet.

After the fire fades into the last few embers, she goes to the water to rinse off the rough sand between her toes. She breathes deeply as the ice meets her skin, imagining it healing her inner wounds as it did with him that day. Then, stopping herself from pursuing that train of thought any further, she turns and puts her sandals back on to go. Stupid, stupid. She started doing this the day she got here, and each time she cannot help herself but look back for just a moment longer. Searching, in vain, for movement. A fish leaping in the distance, a speedboat somewhere far away, or a rock emerging at low tide.

Sometimes, she imagines that the rock is moving, bobbing, singing softly to her, and calling her further into the sea.

Chapter 2: Dreamwalk

Summary:

As time goes on, the ruler of Talokan and the Black Panther begin to have strange dreams of each other...and perhaps they are not always their own.

Notes:

So remember how I said that this was gonna be like 3 chapters? Yeah now I'm thinking 4-5. Depends on how angsty things are gonna get. But I watched the movie again and figured out what kind of bullshit I want to put in here for a spicy force bond story. Enjoy!!

(and btw the response on the first chapter was absolutely incredible, you guys are the absolute best <3 <3 )

The ruler of Talokan dreams of the Black Panther more nights than not.

It began soon after their battle on the beach. Each time, the dream is different. 

This time, he is swimming through Talokan amongst his people, then becomes distracted by the glint of metal far below them on the dark ocean floor. The rays of his sun do not reach this place, but he sees glowing red spheres surrounding her, their translucent red tentacles reaching out. No no no.

He darts forward, knowing what the metal is, knowing that it is the suit of a surface dweller coming to his home to attack his people. But when he reaches the suit and looks through the visor, he sees the girl. Her limbs are spread like a starfish, eyes closed as if in a deep sleep, her black curls floating. He asks her if she is awake, if she is alive, but his voice comes out as nothing but an inaudible whisper. Panicking, he grabs hold of her waist and darts for the surface. Towards the sun and sand and heat. He is nearly there, so close—then he screams in agony.

The Black Panther is digging her claws into his bare back again, and it burns every cell of his body. 

You killed my mother. She snarls into his ear, before letting him fall into the abyss. I will have your life.

He wakes with a start, whirling until he realises that he is in his own quarters, deep in the cave. Hesitantly, he pulls the blanket off and sees that his wing is still bandaged up. With a groan, he tries to lie back and return to sleep…but it does not come.

So, with a low groan, he searches for something to occupy him until the morning. He settles quickly on painting. His mother used to tell him that it was her favourite activity, back when she lived among the surface-dwellers. It calmed her, helped her sleep, and let her tell stories in a way that words could not. The first time he held his own paintbrush was to tell the story of his first battle with the slave traders. The first time he bore the name Namor. Washing the red paint off his palms had helped him get up the nerve to wash off the blood.

The strokes are smooth and precise, the image growing clearer in his mind and on the stone with every new colour and line. He does not stop until the morning, and returns to it the next time he awakens from a nightmare.

 

***

Sometimes, she is in his cave, but not his cave. The worms hanging from the ceiling and stalagmites glow like aquamarine, and below there are multiple plants that pulsate and glow soft blues and purples. The blue ones, he knows, as the plants that gave birth to the people of Talokan. To him. But the purple flowers, he does not know. 

Shuri is wearing the garments that he had made for her. The jades seem to glow a soft green to match the ceiling, lighting her face. She grins at the sight of the worms and touches one delicately as it hangs from a point. The sight of her excitement makes him smile. But then, as if detecting his presence, she glances in his direction and draws in a sharp breath. Her eyebrows furrow. You.

He awakens again, feeling a dull ache in his chest, and then an acute sense of confusion. Most of the dreams fade away from his mind quickly, save for the way that she had whispered that word. It did not carry more than a slightly edge of anger or accusation. Just…curiosity. As if it had been her dream, and he had stumbled in on accident.

The mural in the corner is dry and complete, but the sight makes him frown now. He’d made her brows too sharp and her expression too vicious.

 

***

 

Tonight, she is in Wakanda, wearing a long pure white dress, hugging her arms, and wandering her streets aimlessly. Stumbling, swaying, her gaze darting at every whisper and click that arises. It is as though she is drunk, like foolish fisherman drinking at the coastline, lost and confused and searching—wondering—waiting—hoping that someone will save her from herself. High above, the sky glows with soft blues and purples, shining in a way that is not unlike raw vibranium. They stretch far and wide like the ribbons of light in the northern seas. Yet there are no stars to be found.

He watches her from some distance away, slowly striding in the same direction. He does not speak but simply follows, as if he is tethered to her, bound and gagged. She whispers to herself in both English and Xhosa, the language of her country, and calls out for people that he does not know…and some that he can recognise. Mama. Baba. T’Challa. Each time, she looks around her and to the sky as if hoping that someone will find her. But she is met only with silence and stillness. So she continues along, hugging herself tighter, while her bare feet char the soil beneath her.

The sight of this girl, this earnest warrior, alone and so frightened and sad…it is a curious thing. At first, Namor finds it frustrating that this person that nearly killed him could be harbouring such deep scars, far beyond the one’s he’d inflicted. But then, remembering his own dreams, the frustration transforms into a deep-seated shame.  This is something personal. She has her own life, her own grief, and it has nothing to do with him.

Awareness seems to break his spell, making him blink. This is not real. He should not be here, he does not want to be here. This is not his dream. This is not a world that he is permitted to inhabit.

A low roar suddenly echoes in the distance, and he whirls defensively, fists raised, then turns back. The towering city is gone, replaced by a great plain of tall grass and low wide trees. The girl, still unaware of his presence, continues forward towards the tallest tree beyond them, lowers her hands to her sides, and then stops.

Ngubani olapho? She asks. It means ‘who’s there.’ He has learned enough Xhosa since their battle to understand.

He pauses, then she asks again. Swallowing hard, he steps back, then freezes, hearing the snap of his branch under his heel.

In a flash, the tree erupts into a great column of golden flame. He blinks in horror, and then she is on him, her fingers wrapping around his throat. He gasps for air as she lifts him up with the strength of a god, then glances down. His mother’s necklace sits around her wrist, each bead winking. When he meets her gaze, her eyes are glowing a dangerous golden-red.

So it was you. She snarls. How did you get here?

He claws at her hand with all of his might, but it is unmoving.

“I—Shuri—“ He gasps out.

Then, the world goes black and he shoots up, still clawing at his throat to find only empty air.

He sits for awhile covered in beads of sweat, hunched over and taking slow deliberate breaths, as if reminding himself how to take in oxygen. That was not like the dreams that he’d had before, it had nothing to do with his world or memories. She’d sensed him somehow, and responded like a territorial predator.

A small voice in his head suggests that this might be exactly what he deserves. He’s not sorry for what he’s done to her—or to Wakanda—but something in him aches to see her so…broken.

It is the broken who make the best leaders. His mother, advisors, ancestors had said that to him long ago. And he had believed them. But he had spent years, centuries throwing himself into leading his kingdom, serving his people, and protecting them from harm. He has known loss in many forms. Family, children, subjects who had died of age, starvation, vicious animals, and battles with surface-dwellers. 

He is broken, and yet he has never allowed himself to break. He holds himself together each day for his people.

But that does not change the fact that there is always a part of him that wants to close off from the world. Burn it all, then walk back into the darkest trench of the ocean and never have lose anyone ever again.

 

***

 

Shuri dreams of Namor too, but in her dreams, she is the observer. He wanders through tall palm forests, deserts, the streets of Birnin Zana. He is looking up to the night sky or to the storm clouds in the day, with a torrent of emotions etched upon his face. Some mix of sadness, awe, nostalgia, longing. And a hint of bitterness. His feet drag along, wings flapping lamely and unable to generate any power.

Sometimes, they are under the sea, swimming through the winding paths of Talokan’s capital. She can breathe and swim as he does, and she wears the same jade-adorned dress that he’d made for her when they met. Each time, he searches 

She follows in silence, wondering what he could be searching for. He opens his mouth sometimes, then closes it with only a whisper on his lips. Each time, they continue this dance. Then he turns and meets her gaze, blinks with surprise. Pantera box.

And she wakes with a start, forgetting the details of the dream within minutes.

Tonight, she observes as the Black Panther, crouching behind a cluster of palm trees. He is standing alone at the shoreline, motionless, his back turned to her. He wears the grey and black embroidered cloak, just as he did after they went to Talokan together.

The night sky above is full of stars and galaxies of all sorts, and ribbons of sapphire-blue light glow between them, pulsating as if they are glowing veins. Distantly, she hears laughter and faint music, and when she turns, she sees smoke rising and firelight dancing atop the trees. To the east, a tall golden stepped pyramid stands on the hill. She wonders if it is the same as the temple to K’uk’ulkan in Chichen Itza, one of the structures designated archaeological wonders of the world. Perhaps not. A rational part of her knows that there were likely many temples and buildings of that nature that were torn down and desecrated by the colonisers and slave owners. 

Shuri steps out of the mass of trees. She draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes, feeling the cool clear breeze wrap around her shoulder like a thick blanket. Then, she opens her eyes and feels her breath catch in her throat.

Namor has turned to face her. She cannot see his expression clearly under his crown. It is a mass of gold, vibranium, and feathers that spread out like a colourful lion’s mane. But, squinting, she can see that it is not a lion, but a serpent adorning his face. Of course it is. It’s important to keep up the theme when one bears the title of an animal god.

He’s not moving. Not saying anything. Not responding with anger or defensiveness. So against her better judgment, Shuri steps forward into the sand. Then again, and again until they are mere feet away from each other, neither one daring to break their gaze.

Then, Namor tilts his chin up and puts his hands behind his back. Why are you here?

Why? She has no idea. She wants to say this, but then freezes as a low hum echoes across the water. Then, a chorus. Is he trying to lure her out into the sea, force her under, drown her and kill her?

No.

She shakes her head, heart thundering in her chest. She looks up. Namor’s crown is gone, and she can now see that he is studying her with a careful curiosity. Somehow, deep in her heart she knows that he doesn’t mean her any harm.

I ask again, pantera box. He says. Why are you here?

Shuri blinks, then realises what he means. This is not her dream. She is not in her own world, but in his.

The realisation rushes into her like a flash, and she falls to the sand. He reaches down and offers her a hand, but she just yelps and scrambles backwards until she is back in the palm trees and running far away. Away from Namor, away from this dream—memory—world that is not hers to inhabit. As she clears the trees, she looks up to see the blue veins pulsating dangerously fast, and a dark figure whoosh through the sky. Shit, shit he’s going to kill her, isn’t he?

Then she looks down and realises she has bumped into someone. An old tanned woman, her black and silver hair tied high above her head, nose covered in jade, and holding a stalk of maize. She smiles softly, then glances down and swallows, before grabbing her wrist. The wrist where Shuri still wears the jade bracelet.

The woman runs a finger along the white and gold beads and murmurs something. Shuri, feeling a shiver run down her spine, jerks her away and takes a step backwards, scanning her surroundings. Something flickers, then comes into focus. She is in a clearing, where a tall bonfire is lit, and encircled by people old and young who stare at her blankly.

Maaxech, paal? Baatten ka waye’?

Who are you, child? Why are you here?

Shuri screams and opens her eyes, nearly tumbling right over the edge of her bed. It’s her bed. She is in Nakia’s home, covered in a thin blanket, and the sun is beginning to spread its first few rays of light. Groaning, she turns to the other side and shivers, remembering the sight of him in his crown. The way that he flew through the sky when she tried to run.

The events of this dream are not like the others. They stay with her no matter how much she tries to forget them. So she just lies in bed for awhile, unable to sleep and wishing desperately for Mama to be there to comfort her.

Mama…

She fidgets and raises her wrist above her head. The beads gleam slightly, even with their age. And the thread, woven with fibres from the Talokan herb…it glows a soft blue.

She brushes her finger along it. Why did that woman look at the bracelet like that?

Nakia’s call for breakfast interrupts her thoughts, so in the heat of the moment she quickly unhooks the bracelet, places it under her pillow and climbs out of the bed.

The day marches on. Nakia tries to push her about talking to the others in Wakanda, the two of them play with little Toussaint, and she goes with the two of them to the school in Cap-Haitien. She is not much of a teacher, but she manages to pull her weight. Some of the more physics-oriented students enjoy spending time with her. Then, they come home, have dinner, and she returns to her spot on the beach to cry all over again.

She wonders, briefly, if he has ever broken down like this. He seemed so at ease commanding his legions and caring for his people. But with how long he’s lived on this plane, has he ever done something as selfish as what she is doing now?

Shuri sighs at the sad thought and digs her head into her shoulders, letting the shadows of her limbs engulf her vision. She closes her eyes, feeling herself drift off…then flinches. Something flashes across her vision. The violet skies, the tall blades of grass in the bush. The way it burst into flames at her thought.

Her hand around Namor’s throat.

How did you get here?

She blinks, feeling her heart skip a beat. Wha—when did this happen? When was she in the ancestral plane? It should be nothing but a dream, but in that moment it feels all too real.

And Namor…he had been there with her.

What in Bast’s name is happening?

Chapter 3: Lullaby

Notes:

Haha this is taking so much longer than I expected! Every time I go to write something, I keep thinking of something new and adding it.

ALSO, I can't believe we've reached 3K hits!! Absolutely insane. To everyone who read this I love you so much TT-TT I promise I have some fun stuff planned, esp for the next chapter.

When dawn breaks, the sky is blood-red.

An omen of a coming storm, and Nakia knows this. The pair spend the morning together cleaning up the outside of the house before T’Challa wakes, moving toys and hanging clothes so that they don’t get blown away by the coming winds. It is quiet work, and Nakia asks her the occasional question about how she slept or how she’s feeling.

And once again, a line of questions about their friends in Wakanda. Frankly, with how shaken she’s felt over the past couple of days, she is herself debating calling someone and chatting it up. Though, she’s not sure if she wants to open up the door with him as the topic. She doesn’t even know if she’s ready to open up any sort of conversation with them at all. She can already imagine Okoye and M’Baku jumping on her like a couple of aunties. ‘Oh Shuri, are you okay? Has Nakia been feeding you? You look so skinny! Just come home and we’ll make you some nice doro wat.’

Then, she realises that she has another option. Perhaps even a better one. Or, at the very least, it’s unlikely to involve any unnecessary smothering. So, with a deep breath, she puts her Kimoyo beads around her wrist and makes the call.

“Hey!” Riri exclaims excitedly as her torso emerges in the small hologram. “Hey Shuri I—“ The image flickers, and Shuri watches patiently as she shuffles the beads around, her face coming in and out of focus before it finally settles down. “Okay I think I got it. Damn these things are cool.”

Shuri smiles warmly. “I’m glad you like them,” She says. “Listen, I need to ask you something.”

Her face darkens, like she has already guessed what’s coming. “What’s up?”

“Something private,” She says immediately.

Riri nods vigorously, concern etched in her brow. “Okay, just give me a sec—“ A loud clang! Echoes in the background. She turns immediately, yells a couple of profanities and points angrily, calling out someone’s name while the hologram shakes. Shuri swears that she hears a couple of voices call out “sorry” in unison before Riri huffs and stalks off to another room, slamming the door behind her.

“Okay,” She says, her voice low and image zoomed in. “I’m alone now, what do you need?”

Shuri raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure, because I thought I heard—“

Riri rolls her eyes theatrically. “It’s a long story, I just—“ She lets out another huff. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

“Are things…quiet where you are right now? Anyone try to pay you a visit, or anything?”

Riri blinks, then pauses and pulls back. “Oh! No I haven’t—shit, are the feds coming?! I thought you said that they were taken care of.”

“No, no,” She says. “Not them. I mean like…” She nods, trying to convey what she’s talking about. “Anything in the water?”

Her brows are still furrowed tight. “Nah dude, I’m not going anywhere near the water. Like, I know y’all have that truce going on, but I’m not taking any chances.” Then, a breath passes between them. “Why, are you okay?” She leans in again, so close that only the bottom half of her face is visible on Shuri’s side. “Did he come back?”

Shuri pauses, then looks up out the window, where dark clouds are beginning to take form out by the horizon. I don’t know.

“No,” She says instead. “Everything’s fine.”

Even though a large part of her wants to stay on and chat with Riri, wants to vent and cry and laugh with like two schoolgirls late at night…she chooses to end the conversation after a few minutes of chatting. It’s not particularly awkward for Riri; she seems pretty eager to get back to the other room with those people, whether they’re her friends or workshop helpers.

Shuri doesn’t talk to Nakia about the call. She doesn’t tell Nakia anything about what’s going through her head as they go about their day. Most of it is spent indoors, which makes the task frustrating at best. The wind has been picking up little by little since dawn, and there are clouds moving south to their area, grey as stone, crackling, and glowing in between, as though the thunderstorm is simply the belly of a giant beast. It moves slowly while it searches for the scent of blood, then locks onto its prey and attacks in a flash.

By the time they reach home and start preparing dinner, the rain has begun to fall. In minutes, it is a torrent, and the three of them work together quickly to board up some of the bare windows from the inside. T’Challa’s terrified of storms, Shuri quickly learns. When the first crack of thunder echoes across the beach, he lets out a small cry and dives under a blanket, holding his ears and rocking back and forth. Nakia reacts swiftly, cradling him in her arms and stroking his hair. Shuri sits silently in the kitchen and closes her eyes, listening to the rhythm of the raindrops and Nakia’s soft but clear melody.

It’s a very old Wakandan folk song, maybe from around the time of Bashenga himself. Mama had sung it to her as a lullaby when she was a little girl crying over nightmares. It tells the story of two lovers, separated by the rules of their tribes, who are only able to meet in the bush under the new moon, when the sky is at its darkest. They do this for years and their love grows stronger, but then war comes and the man has to leave for battle.

Shuri knows how the story is going to end, and though she doesn’t feel any real emotion towards the song, she can already feel something wet in the back of her eyes. T’Challa seems completely engrossed in the tale, as though it’s his first time hearing it. He’s lowering his hands from his ears and watching his mother while she continues the song. 

She smiles and caresses him, then says that they agree to meet again in the bush when the battle is done. But the man is killed in the fight, and her heart breaks. She returns to the bush every full moon but is lost without him. So when she passes away, the ancestors take pity on her. They allow them to walk together in a place where the stars are bright, the sky is full of colours, and they never have to lose each other again.

“Mama, when we die, do we all go to the ancestral plane?”

Nakia nods and smiles warmly.

“Is it really that beautiful? With all the stars and lights in the sky?”

She nods again. “It is. Your Baba saw it when he became the Black Panther. And he is there now with his ancestors, watching over us.”

The tears begin to prick, and the thunder roars outside.

Then, T’Challa turns to Shuri, a big goofy smile on his face. “Aunt Shuri, have you seen the ancestral plane?”

Shuri blinks, then looks to Nakia, who shrugs apologetically. Like it’s normal for small children to ask these sorts of questions.

“Uhh—yeah, yes I have.” She replies awkwardly.

“What was it like?”

The smell of smoke suddenly begins to fill her nostrils. The bars at the window, N’Jadaka on the throne, telling her the things that she knew in her heart but never wanted to hear. That they’re not too different, that he takes care of business. Her father was a hypocrite, and her brother was too noble to get anything done.

“It’s just like your Mama said,” She says, suddenly feeling hot. She’d said that she wanted Namor dead. “Lots of lights and stars.” Then, feeling the room begin to grow a little smaller, she stands from the chair abruptly. She tries to say something about needing to use the washroom, but then just makes her way out, feeling Nakia’s gaze on her as she leaves.

“I want to see the ancestral plane one day, Mama,” He says, full of wonder. “When I become the Black Panther. I’ll say hi to Baba!”

Shuri doesn’t wait to hear Nakia’s response before she goes to her room and slams the door behind her.

She lies in her small bed for some time, thumbing at the bracelet obsessively and occasionally looking out the crack in the window at the ongoing storm, which has nearly blackened the sky.

Her chest is beginning to ache again, but she manages to keep it down. She doesn’t want to cry in this room, not when the walls are so thin that she can still hear Nakia and T’Challa singing something together in French. If she cries here, they’ll be in the room in a second. One stormy evening, and she already misses the privacy of the beach with the coarse pale sand and her little homemade fire. It’s so much easier for her to break down, cry, scream, and think outdoors, without any distractions. Just the sound of the beating waves, like a light but consistent drumbeat.

The ache grows with each passing second. Is this how young children usually act? Was she really like this at one point? Just asking strange and invasive questions about life and death? Nakia said that she and T’Challa had prepared their son for his death, but here he is, still acting like the ancestral plane is some sort of fantasy land.

And why did you lie to him? She thinks. To this day she doesn’t know if what she saw that day was real. It could very well have been another mental construct. The angry and vengeful part of her had manifested as Killmonger so that she could psyche herself up for the battle to come. Like the death surge that comes with most cases of cardiac arrest, where people see loved ones and experience their lives in a flash before their brain taps out for good.

And yet her mother hadn’t been there. Nor her father, nor T’Challa. The windows of the throne room were covered in bars and the room was still half-underwater, locking her out from the bush. Keeping her from the people who loved and protected her. 

Maybe she wants to believe that it was all just in her mind, because if that place is real? That might actually be worse.

She thinks again about the other vision she’d had of the plane. Walking through the bush, alone under a starless violet sky. She had called out for someone, hadn’t she? And Namor was there, though she still had no idea how or why. But Namor…he had brought the flames out from within her, she was sure of it. Just like N’Jadaka. The fact that she could remember it days later confirms it in her mind immediately. She had dreamt of the plane once—no, multiple times—hadn’t she? Perhaps it’s a construct or a memory, yes, but if she were to humour the idea that the place was completely real…then is it possible that there’s something different about the heart-shaped herb that she made? Or has ever Black Panther retained some connection to the ancestral plane, even after the ceremony.

Perhaps that is why T’Challa was so enamoured with that old saying. Ukufa ayisosiphelo, kodwa sisiqalo sobomi obutsha. Njengomthi otsha ngexesha lembalela, ohluma emvuleni.

‘Death is not the end, but the beginning of a new life. Like the tree that burns in the dry season, and grows in the rain.’

Her eyes fall to the bracelet, which she is still feeling with her hand. Namor had said something to her about his people’s beliefs about death. Something in the same vein but about the tides…or something. Though every cell in her body is against her, part of her wonders what he would say to her now, as she lies on a thin wooden bed trying not to sob. Would he offer up some other nugget of wisdom from his hundreds of years under the sea?

Her gaze drifts towards her clothes and shoes at the foot of her bed, some of which she had bought in town or had been given to her by Nakia. Her pack lies nearby, half-open so she can see the silver teeth of her necklace. The only other things in the bag are her Kimoyo beads, some spending money, and a set of matches. Then, she looks to the window, where the noise seems to have subsided slightly. Slowly, she pulls herself out of bed and walks across to pull the window off. A sigh escapes her lips. It’s still pouring rain outside, and the waves are beating against the shore violently. Too risky for her to go outside.

Her mouth is open before she can think. “Griot, are you there?”

“Yes Shuri, I am here.” Her AI responds immediately through her earrings.

“What time will the rain stop?”

“Is there a reason why you need this information, princess?”

Not a princess anymore. “Just passing the time.”

She swears she hears Griot sigh. “There are perhaps better ways to check the local weather than calling on me, princess.”

“Well, I don’t have a weatherman with me right now, so you seemed like the next best choice.”

There’s a long pause. Then, “This storm system will pass at about four am tonight, local time. Is there anything else that you need me to do? Okoye, Ayo, and Aneka have all stopped by the lab multiple times this week to inquire about your whereabouts.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“Exactly what we agreed.”

She breathes a short sigh of relief. “I’ll come back to Wakanda soon, don’t worry.”

“Very good, Shuri. I am here if you need me.”

The rain does indeed continue for awhile. She tries to stay awake and see if Griot is wrong and she can get some time by the beach, but of course, her AI is accurate. Of course it’s always right. She made it. But, despite her best efforts, she eventually drifts off, stilll thinking about the ancestral plane and the vision of Namor’s beach.

When she awakens, she is once again at the beach, but now dressed in her civilian clothes, and standing barefoot on the sand instead of behind the trees.

Namor is there once again, standing across from her. Closer, still adorned in the garb of a king, and now watching her closely. Curiously. His head is tilted slightly, and there’s a small curve in the corner of his lips.

Hello Black Panther, He says. Princess Shuri. Why are you here?

She freezes. Why, why?

I don’t know, honestly. Where even am I?

He hesitates, then looks around for a minute before his gaze falls to her. He takes a step forward. You are in a place that no outsider was ever meant to see. Slowly, he spreads his hand out towards the pyramid, then the tree line and column of smoke. This is where the Talokani rest after they pass on.

Shuri’s blood runs cold, and she looks up to the glowing sky. This is the Talokani realm of the dead? She can’t believe it at first, but the truth settles quickly. Somehow, the air here feels like how it did in the ancestral plane. There is a low hum of energy all around her, in every breeze that blows through her hair. The sky glows the same way, and her surroundings seem to shiver just a little. Not fully dreaming, but not fully reality.

She looks up at him, her heart filling with fear. Are you going to hurt me?

The corner of his mouth twitches further up. Like you hurt me?

The memories all come flooding back. The fight on the beach, her hand around his throat in the dream. She takes a step back. Then, she swallows back a lump in her throat. I’m not going to apologise for what I did, Shuri says, trying to muster up as much confidence as she can. You did—She chokes back a sob. Unspeakable things to me and my people. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you on the beach. You—you heartless monster.

He considers this for a moment, then reaches up and takes off his serpentine crown. Slowly, he kneels down and sets in in the sand, stands up, and takes a couple of steps towards Shuri with his hands behind his back.

I am indeed a heartless monster, He says slowly. You knew this all along. Another step forward, and then they are only a metre apart. And yet you let me live, and you’re standing here now. He pauses. Do you plan on killing me in this place? You tried to do it in yours.

She frowns, taking in the scent of salt and aloe. No. She finally says, feeling her heart begin to race. I just want to talk.

This is talking. He smiles, inching forward.

I mean in the real world.

He draws in a deep breath, hesitating, like he’s worried about something.

Then it dawns on her. Namor’s a little scared of her. The K’uk’ulkan, the feathered serpent god and king of Talokan, is scared of her. And she doesn’t totally hate that.

Neither of us can afford to wage another war, Shuri says, raising her chin. So if you’re planning something, I want to know right away so we can handle it ourselves. Peacefully.

He looks down, lower and lower, as if drinking her in, then meets her gaze directly. He still wears an expression of quiet satisfaction, perhaps even arrogance, But his eyes are unreadable. They glow a soft blue in the light, as if they are just two spheres of still water mirroring the glowing ribbons of blue light in the sky.

As you wish, princess. Remember what I said to you and your mother about the conch shell. When you are ready, find one, blow into it, and throw it in the water. I will come soon after.

She considers this, then nods. And it will just be us?

He nods, then looks down again. Just us.

Shuri lowers her gaze just as his hand is wrapping around the bracelet on her wrist. His mother’s treasure. When he touches it, she lets out a small gasp, as the whole thing begins to glow a soft blue…more than it ever did in the real world.

You kept it after all this time?

She looks up, and suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Their foreheads are nearly touching. She has never been this close to him before. She stares at him for a moment longer, not knowing what to say or even how to speak at all. But then, he leans in and reaches a hand up to her…to touch her face. She blinks.

And she is back in bed, blinking. She sighs and reaches up to her face, where he was reaching. She finds it covered in water, either from sweat or rain leaking in from the roof.

Outside, the sky is clear, and debris is strewn across the beach. The sand and sea are alight with the pink and orange rays of sunlight. And Shuri’s heart is still racing in her chest, the image of Namor's smile still etched into her mind.

Chapter 4: Cove

Notes:

Finally have an outline going, and this is gonna be something like 12-15 chapters so yay!! Thank you so much again to everyone who's read this, left kudos, left comments. I love you all. Life is currently a lot, and shitty things are happening, so every time someone responds positively to this story it makes me smile.
This one's a bit shorter than I would have liked, but please enjoy!

“No,” says Nakia.

“Come on, I’m going back to Wakanda soon. I just want to spend some time out, go visit Port-au-Prince, you know, to shop a bit, and meet with more people here.”

She considers this for a moment, then crosses her arms. “Why are you asking me now?”

Shuri musters up the most casual, teenager-ish shrug that she can. “I’m getting bored of this town. I want to see more.”

Nakia narrows her eyes suspiciously. “If you’re so bored, I could just call Okoye now and have her pick you up. She and Aneka are working in Cuba right now.”

A shiver goes down her spine. “No, no I don’t need her, I just—“

They go back and forth for what feels like an hour before Nakia finally relents. But only on the condition that Shuri keeps her Kimoyo beads on at all times, and returns home before ten. Shuri rolls her eyes and tries to pretend to be annoyed at the curfew, but then gives her and little T’Challa a hug. Nakia helps her prepare a small pack, and then she waves goodbye for the day.

After talking to Griot and some of the locals, Shuri manages to secure herself a ride with a friendly middle-aged man named Emmanuel to the northernmost point of the island, near a high-end villa called the Marquis Paradise. Griot picked the spot, claiming that it’s the part of the country where she has the highest probability of actually finding a conch shell. A few of the nearby stretches of white sand are isolated from the villa by a dense forest, but close enough that she can actually get some food if she needs it.

She silences her beads the second she gets on the road. Nakia doesn’t need to know where she’s going, for her sake as much as Shuri’s. Namor doesn’t seem to know where exactly she is right now, and if he has any intention to hurt her or anyone, she has to settle things somewhere they would not visit. Nakia, because she killed one of his subjects and is likely still wanted by him. T’Challa, because of his royal blood.

Shuri is silent for most of the car ride, but Emmanuel tries to make small talk as they get off the highway and travel across winding dirt paths to the forest entrance. Her French is good enough to answer the simple questions, but she still finds that she has to default to some English for the more complex words and phrases. At some point he asks if she plans on meeting anyone there. When she shrugs, he asks if she’s meeting a boy.

That makes her cheeks grow hot and eyes widen. She lowers her chin into her shirt, then leans towards the open window. Bast, this is embarrassing.

He seems to notice, because he lets out a barking laugh and slaps his thigh. “Ah, don’t worry kid, I’m not judging.” He says in French. “Just be careful going to the beach alone, and don’t stay out past dark.” He locks onto her gaze, now stone-cold serious. When he speaks again, he does so in English. “And you never know if there are sirens prowling around the beach. So if you hear any singing, run.”

Shuri swallows hard, then nods. Emmanuel returns to the road, and she stares forward, only occasionally looking at the blood-red rosary hanging from the mirror between them.

When Emmanuel drops her off in the nearby village, he gives her a card with his phone number on it before speeding off. She takes a deep breath, tightens her grip around the pack, then sets off for the shore.

Finding the conch shell turns out to be a fool’s errand, even with the help of the world’s most powerful AI. She searches for hours under the hot sun and eventually gets sick of the oppressive humidity, so much stronger than what she was used to back home. At some point, she removes her shirt and wraps it around her head so that all she has on is a black sports bra and her jean shorts, and uses up all of her water by midday. Eventually, she even puts on her black panther suit, as the vibranium-infused nanite fabric designed to withstand almost any climate. The whole time she’s cursing to herself over all of the ways that she could make this job easier. She could build something to identify certain shapes in the sand, locate hermit crabs based on their specific infrared signals. Or even just make a new conch shell with her 3D printer that she left in her lab—stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Or better yet, you could have actually agreed on a meeting place with Namor instead of letting him leave you with such vague bullshit!” She says to herself through gritted teeth while digging up another shell. Wrong shape.

White-hot rage has been threatening to boil over all morning, so she takes it, swears loudly, and tosses it into the water. It sails far and fast over the crystalline water, then skips several times across before falling in.

Shuri takes a step back and sighs. Okay, anger over. Time to get back to work.

“Madame!” A voice calls out suddenly from behind her. “Que faites-vous?”

She nearly jumps out of her skin, then turns to see where the voice is coming from. A small and stout dark-skinned woman with long black and silver dreadlocks is standing by one of the palms trees. She’s wearing a thick black choker and a violet and black patterned dress that billows in the breeze. At her shoulder hangs a long brown woven bag, with a few fruits sticking out the top.

Shuri debates telling this woman anything, then figures she has nothing to lose and walks towards the woman, telling her what she can in a mix of broken French and English. Halfway through, she holds up a hand to silence her.

“I can speak English fine,” She says with a bright smile that makes her face light up. “My name is Esther,” She says. Shuri is about to step back, when the woman takes her wrist and begins to examine her suit. She smells strongly of fish, salt, and smoke.

“My name is—“

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda. And, by the looks of it…the new Black Panther.” She says, brushing her hand over the gold detailing on her wrist. When she looks up into Shuri’s stunned face, she grins cheekily. “Come on, we have television in Haiti. iPhones, too. Even if it’s not as advanced as whatever you’ve got going on here,” She says in a singsong voice, before gesturing at the rest of her suit to make a point.

Shuri sighs with relief and taps her wrist, returning it into the necklace. Quickly, she hides it under the collar of her shirt. “No one knows I’m here though, so don’t tell anyone, eh?”

Esther nods, then moves the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I won’t say a word. Now come, I know the good spots to find them.”

She turns out to be remarkably quick and at ease on the sand, to the point where Shuri has to jog to catch up. Eventually, after making their way through some exposed roots, more trees, and a cluster of very angry crabs, they come to a new stretch of the beach.

 “Why do you need a conch shell, anyway?” Esther says, scanning the sand.

“I—“ Shuri wants to come up with a lie, but then just decides to drop it. “I need to use it to call someone.”

Esther nods to herself, like this is not the first time she’s heard such a thing, then continues on. After a few minutes, she stops and points to something in the sand a few metres away. “There we go!”

Together, they sprint towards the spot in the sand, where a small pink point is poking out. Esther dives in without hesitation and pulls it out…then a second one. Both almost translucently thin and no bigger than her fist.

Shuri’s in awe. She never would have found those in a million years. But this woman knew the shapes of the beach well enough to identify it from that far away, while the sun is reflecting off the grains and casting a bright sheen on their surroundings.

“Ah, two conch shells together! That’s very lucky!” She exclaims, climbing to her feet. She turns and tries to hand them both to Shuri, who starts to hold up her hands.

“No, no,” Shuri says, “You found them. I only need one.”

“I insist,” Esther places them into Shuri’s hands before she can reply. “You might need an extra, you know—“ She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, her black eyes large and sparkling. “If you need to call them again.”

Shuri glances down to the choker on Esther’s neck and the wrinkles and lines sticking out. She smiles nervously, then Esther pulls back and gives her shoulder a quick rub. “I need to get home, but good luck Princess. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Shuri stands frozen as Esther gives her a quick wink, then turns away. She narrows her eyes as Esther disappears into the treeline, then looks down at the shells curiously.

“Griot,” She mutters.

“Yes, Shuri?” Her AI says through her earrings.

“Is there anyone else following us?”

After a quick moment of scanning, “There are no humans in our vicinity for about five hundred metres.”

She swallows. “And Esther?”

A pause. “She seems to have vanished.”

It bothers her slightly that this mysterious woman vanished so quickly and easily into the trees, but it’s not something that she can afford to pay much heed. The smells likely came from fishing or cooking it, and lots of people have big eyes or wear chokers like that for style or to cover up scars…Emmanuel had mentioned the sirens, so maybe she was just being paranoid. Besides, Esther was kind, and she’d helped her find what she needed. Nothing wrong with that.

Still, she can’t quite shake the strangeness of the encounter or what she’s doing. After talking herself into it, she leans in, blows into the empty white shell in her right hand, then tosses it as far as she can manage. It whistles through the air before falling into the water with a small splash, between the cliffs separating the cove from the rest of the ocean.

Then, with a sigh, Shuri wraps the other shell in her shirt and places it delicately in her bag, then sets it and herself down under the shade of a palm tree, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun slowly sails its way across the cloudless aquamarine sky, shifting the shadows below the trees. Shuri eventually puts her suit back on to ensure that she doesn’t lose any more water, and sits cross-legged at the shore. Every now and then, she frees her feet and dips them in the cool water, which fills her body with relief.

Thoughts of her friends do enter her mind every now and then. She sometimes glances at her bag, where her Kimoyo beads are, and wonders how many times they’ve tried to call her today. But she chases those thoughts from her mind just as quickly, and tries to focus on what she came here to do. So for hours more, she tries to rehearse what she’s going to say to Namor, about their strange connection, and her plans to sever it so that they never have to speak to each other like this again. She’s willing to open it up with just about anything, she just has to remember not to freeze.

As the sun finally begins to settle behind the cliffside and the bright blues of the sky melt into a deep orange and rosy pinks, Shuri finally decides she’s had enough. Waste of my time. Probably didn’t even get the shell anyway. She gets up from the sand, brushes it off, and turns to go. She’s nearly at the trees when her ears prick, sensing something behind her. Some change in the rhythm of the water. Hesitantly, she turns, tensing her fists by her sides.

Namor emerges from the water slowly, walking instead of floating, just as the stars are beginning to appear in the sky. He wears no crown and carries no spear, but he still holds his head high, his face an unreadable mask. His white and black robe is draped across his chest, hiding his right hand. Across his shoulders are golden and vibranium adornments that shine brightly with every step he takes. As he touches the sand, she glances down at his feet. The wing that she severed is slightly misshapen, smaller than the rest. Still regrowing.

Good, then he won’t try anything in the air.

But just as that thought crosses her mind, he strides towards her in a flash, as if to challenge her suspicion. Then, they are but a metre apart. Standing, staring.

Her mouth falls open somehow, though the rest of her body is stiff. “Hi.” 

Namor tilts his head ever so slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. “Hello again, Princess.” He studies her for a second. “Or Black Panther, whichever you wish to be called now.” In a fluid motion, he reaches his right hand out for her, likely expecting a handshake.

Shuri brings one foot back and stares at his open palm for a moment, then locks her gaze onto hers, eyes narrowing.

“Griot,” She finally says, loudly enough for him to hear. “Is there anyone within a hundred metre radius of us?”

In the moments that it takes for Griot to scan the area, Shuri keeps her gaze on Namor. “No Shuri. Just you and Namor of Talokan.”

She straightens slightly, and Namor appears unfazed. With some hesitation, she reaches out and wraps her hand in his. They greet each other, then lower their arms slowly, before finally pulling away. Each of them take a slow step back in unison.

“Shuri is enough,” She says quietly. She studies him for a moment, the way his robes seem dry as a bone, the sheen on his adornments, the jade pieces in his nose and ear. And his hair…it seems shorter, slicked back. And his facial hair looks like it was chopped recently.

“You changed your hair,” She says stupidly.

He blinks, as if surprised that she had noticed. “And you…haven’t.” He says.

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, Shuri reaches up to touch her hair, like she’d forgotten she had any. It probably looks just as it did the last time they met in person, set in tight cornrows since her last wash.

“You say that you want to talk…Shuri.” He seems to savour her name as he says it, like a fresh new dish that he’s never tried but quite enjoys. “What do you want to talk about?”

She lowers her arms, then clasps them behind her back and clears her throat. “We agreed that you would yield, and Wakanda would protect your oceans. If you recall correctly, I also said to you that I didn’t want to see you, specifically, ever again, except on the field of battle.”

He nods understandingly.

Shuri frowns, feeling her heartbeat pick up. “And yet, it seems like I’ve been cursed to see you in my dreams.”

“Eh, not necessarily dreams—“ He says with a shrug. “But even if they are, you were in mine too.”

She grits her teeth. “Statistically, the average person forgets their dreams within ten minutes of awakening. Yet I can’t seem to forget. So…if you’re doing this, I want to know how and why. And I want you to stop.”

Namor regards her curiously for a moment, then lets out a dangerously low chuckle. “You think I’m the one doing this?”

“How else could it be happening? I’m certainly not making an effort to see you.”

He gives her a look.

She rolls her eyes. “This doesn’t count.”

“It could still be your doing, even if you don’t realise it. Or a trick of our minds, as part of you seems to believe. Or—“ He turns from her, then raises his head to the sky. “Perhaps our gods are trying to bring us together for some reason,” He says, to no one in particular. Then, he lowers his head and turns back to her. “You came to my realm of the dead after all,” He says. “And the place where you tried to strangle me, with the tall grass and violet sky…I assume that is the realm where your people go.”

Shuri doesn’t answer, so he takes it as an invitation to close the gap between them again. “That was when I first realised I wasn’t just dreaming,” He says, looking down to her wrist. “I assume you’re thinking of doing it even now.”

She says nothing, but instead tenses as he feels along the outline of it, where his mother’s bracelet sits, protected by the suit.

“You do still have it on,” He whispers, tracing the lines of it. “I’m glad. My mother would have wanted someone good to wear it.”

There’s a part of her that wants to pull away, tell him that he shouldn’t be happy. The threads of that bracelet allowed her to synthesise the heart-shaped herb and beat him—nearly murder him—in battle. The feral part of her wants to attack him for even mentioning his mother, after he’d taken hers away. But, instead she just closes her eyes and lets him touch her suit, feeling the wind push against her back. Just a centimetre closer.

“What are you doing?” She breathes, opening her eyes. What is she doing, so close to this monster? Studying him so carefully as the last rays of twilight are disappearing, leaving only the growing darkness of the new moon.

Namor blinks for a moment, his expression shifting before her like the tides. “I’m talking.”

The heat in her chest is growing by the minute, along with the speed of her heartbeat. “I want to know what you’re planning.”

The corner of his mouth curls up mischievously. “I’m not planning anything.”

She swallows, then wrenches her wrist away and takes a step back. “I’m serious,” She says nervously. “I said that if I saw you again, I would kill you. I came to this country to be alone, and now you’re complicating that.”

He tilts his head again, ever so slightly. “So kill me then.” Slowly, he raises his arms, revealing his large tanned torso. “I brought no weapons with me.”

“Well, fine! I will!” Shuri draws in a deep breath, then lunges forward with her claws. In a second, he pulls at her right arm and twists, bringing her back to his chest and his free arm around her throat.

“See, I think there's something you're not telling me. Or at least, I don’t think you actually want to kill me right now,” He whispers into her ear. “Princess Shuri.”

With a cry, Shuri untangles herself from his arms and launches herself around, wrapping her thighs around his head. Another twist, and he falls into the sand, while she’s perched on top of his chest, her face only a few centimetres from his.

“You don’t know anything about me, K’uk’ulkan.” She sneers, bringing her vibranium claws dangerously close to his throat. “And I am still the Black Panther.”

He lies there, drawing in shaky breaths, at first looking just as frightened and vulnerable as he did the first time. Then, his expression shifts into something else. A quiet respect. Awe.

“You are truly…” He whispers. “Remarkable.”

Shuri’s breath catches in her throat. She stares at him wide-eyed for a moment, her cheeks red-hot and heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Before she even has time to think about it, she dips her head further, closes her eyes, and presses her lips against his.

He doesn’t seem to process it at first, but then softens and kisses her in return, his hair brushing roughly against her skin and his nosepiece bumping against her cheek. Bast, what is she doing? Her hand is free of the suit and on his cheek, caressing it softly as he wraps a hand around her waist.

They separate for a moment to take a breath, blink, then keep going, deepening the kiss, pushing their tongues together, devouring each other. Shuri lowers her feet to the sand and lets her body get closer to hers, rubs against him. His other hand is at her side, tracing the shape of her waist, moving up towards her chest. She lets out a soft breath, her mind full of stars. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes wide with desire and hunger, but his smile wide and innocent. It makes him look so young.

Shuri traces her finger against his lips delicately. So beautiful…

Then, her ears prick. As do his. Something’s rustling in the trees.

They pause again, then return, but then—

“Madame!”

Shuri tenses, then looks towards the source of the sound. Could it be Esther?

“Que faites-vous?”

Her eyes widen at that. Oh, no, not Esther. She knows that voice all too well.

“C’est rien,” She yells back, eyes fixed on Namor. Though he was grinning boyishly at her just a moment ago, his features have darkened, his brows furrowed. He can hear her too. He must know.

“As-tu besoin d’aide?”

She looks at Namor again, then closes her eyes and curses to herself. “Non,” She finally says, too quietly for Nakia to hear.

With a deep breath, she pulls herself off of Namor and helps him to his feet, still holding his hand. He says nothing at first, then gives her a look that seems like a mix of confusion, frustration, and a stinging sense of betrayal.

“I’m sorry…” She whispers.

“We can go somewhere else, if you want. ” He says, brushing his thumb against her hand.

“Namor…”

He meets her eyes, looking wounded all over again. “Say the word, and we can go.”

She swallows back a lump in her throat, then wrenches her hand away. “You should go,” Her gaze falls to the sand. “This was a mistake.”

He hesitates, then seems to understand what she means. With a huff, he turns from her and returns to the water. They meet each other’s gazes briefly as the water reaches his waist, her eyes glassy and his full of frustration. Then, without a word, he dives underwater.

Shuri stands still for a few minutes before she finally rubs her face and stalks off into the trees, grabbing her pack on the way. She tries to scan her black surroundings for a sign of Nakia, then lets out a small gasp. In a split second, Nakia emerges from a bush in front of her, lunges forward, and grabs her wrist. Her gaze is deadly, and her grip is as hard as vibranium itself.

“We are going home now."

Chapter 5: Shadows

Summary:

TW: mentions of suicide

Notes:

Hiii I am currently typing this while sleep-deprived bc I wanted to get a new chapter out quickly before this shit left my mind. This one's a little bit messy, and MAJOR TW above. Hope it's enjoyable!

The two women sit in absolute silence on the way home. Nakia barely looks at Shuri for the whole hour, but keeps her gaze locked onto the winding dirt paths and main roads.

Shuri can’t settle on where to look. Her twiddling thumbs, the bag sitting at her feet, the shadows passing over the car as they wind through trees, or something further above. The clouds have begun to cover the stars like a thick blanket, smothering the only light left in the sky.

It makes her feel cold. It makes her think about Namor; and his wounded expression when she turned him away. His furrowed brown and pursed lips just before he’d dived back under. He didn’t even look like he was surprised to have been rejected, or betrayed. He’d simply looked frustrated, less at her and more at himself. As though he had been chasing a sliver of light, only for it dissipate at his touch.

She sighs and runs her thumb across the jade pieces over and over again. It was all her fault. She should have considered Nakia as a factor. She should have been more careful altogether. She shouldn’t have kissed him. It was so stupid and impulsive, the kind of thing that a lovesick teenager would do. It’s not something she would—should—do. Let alone with the man who killed her mother and nearly destroyed her home.

But thinking about it more makes her bite her lip. Why did she do it? She’d had him pinned and at her mercy again. She could have just kept wearing him down until he told her what she needed to hear.

You are truly…remarkable.

Maybe it was the way that he’d looked at her when he said it. There was something in it that reminds her of the way he’d looked at his underwater sun, with a quiet reverence and awe. Like she was a god to him.

He’d kissed her back, then offered to take her somewhere private. Somewhere where they could go further. The thought makes her heart race even more, as though some sick part of her wants it, needs it even. But…he didn’t know that Nakia was in the trees; the same woman who’d killed one of his subjects and started the war. If he’d seen her, he would have responded differently for sure. He would have assumed that Shuri was setting him up. They could both be dead right now.

But he didn’t. He’d kissed her, touched her, and then offered more. Hungered for more.

Shuri nearly laughs to herself at the realisation, then thinks about the absurdity of it. She’d threatened to kill him if she ever saw him again, and he’s now called her bluff multiple times, in the world of the living and dead. All of that posturing, all that talk, and she just tried to hook up with her mortal enemy. She must be the worst protector that Wakanda has ever had.

Finally, they stop at the door to the house. Nakia turns the car lights off, then sits quietly for a moment, before carefully unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door.

“T’Challa is staying at Marie’s house right now. I’ll pick him up soon.” She says matter-of-factly. Then, without another word, Shuri gets out of the car and they walk into the house.

Nakia moves to open, then close the door at a dangerously slow speed. Every move carries the slightest tremble. Her gaze is always on the thing that she’s touching or the floor, never at Shuri’s face. It frightens her a little, to see her like that. Wakanda’s greatest spy, a master at self-control, looks like a glass dangerously close to shattering.

So, before she can talk herself out of it, Shuri decides to push.

“How did you find me?”

Nakia points to Shuri’s bag. “I put one of my beads in,” She says. “I’ve been keeping track of your whereabouts since you left this morning.”

Alright then, point to her.

“Why did you go to that beach?” Nakia asks. “What exactly were you planning to do?”

Shuri swallows hard. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” She says, her tone sharp as a blade. “I want to know.”

“I was worried that Namor was planning something,” She says, trying desperately to sound self-assured. 

“Did he tell you to meet him there? Did he threaten you?”

“I told him to meet me there so we could work things out.”

Nakia tilts her head. “Was that all?”

“Yes.”

Nakia crosses her arms, eyebrow raised. “And how exactly did you get in touch with him? If I recall correctly, you two agreed to the truce on the condition that he wouldn’t contact you.”

She grits her teeth. “That’s not your business.”

“You’re living in my house,” She says. “And meeting with a man who poses a very real danger to my son. I have every right to know.”

“I found a conch shell,” Shuri says immediately. “That’s the easiest way to get in touch with him. I went to that beach because I didn’t want him to know about you two.”

Nakia laughs dryly. “No, no, I don’t think that’s why you went to that beach.”

“It’s the truth!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me anything?! I could have come and kept an eye out for you. I didn’t know why you had gone there or what you were doing, you were miles away from any other people, and I was worried that—“ She suddenly stops, eyes wide, like she’s choking on the last part of her sentence.

“What?” Shuri says, feeling a prick in her eyes. When Nakia doesn’t answer, she asks again. “What, what were you worried about? That I would get lost, or I wouldn’t be able to defend myself?!”

“No. I was worried that--“ Nakia says, her bottom lip trembling.

Then, it dawns on Shuri, and she takes a step back. Her voice falls until it is barely over a whisper.

“Did you think I went there to kill myself?”

Nakia’s eyes darken. “Yes, I did,” Her voice drops dangerously low. “And you cannot blame me for thinking that.”

Shuri scoffs and crosses her arms. “You can’t be serious.”

“You have been here for weeks, and every day you’re on the beach, barely moving and not talking to anyone. You don’t even try to talk to anyone from home. You don’t even eat unless I put something in front of you. The only way I can get you off the beach is to bring you to school. Do you not understand that you’ve shown me over and over again that you’re not in a healthy state of mind?”

“Yes Auntie Nakia. I know what depression is.” She says dryly.

“So you understand that when you came up to me out of nowhere and said that you’re ‘going out,’ I got worried. And I did what I had to do to keep you safe.”

“I wasn’t—“

“And imagine, to my surprise, that I get to the beach and find out that you’re—“ She makes a series of confusing hand gestures, then looks at Shuri. “With Namor.”

She says his name like a curse. “I think the fact that I was with him is proof that I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” says Shuri as sarcastically as she can. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s not coming back.” Even so, her voice betrays a tremble.

Nakia looks like she’s ready to slap her. “You know what he did to you, to your mother! For you to be doing that with him, usisibhanxa?! Is this some sort of self-destruction thing?! Do you have a death wish?!”

“Why do you care about what I’m doing with him?!” Shuri can feel her anger boiling with every passing second, at Nakia, at Namor. Herself. Everyone. “I’m the Black Panther, I can take care of myself.”

“Namor almost killed you!”

“I almost killed him—why do you care?!”

“Because I care about your safety!”

“YOU NEVER CARED BEFORE!”

Nakia goes stiff and stares at her, wide-eyed, like she just got the wind knocked out of her.

“You never cared,” Shuri says again. A dry, bitter laugh escapes her lips. “None of you ever cared.”

Nakia blinks, then she nods slowly, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Shuri, listen—“

“No you listen—“ She snarls, pointing to her chest. “I have always, always stayed strong around people, but no one has ever bothered to see how I was actually doing. Do you know how much I cried after Baba was killed? Or that I stopped eating for weeks after T’Challa died? No, you don’t. Because during the day, I was always in my lab, working. Making suits and weapons and the heart-shaped herb.” With every word, the tears grow and grow, and her sight blurs, until they fall from her eyes like two waterfalls.

“Shuri—“

“I fix things and build things,” She says, then laughs dryly, holding out her shaky arms. “I’m the genius of the royal family after all. So when I spend hours and days on end in my lab, not eating or sleeping, no one could ever be bothered to pay any attention. Because I’m Princess Shuri, and I’m supposed to fix things.” She draws in a sharp breath. “I’m not allowed to break.” 

She stops to wipe her tears, before continuing darkly. “I would work all the time so I wouldn’t break down in front of anyone. I would be in the lab all the time because if I left, I was worried that I would hurt myself or someone else. Mama and T’Challa were the only ones to ever pay attention to how I was truly feeling. And now they’re gone, I’m alone, and you’re acting like—“ She chokes back a sob. “You’re acting like this is somehow news.”

“Shuri—“

“No, you don’t know what this is like, to lose your family—“

“SHURI!” Nakia shouts, gripping Shuri’s shoulders.

Shuri freezes, realising the gravity and falseness of what she said, and bows her head in shame. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” She mutters shakily, over and over again while Nakia presses her forehead against hers.

“T’Challa was your big brother,” Nakia whispers shakily, wrapping Shuri in a tight embrace. “You two had a relationship that I will never know.” Slowly, she pulls back, and Shuri sees that her cheeks are streaked with fresh tears. “I lost him—all of you—for five years, and then only spent a few months with him when he came back. When he died, I was already here, raising our son on my own. I cut us off from Wakanda to relieve the pressure for him, but I was also cutting myself off from my only family. My home. It was too much. And there was a day that I—“ She closes her eyes and bites her lip. “I followed you because I was scared that you were going to do what I tried to do.”

“Nakia…”

She breaks into a sob, and Shuri wraps her in a tight embrace again, holding her tenderly until she eventually settles down enough to hug her back.. They stay there for awhile until both of them get everything out, then pull apart and breathe slowly in unison.

“I’m sorry,” Nakia whispers, bowing her head.

“I’m sorry too,” Shuri says, wiping her eyes with her tear-stained sleeve.

“What—what do you want to do, then?”

Shuri thinks about this for a moment, then picks up her bag. “I should probably go back to Wakanda,” She says. “You are right, I’m not going to get any better staying here.”

Nakia nods, then looks up. “Okay. But wait for the morning. There’s a bus that goes to Port-au-Prince. You can fly to Havana and meet Aneka and Okoye there.”

Shuri nods.

They stand in silence for a minute, then Nakia breaks it, wiping her eyes and letting out a hoarse cough. “I—I need to go get T’Challa,” She says, reaching for the door. Before she opens it, she turns back to Shuri. “I’ll be back soon.”

Shuri and Nakia spend a quiet night playing with the boy, who asks a couple of questions about their reddened eyes, but remains oblivious to the events that unfolded. Nakia offers him the best half-truth that she can; they were talking about his Baba and remembering how he was…and it made them very very sad.

T’Challa looks to Shuri, eyes wide with wonder. “Do you have any good stories about Baba?”

She smiles, then sits her nephew on her lap and tells him as many stories that she can manage. About days in the city, nights playing in the bush, missions in Busan and battles in the fields of Wakanda. At some point, she even brings out her Kimoyo beads and finds the video that she’d recorded long ago.

Young T’Challa cackles with delight watching his Baba get thrown back by the force of his own suit. Delete that footage! Her brother shouts to her from the floor.

Even though every cell of her body wants to fight it, Shuri allows herself to cry a bit more seeing her brother laughing on the floor. It’s the first time she’s watched the video since T’Challa died. She’d spent so long hiding away anything that reminded her of her brother because of how much thinking about him would cause her pain. But there are moments like this, when she’s able to share the lighter moments…the way he used to laugh, the jokes he would tell…it hurts, but it’s different. She can almost imagine he’s still there, laughing and telling his son these same tales. And it makes her feel a little bit better.

After Nakia puts him to sleep, they spend a few hours making calls and arrangements for Shuri’s morning flight over some tea. Shuri tries to get into it and convince herself that it’s the right idea. For awhile, she actually comes close. But she still finds herself glancing out the window and towards the moonless waves.

The next morning, Nakia and T’Challa wish her goodbye, and pack her some snacks for good measure.

“I’m gonna miss you Auntie.” To her surprise, T’Challa’s voice is shaking.

Shuri smiles, then kneels down and wraps him in a tight embrace. “Me too. But I’ll see you and your Mama soon, okay?”

He considers this for a moment, then nods and hugs her just a bit tighter. Shuri kisses him on the forehead, says her final goodbyes to Nakia, and soon after she leaves for the bus to Port-au-Prince.

It’s nearly a five hour drive to the airport in a white bus with open windows, so she has plenty of time to sit back in her seat and watch the scenery. She watches the sun too, tracking the sphere’s movements across the sky just to keep her mind moving. But every now and then, she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, letting herself bathe in its warm glow. When she finally arrives, after being cramped for much longer than she had ever been used to, she has to take a full minute in the terminal to stretch. Luckily she only has her bag with her, so nobody gives her a hard time for taking up space.

With nearly four hours to go until the Havana flight starts loading, she finds time to get some food and a drink. She then spends some time sitting at the kiosk, fussing with the books and looking for something that might pique her interest. The only people who pay any mind are a couple of colonisers in button-up shirts. She looks one of them up and down before returning to the book in her hand. Young man, blonde and red-faced, overly smily, with a blue T-shirt that says Building God’s homes in bright yellow font. Probably one of those American ‘outreach’ groups she’s heard so much about.

Eventually, she finds a spot on the floor to settle down in and sets her bag down like a pillow. It takes some time for sleep to find her with the coolness of the airport lobby, but she’s physically and emotionally tired enough to give in. She closes her eyes thinking of her friends in Havana, and then thinks of what’s in her bag.

She still has the second conch shell. But what’s the point? He won’t want to speak to her after this.

Yet she can still remember the feel of his lips against hers. His large firm hand on her waist. And the look he’d given her. That look of awe and wonder.

 

***

It is difficult for a king to focus on his royal duties only hours after his world was turned upside down.

Perhaps this is simply a delayed reaction. After the last battle with the Wakandans, he’d gotten back to business immediately. He and his advisors had managed to calmed down the population, restart normal trading with the outer cities, and keep the subjects safe from outsiders.

But there is something different about this. It’s not easy to return to normalcy after experiencing something so strange, frustrating, and wonderful. It is honestly difficult for him to pull himself away from the jaws of the throne. He’s just been sitting there all morning, twirling the handle of his jade and vibranium spear in his hand, and brushing his hand along the intricate carvings. High above his head, the glowing orb casts its light onto his armour and blade, making them shimmer brightly. 

It has been shining every day for hundreds of years. Each time, it casts a cold sharp light. But today, against all odds, it feels as warm as the true sun above the waves. Like a thick cloak wrapped around his body, it softens every part of the body, relaxes his muscles, and sets his heart alight. Namor closes his eyes and breathes deeply, as if for the moment it’s the real thing. But then, all he can see is her. Shuri. Head dipped low, and pressing her lips against his.

“K’uku’lkan,” Namora says, jerking him back to reality.

“Mhmm,” He murmurs, nodding to his cousin.

“We have also received gifts from Lady Akna of the northern reaches.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. Sending gifts typically signal a request for courtship. But the Qallupilluit of the northern reaches have only managed to maintain a very tenuous relationship with the people of Talokan. Does Akna mean to take steps to change this? “Has she made any statements?”

Namora glances down at the scroll in her hand. “She would like to petition Talokan for agricultural support in the coming winter months. There was an oil spill in the north last month, and their resources have dwindled considerably since then.”

He considers this, then nods. “I will speak with her tomorrow and make arrangements. I don’t expect it to be an issue.”

Namora seems to accept this, then scrawls something on the scroll and wraps it up. Attuma, hands behind his back, makes a statement about the results of the week’s patrol. His warriors had spent the last two weeks tracking an American mining ship about one hundred kilometres northwest of Cuba. Seemed like they had attempted to build a new version of the vibranium detector, without the help of Ms. Williams. But when Attuma and his warriors had arrived two days prior, they’d found everyone on the ship bound and gagged, and unconscious, bearing wounds so clean that they could have only come from vibranium weapons. Their rudimentary device had never even been released into the sea.

“It seems that the Wakandans have kept to their oaths after all,” Attuma says, his smile surprisingly light. He looks off, as if thinking of something, then shakes his head and returns to the moment.

“Is that all?” Namor asks. “Have you met with any of the Wakandans?”

Attuma shakes his head. “We searched for them, but it seems that there were only two masked warriors. They flew onto the ship and destroyed the project, then left just as quickly.”

He nods, remembering the women with the dark blue and gold flying suits. The thought of them nearly brings a smile to his face. Their truce with Shuri’s people has given them to have access to those war machines. Quite the investment, as Attuma has already attested to.

Now, the Namor from before today would have questioned why the people on the ship were not all dead. But right now, he does not want to think about death. There are so many bodies on the ocean floor that have been thrown in by his command, or by his hand. Any more would simply be…overkill.

“Otherwise, the waters have been exceptionally quiet this past month.” Then, he blinks and offers a small bow and customary gesture. “Pardon me, K’uku’lkan. I must get back to the forces. I will inform you if I have any more news to share.”

Namor and Namora both watch him leave, then return to their own conversation.

“Is there anything else that you need from me, K’uku’lkan?” Namora asks, her hands hanging at her side.

He sighs and sets down his spear, then climbs up from the throne. “I believe that will suffice, cousin.”

Namora remains unfazed. “You do not seem particularly invested in court today. Is something the matter?”

He blinks, then shakes his head. “No,” He says quietly. “Nothing at all.” He’s about to turn and swim off, when he hears Namora murmur something incomprehensible.

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” He asks, turning his head back towards her.

She seems to hesitate, then speaks slowly. “I understand that these are difficult times, but if you need any help, I am always here to serve.”

“I know that,” He says softly. “And I thank you for it.”

Namora lowers her gaze. “And I understand that sometimes you need some space from your duties. And if this is still the case, I am still here to assist with whatever you choose.”

He narrows his eyes, but her body betrays nothing.

“Is there something that you wish to assist me with right now?” He asks, daring her to give an answer that may displease him.

The corner of her mouth twitches up, though her eyes remain low. “No, my king. But I am merely trying to help.” Her voice drops too, though they seem to be the only ones in the room.  “Your absence was noted from the throne room yesterday evening.”

Namor lifts his chin slightly. “Namora,” He says. “I do not need any assistance at the moment, as much as I appreciate the offer.”

“I understand.”

He sends her out after that, then returns to the throne and his spear. He could go just about anywhere right now. Sometimes when he feels apathetic, he likes to have a swim around the city, speak with the merchants and tradesman, and play ball with some of the children. The…mundanity of it all brings him far more satisfaction than the regality of the palace and throne room. It reminds him that he and his people are one in the same. He is not truly alone.

But today, once again, all he can think about is the girl from Wakanda. Princess Shuri. The Black Panther. Since the dreams started, he’s spent most of his waking time before and after court working on the mural of their battle. But since last night he has not looked upon it. Even after spending that time softening her features and transforming a gruesome scene into an intricate dance…it does not compare to the experience of being with her, whether in the realm of the living or the dead. And it certainly does not capture how strange it had felt to kiss her.

It wasn’t as though he had disliked it…quite the opposite, in fact. There was a rightness to it that he couldn’t explain. Five hundred years of suitors, paramours, and lovers of all kinds, and yet this had felt different. She had kissed him with a passion and hunger that awakened something within him. Something primal and raw. In mere seconds, it had broken down his kingly facade and had set alight something within him that he had not felt in ages. He still thinks of it. Her finger against his lips. The way that she’d kissed him like he was a drowning man. The web of tangled emotions on her face, the way that anger and passion had come together in a series of swift movements. Her intelligence, quick-wittedness, and brashness, all on full display.

On first glance, the Shuri from last night had seemed so different from the guarded, soft-spoken princess who he’d gifted his mother’s bracelet too. The first outsider taken down to Talokan, who watched their sun rise and set with wonder in her eyes. A fire within had bloomed since then…but he knows that it had always been there. He could see it in her gaze then; the desire to burn everything and everyone in grief and rage. It was still very much there last night too. But it had not seemed as dangerous and wild as it had been during their fight, when the part of her that loathed him had threatened to overtake her soul. Last night he had known, somewhere in his heart, that she had meant him no harm. Perhaps she never would again. In dreams or the real world.

He doesn’t know how or why they dream of each other, and frankly he does not actually care. He likes seeing her. He wants to spend more time together, talk through their issues, understand each other more, and perhaps reach an agreement. Maybe, at some point, they can discuss matters with their respective courts. They could cement Wakanda’s agreement with Talokan in blood, and form the strongest empire in the world.

It’s something that he wants to see one day, but the goal is not something that he is striving for desperately at the moment. He just wants his people and his kingdom to remain safe.

But…even if he cannot say it aloud, he knows that right now, he also wants her.

She’d wanted him, he realises, his heart racing at the memory. Perhaps almost as much. And yet she’d panicked at the mere sound of rustling and thrown him away. He still doesn’t know if they were being watched, or if she’d just panicked and responded accordingly.

Either way, it hurts. It hurts to know that he is wanted by her, and yet she cannot be confident enough to stay with him. This was a mistake. He wishes he could have just moved forward in the cave and offered a marriage alliance. Maybe then they would have had more luck. He wouldn’t have done what he did to Queen Ramonda, and perhaps then, Shuri would not loathe him as much as she seems to. It could have been so different, and yet this is the path that they took. Long, winding, and full of shadows.

Thoughts of the princess continue to plague his mind until he finally falls asleep. When he opens his eyes to dream, he finds that he is once again in the Wakandan realm of the dead, with the dark tall grass, bushes, and trees. And Shuri is standing a few metres away, facing him this time, still cloaked in a snow-white gown. Her lovely face seems to glow under the light of the violet sky.

 

Chapter 6: Grief

Notes:

Hiiiii, I was going back and forth on whether to make this a smut chapter (hence the change to E rating) but then it just became a depression hoursTM chapter (and I watched some princess mononoke). Enjoy!

“You excited for the trip?” Shuri asks, leaning back into her chair.

T’Challa lets out a long sigh from across from her and stares at the ceiling, rubbing his face. “Excited for a week of meetings with those colonisers? Bast, no. I’d honestly be happier to help you in the lab the whole time.”

She snorts loudly. “Help? Eh, brother, you know you’d just watch over my shoulder until I kicked you out.”

“Maybe,” He says with a light shrug. “But at least you have good taste in music. I can give you all a good show.”

Shuri raises her brow at his cheeky smile. “If you want to sing that badly, just take Nakia to a bar or something.”

“Ah see that would be fun, if Nakia were here…or if I could get drunk anymore.”

She chuckles. “Then I’ll make something that can get you drunk.”

“You aren’t even old enough to drink yet.”

“That argument doesn’t hold much weight when I’m the one who designed half our military’s tech.” Shuri lets out a long sigh, then stands from her chair. “Go have fun on the trip,” She says, walking up to the bench behind him. “Your first public appearance as the Black Panther.”

He chuckles. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

“Baba gave you a lecture?”

“Baba gave me a lecture.”

When she gestures for him to continue, he groans and straightens himself up. “So he sat me down and said ’Son, listen carefully. One day you will be king of Wakanda, but now you are the Black Panther. It is your job to protect Wakanda from any threats, and bring justice on anyone who would do us harm. You hold the power of the heart-shaped herb that allowed Bashenga to unite the tribes. There is no other power in the world like it. So remember to be strong for us all.” He rattles off Baba’s words with the precision of a well-trained student.

Shuri chuckles and gives him a mock curtsy. “Ah yes, thank you for your service, O protector of Wakanda.” Then, something occurs to her. “Do you think he rushed ceremony because of what happened?”

T’Challa flinches at her words, then draws in a deep breath, rolling his chair around to face her. He doesn’t need to say anything. They’ve both seen the videos of the girl in Lagos. “Maybe,” He admits. “Do you think she’ll be there?”

She regards him for a moment. His eyes are wide. It makes him look younger, more vulnerable.

“I doubt it.” Her voice is light, casual, self-assured. “She’s probably in prison somewhere. They would never let someone like roam free.” Shuri says, though even that’s not enough for her to convince him. Or herself, for that matter.

“Listen, it’ll be fine—Hey!” Shuri yells, smacking the back of his head. “Isidenge, get your dirty feet off my bench!”

 

***

T’Challa returns a week later, with only Okoye and Ayo in tow. Shuri already knows what’s happened; she’s watched the footage of the explosion over and over again since the hour it happened. And she’s cried, far more than she has ever cried before. 

She thinks about how the last thing she said to Baba was some idiotic joke about Swiss chocolate. He hadn’t laughed, but a small smile had crossed his lips. 

She still hears the scream that Mama had let out when they’d received the news. Or perhaps it was hers. They’d overlapped quickly. There is no human or animal that has ever made this sound, and she has no way to truly describe it. 

It is a sound that makes time stop. It sounds like your heart is being ripped directly out of your chest, breaking off the ribs and taking veins and arteries with it. It sounds like you’re holding onto the edge of the abyss, desperately trying to call for help and claw your way out because you know with every fibre of your being that if you fall into the emptiness there is no coming back.

Mama’s sobs continue to echo through the halls of the royal palace, long after Shuri’s lost her voice and tears.

When T’Challa returns, he is stoic. He does not cry.

Yet there is something in her brother’s eyes; something that she’s never seen before. Like Mama’s cry, it’s something she has no reference for. But after he tells her what happened, she understands a bit better. It is the face of someone who has lost someone that they loved in battle. It is a mural of fury, guilt, and a deep sadness. An emotional scar that never truly fades.

Mama bears the same mark on her face sometimes. Baba bore that scar too, no matter how hard he’d tried to hide it. But his emotions had always been directed…inwards. T’Challa, by comparison, seems more in touch with them, and therefore a bit more open.

Shuri doesn’t bear that scar, and she knows it. No matter how many times she’s watched the footage, she knows it’s not the same as being there. She has never been in battle, but has always been in charge of the tech and healing. She never had to watch someone die in front of her, friend, family, or otherwise. (She has a pretty strong track record with her healthcare tech, after all.)

But Baba is still gone. Wakanda is without its king, and she is without her father.

She attends the funeral, performs her duties, recites the prayers to the ancestors, and walks with her family to the resting place. She returns with Mama and T’Challa the next day to have a private ceremony in the mountain where he lies with the rest of the monarchs. Then, when it ends, she returns to her lab without speaking to anyone else. 

She does not sleep that night. Nor the next. By the third day, she has created a new set of EMP beads, updated the dampener for the vibranium transport trains, and perfected a vibranium mesh that can save lung and heart tissue post-trauma. When T’Challa comes to her again and tells her that he and Okoye are going to Nigeria to retrieve Nakia, she teases him and provides her tools. But as they embrace, she feels a cold shiver go down her spine.

The next time she gets a full night’s sleep is after King T’Challa’s coronation. After he comes and sees her new creation: a Panther suit that can fit within the teeth of a necklace. Subtle, functional, and able to be activated at the very first sign of danger.

 

***

The battle is over. At Namor’s command, the legions of the Talokani warriors put away their weapons away and begin to collect the bodies of their fallen. Shuri, Riri, and the remaining Wakandans observe them carefully from the bow. Some of them haul them over their shoulders and leap off the edge. Others kneel before corpses and close their eyes with their fingers, and then make the same open-handed gesture that Shuri had seen them do in the city. The warriors bow their heads, murmur something to themselves, and toss the bodies overboard before diving in themselves.

“They’re praying, princess.” Namor says from beside Shuri, as if reading her mind. “This is how we bury our dead.”

Shuri looks away, saying nothing. They stand together, chins up, until the last dead Talokani is off the ship. Soon enough, it is time for the Wakandans to care for their own dead. But first, she knows that she must make things official with Namor and his remaining warriors.

It’s difficult for her to look him in the eye. She could barely do it while they were on the beach, carrying him to the water, or waiting for a new jet to come back. Every time she looked at him, all she could see was Mama. Show him who you are.

Her gaze drifts towards Namor, but he doesn’t notice. What exactly had she shown him? Maybe Mama would say that she’d shown him that she was a good person, but she doesn’t feel like one. All of these people dead before her, and she feels like it’s all her fault. So many more would have been killed if she hadn’t done anything, but this sight still makes her sick. This wasn’t a mindless alien army searching for a stone. The Wakandans and Talokani lying before her and in the sea all had homes and lives, and friends…families that they were trying to protect.

Shuri isn’t a good person, nor a good Queen, and certainly not a good Black Panther. She’s no better than Killmonger. She might have been able to quell her need for vengeance and heal him, but it was only for the sake of her people. The feelings of grief and wrath and hatred that had overcome her on the beach, when she’d dug the tip of her spearpoint into Namor’s neck…they still sting like the half-open wound in her side. 

And she hates herself for it. She hates herself for being here and still feeling like this, because she knows that her parents and T’Challa would have been better at this. They would have been able to rise above their rage without breaking down.

But she is still here, and it’s her duty to end this once and for all. She cannot let herself shatter, not while people are relying her. No matter how much she wants to run.

So, though her heart is pounding in her ears, she turns to face her foe.

“Namor…” She mutters, her head drifting downwards. Her fists are clenched at her sides, shining scarlet in the sunlight. She clears her throat, shakes her head, and looks up. “K’uk’ulkan, king of Talokan. You and your people have yielded, so on behalf of Wakanda I would like to make an official truce. Our battle is over, and it’s time to move forward.”

She holds out her hand, and Namor shakes it, his face a mask. His handshake is robotic. Official. Unfazed.

Her chin edges up. “Let me be very clear,” She says, tightening her grip on Namor’s hand. She doesn’t look down. “We will do everything in our power to protect your people and oceans from colonisers.” Then, she looks up and meets his eyes. “However, as the Black Panther, my first duty is to protect Wakanda from any threats. If we need your people’s strength in battle, we will call for you. Otherwise, you are not welcome in our country.” A pause. His gaze seems to be softening, as though in relief. The same look he gave her when she picked him up on the beach.

Something pierces Shuri, forcing her back to reality. The sensation makes her grit her teeth into a snarl. You took my mother from me, she reminds herself. He may have shown her Talokan, but she cannot forget that he did it with the intent of killing her friend. He is a monster, a heartless killer. And even though she did did not make good on her original promise to take his head, the spark of vengeance still lurks inside her. She’s not ready to snuff it out.

Namor yelps as she jerks him closer, so that only he can hear her whisper her final warning. “If I ever, ever see you again, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Slowly, she pulls back, locking her gaze with his to make sure that he understands. He swallows, a subtle but recognisable movement. Satisfied, she lets go of his hand and brings them behind her back.

“As you wish, princess.” His voice is quiet, defeated. He dips his head low, steps back, then turns to stand on the edge of the stern, where his remaining warriors stand. One by one, they all dive off. Namor looks down, as if he’s about to do the same. The wings on his feet begin to flap lamely, with the injured one barely twitching.

Suddenly, he straightens. Turns, and meets Shuri’s eyes one more time, his expression even.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Without another word, he dives into the ocean. The Wakandan warriors around her are silent, while the others begin to move the remaining corpses nearby. And Shuri cannot bring herself to move.

“Shuri…” M’Baku says, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

She does not respond at first, but after a few breaths, she begins to tremble, until she’s broken out into a soft sob. He says nothing, but pulls her into a tight embrace, so that she doesn’t have to face the onlookers.

“It’s time to go home.”

 

***

 The serpent and panther gaze upon each other for some time, circling each other in the tall grass, each one waiting for the other to make a move.

He watches her expression closely. She doesn’t seem as guarded in this world as she had in the real one. Her face is a sea of emotions, from anger and indignation to a strange mix of curiosity, and…relief?

Relief. It almost makes him laugh. After all that, could she really be happy to be here? With him?

I didn’t expect to see you again. He says finally, drawing a little closer.

Shuri frowns at him, irritated. Believe me, it wasn’t on purpose. 

He pauses, then narrows his gaze, suspicious. Why did you push me out?

He watches her swallow hard, then bow her head. I didn’t—I mean— She coughs to herself, then looks back up at him, her eyes glassy. Someone saw us.

Who?

She bites her lip. A friend of mine. It doesn’t matter. I was just worried…She trails off, as though searching for the right words to say.

You were— He stops, realises what she means, then chuckles to himself. Were you embarrassed to be seen with me?

She scoffs, then crosses her arms defensively. Of—of course not. 

He can see the colour rising in her cheeks.

Ah, I see what this is. You made such a show of threatening me, and now you’re worried that if you are seen with me, you will be perceived as weak.

That’s not true at all!

Namor raises an eyebrow. She dodges his gaze. 

Sensing her unease, he sighs and crosses his arms. I’m not judging you for worrying about what others think. I can’t imagine my people would look upon me favourably if they knew what we were doing. For all of his forays with his subjects over the years, he knows in his heart that none of them would ever forgive him for finding companionship with a surface-dweller. Namora could barely tolerate his truce with the Wakandans, after all (though Attuma had seemed strangely enticed at the prospect of seeing the bald-headed warrior again).

Doing?! She shouts. We haven’t been doing anything.

Really? He asks, taking a step closer. When she doesn’t respond, he slinks forward further, then looks down and holds out his hand. Gingerly, she takes it in her own. Then the other, until their faces are inches apart. I seem to remember you kissing me. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, imagining for a moment that they are back in the cove, rather than in this ethereal realm. The princess smells faintly of smoke, sand, and citrus. It makes a shiver run down his spine.

It was a mistake, Shuri says quietly. He opens his eyes to see her staring at him, her shoulders raised as if in shame.

I don’t think it was, He says, reaching for her chin. When he raises it, her eyes are wide and she does not pull away. Her lips part slowly, and he closes his eyes, and meets them.

The kiss is far slower and more tender than the one on the beach. There’s a softness to her lips this time, a welcome change after the rough, hungry, passionate manner in which she’d dived in. Both of them savour this as best as they can. A low growl echoes from the back of his throat, and she seems to purr in reply, pressing her body closer. It feels good, right even. His hand wraps around her waist, and for a moment it’s as if this is real. Better, even. This is a place where they can be alone, with the only noise coming from the breeze in the bush. A place without judgment or duty or battles.

…And yet, it does not carry the same power as the last one did. It’s not real, as much as they both want it to be. This should be on a beach, in a cave, or somewhere else. He should be in this moment with all of Shuri, not just the parts she allows to roam in her dreams.

No, She pushes him off, so hard that he stumbles backwards. No, no this isn’t right. I can’t, you—

He blinks. I’m—

She looks at him, mouth open, as if to say something, then puts her hand atop her mouth and lets out a soft sob. This isn’t right. 

Why does it matter?

Her expression is pained. You killed my mother. You took the last of my family from me. I can’t just forget that to be with you.

There are no words that he can say to comfort her, because he knows in his heart that he does not deserve forgiveness for this. He had his reasons: the Queen was preparing to sell out his people to the Americans. She was preparing for war, and she was willing to protect the scientist at all cost. He had tried to compromise with leaders like this before, but all of them had betrayed him at one point or another. And all of them had threatened his people’s safety. Killing the Queen had been a necessary strike.

But in doing so, he had robbed this woman of her mother. He’d taken the last of her family away from her. And for that alone, she had every right to call him a monster, and no obligation to forgive him.

I’m sorry, He says, bowing to his head in shame and penance. Memories of his own mother suddenly start to flood into his mind, of her smiles and warmth, her wish to be buried in the sand, the desecration of her grave over the centuries as she lay alone and forgotten by all except for him. His legs begin to buckle then, and he lowers himself to his knees. Looking up, he can see the princess above him, her brow furrowed and lips pursed.

I know that I took your mother away from you. He finally says. And for that, I’m truly sorry.

A moment passes between them, during which time he drops his head in shame. 

Get up, Shuri finally says, pulling him to his feet. This isn’t the place to do that.

He pulls back awkwardly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, then ruffles his hair.

What do you want with me, Namor? She asks quietly, her voice carrying a soft echo. Give me an honest answer.

He hesitates, then reaches for her hand once more, where his mother’s bracelet still sits on her wrist. Looking up, he can see her eyes filling with tears. Yet she doesn’t pull away when he caresses the back of her hand. I want to try again. He finally says. And I want you to stop calling me that.

Though she looks like she’s about to cry, she manages to stifle a laugh. I can’t just try again. A pause, and the corner of her mouth twitches up. But I can call you K’uku’lkan.

He smiles warmly, still caressing her hand. If you want, princess.

Please just call me Shuri. She whispers, inching closer.

He sighs and relaxes his body, shutting his eyes to properly take in the moment. Shuri.

To his surprise, she kisses him on the cheek. He opens his eyes and stutters, and she lets go of his hand, equally embarrassed at what she’s just done.

So what are you doing to do? He finally says.

She looks around, as if expecting someone new to arrive and offer an answer, then begins to walk away.

Hey! He yells, stalking after her. You didn’t answer me.

I don’t know. Shuri says, her fists clenched at her sides.

What do you mean, you don’t know?

I mean, She scoffs, wrenching her gaze away. I shouldn’t be with you, okay? I shouldn’t be feeling like this, or wanting any of this. Everything about us is wrong. And yet you keep showing up. Not even my family—she stops and shakes her head. I need to figure out how or why this is happening—She gestures at the sky to make her point—so that I can put an end to it for good.

Is it so hard to accept that maybe there isn’t an explanation for this? Maybe it’s an accident of nature, or our gods trying to tell us something.

I can’t accept that. She says, stalking off again.

Why?

Shuri whirls to face him, eyes ablaze. Because I’m a scientist, not a shaman or a god-king. I care about the physical world in front of me. In that world, there are no gods or ancestral planes, or any of this shit. And when there is a problem, I solve it.

You are also the Black Panther, He says. You, the sole protector of your people, hold the power of the gods. Just like me. And now you can traverse into the world of the dead. How do those facts alone not completely upend your scientific worldview?

She opens her mouth for awhile, then closes it again, crossing her arms indignantly.

And something clicks. Perhaps now, he understands a bit better. You still cling to it because it gives you power. Over your life, over yourself…

Shut up.

Because if you admit that the universe may be more complicated than you can understand, it also means acknowledging your own vulnerabilities. 

Shuri looks as though she’s been punched in the throat. Shut up! She snarls, lunging for him.

He barely has time to react as she drives a punch into his chest, as solid and hard as one in reality. He doubles back, coughs, and she does it again and again, until he wrenches her arms out of the way. She stares at him for a moment, with fiery hatred in his eyes, and then he reaches forward and wraps her in an embrace.

Shuri wraps her arms around him almost immediately, makes a strangled sound, and then begins to tremble and sob.

I’m sorry. He whispers, again and again, feeling the moisture from her tears on his chest. 

Another sob escapes her lips. I can’t see my family here. She finally whispers. I’m the only one left. The battle is over…I keep coming back here, and yet I can’t see them at all.

He holds her tight as she lets it all out. In that moment, he remembers the bonfire in his own dreams, and the sight of his mother. So many nights over the centuries, he’s tried to visit her and his people. Ask for forgiveness, tell them about their home, and give himself hope that maybe there will be something for him when he finally passes on. But each time he tries, he finds himself back on the same beach. Alone.

Why do I only see you?

…I don’t know.

Sorrow sinks into his bones, and for the first time in centuries, he begins to cry. They continue to weep, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the dream begins to fade and Namor finds himself awake in his bed once more.

Slowly, he reaches up to touch his face, and is surprised to find it streaked with wet salty tears. 

He groans and curses himself for not asking where she is, but realises that such a thing would have been pointless. She wants to get rid of the dreams, and get rid of him.

With a sigh, he glances over to the mural of their battle, then to another free space nearby, closer to the bed. He knows what he wants to do with it. A part of him knows that Shuri is capable of doing whatever she wants. If she finds a way to cut off their connection, and he never sees her again, then he wants to preserve her memory in the best way that he knows how.

So, after only the briefest hesitation, he begins to paint a new picture of a girl. One who walks with him in the shadows between life and death.

Chapter 7: Prayer

Notes:

Hiiiiii. Hope y'all enjoy this one!!

The boy was christened with the name ‘Namor’ hundreds of years ago. It was given to him by someone who held no admiration for him as a king or god, but called him a monster, a demon. A boy without love. And for a long time, he had accepted it as a core part of his identity. After all, he has never held love for the colonisers of the surface world. They destroyed his ancestors’ home, spread violence and plague on their shores, and forced his people to remain in hiding. Even now, they build on the land, disrespecting the dead that lay beneath, happily ignorant of their own corruption.

But there were times that he’d attempted to give the surface a chance. At first, he would try to form alliances with tribes along the shores of the Americas, and attempt to overthrow their oppressors. All of these endeavours would end in tragedy, sometimes because the oppressors found out and struck first, and other times because his supposed allies would turn on him and expose his people. He held no love for those traitors. He did not cry when he ran his spear through their chests.

Sometimes, he would put on disguises and travel to various corners of the earth, where he could just blend in and observe society. Perhaps even find a place where his people could live safely near the beaches, where they could have both the sea and the sun.

He has seen many people—mutants, really—like him. Men and women who could fly or transform into beasts, children who could call storms, shoot light from their eyes, or manipulate the water flowing through their enemies’ veins. He would follow them, occasionally, to see how they were treated by the people around them. And over and over again, he watched them get caught up in violence, death, and discrimination. Those who were not murdered outright would live in hiding amongst their foes, waiting for the chance to take power. Others would attempt to prove to the world how good and useful they could be, only to be disposed of the moment they stopped being so useful. And many took the path of least resistance, hiding in the deepest recesses of their communities or creating small semi-functional communities out of nothing. Always to survive. Never to thrive.

He could never do that to his people. They were his children, some of them literally so. He has always loved them, and thus has always wanted them to thrive, even in their isolation. He worked tirelessly with his community to strengthen and protect their city and keep their culture alive. He orchestrated a decades-long scientific project to bring them the sun.

It should have been enough. It used to be enough.

But now, he is not so sure.

Because now, he longs for the surface like he never has before. He longs for Shuri, princess of Wakanda, the Black Panther. He wants her with an intensity that sets his heart alight every time he imagines her face.

Sitting here, painting her lovely face and jade-inlaid gown, he wonders if it’s possible to know where these feelings truly began. The best that he can muster is a memory of their swim back to the cave from his palace. She’d looked positively giddy, waving to children, offering to kick their ball around with them, marvelling at the city’s architecture, and asking him every question that could be asked about his sun. Construction, maintenance, power, spread, heat, cycles. Everything. He should have found it annoying, but honestly it just made him smile.

At the end of it, she’d promised him that she would make a diving suit that could survive at Talokan’s depth. Something sleek and light, long-lasting and easy to transport. She could incorporate a function similar to jellyfish, allowing the user to absorb oxygen through the skin of the suit.

Part of him had wanted to rebuke her for that, clarify that she was not going to return to the city anytime soon, and that he was still fully intent on executing the scientist. But…he had said nothing.

He’d liked seeing Shuri excited. Maybe it was because of the purity of it; she didn’t see Talokan as a military powerhouse or something to be mined and exploited. She had understood, on some fundamental level, that the city was a precious thing. And she had just wanted to learn more about it.

She’d promised to show him her lab in Wakanda, and all of the new gadgets she was working on. And though he was underwater at the time, he had felt heat rise into his cheeks.

Funny, that this was all born from such a childish thing. Two people bonding over their shared love of science and technology.

But then it became more. And now, even with all of the pain and frustration that he has experienced, watching her struggle and torment…he is mature enough to admit his own feelings. After all, he is an immortal. He has known love and lust many times. He understands the significance, and he understands the difference.

And with Shuri, he feels both.

He lusts for every part of her body. He is in love with her fire. He loves the passion that sparks within her when she talks about the things she’s made and her aspirations in life. He loves her beauty, the sunlight in her smile, her softness, her joy at the little things in life. He loves her will and strength in the face of death. He loves her rage and knowing that she could destroy the world if she ever chose to. He loves that he can let go of his mask around her, be vulnerable, and broken.

Above all, he loves her because he knows that she is better than he could ever be.

He doesn’t know how their connection started, despite his theories. And frankly, he doesn’t actually care. Because he knows why he keeps going back to her, even if she does not. And he is terrified, above all, that she will find out the objective truth of it all and find a way to put an end to it. Maybe then, he will lose her, and be trapped in cold darkness, forever.

 

***

 

Are you alright?

Shuri groans and buries herself further in Namor’s arms, shutting her eyes with all her strength. Blocking out the world around her.

Ma’am—

She feels like she’s being shaken, as though some invisible force is trying to separate them. She tries to look up, ask him what’s going on. But his face is blurred—blank. A strangled gasp escapes her lips, and she stumbles backwards, falling into the grass.

“Hey Ma’am, are you alright?”

 No. No I’m not alright. Shuri blinks slowly through her tears, then looks up into the face of a stranger. A young man, not much older than her, with dark skin, a thick head of black curls and clean-shaven face. He looks concerned for her.

Blinking, she looks down and sees his clean-pressed blue shirt and golden badge with French text. Airport security.

“I’m alright,” She says, suddenly realising she’s still on the floor. She’s on her feet in a second, brushing off her shorts and putting on her jacket. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“No, no I did not mean to wake you,” He says with a thick Haitian accent, waving towards the floor. “You were just crying very…loudly.”

Shuri knows she’s gone red. “Bad dream,” She says, biting back a sob. Then, she flinches, realising what that means.

“Wait, what time is it?”

The guard looks down at his watch, then back to her. “Nine forty.”

She barely has time to murmur a thank you before her feet take her down to the other side of the airport hallway at lightning speed. Her flight takes off in less than twenty minutes, and for all she knows it’s already full.

After a fair bit of sprinting through crowds of loud people, excuse me’s in English and French, she finally finds her gate and runs straight up to the kiosk, breathless, with her passport in hand.

“Hi, I’m going to Havana, here’s my passport and—“

“Your flight has already taken off,” The employee says, his eyes glued to the screen.

At first, Shuri thinks he’s joking and tries to push her passport through the plastic barrier. Then, when he doesn’t react, she sidesteps and looks out the window, to an empty tarmac.

Shit.

“Ma’am, I can help you book another flight,” He says evenly, reaching for her passport. “Next one takes off tomorrow morning…” Suddenly, something in his eyes light up, and he looks up to her, then narrows them in suspicion. “You look like that, what was her name, from Wakanda or something—?”

“I look like a few people,” She says, as evenly as she can. “Please tell me if you can get a new flight.”

The man nods and returns the passport to her. “Just have a seat, and I will call you when I find something.”

She plucks it out of his hand and finds herself a little black seat, where she stays for awhile, staring at the man. He seems to alternate between staring at her, his computer, and making phone calls. At no point does he look like he’s getting any closer to booking her a new flight, and every time his gaze falls back to her, she feels a small shiver go down her spine. Perhaps it is just her own anxiety and paranoia. She’s stressed out and her brain is seeing enemies everywhere.

But then, for a moment, something flashes. A ribbon of violet passes over her field of vision, a light cool breeze brushes against the back of her neck. And she can see him.

Just for a moment.

A wave of nausea shoots through her. Shuri leans forward and buries her head in her hands, desperately trying to chase the images out of her mind. Yet closing her eyes seems to make them come forth faster, clearer. His fingers on his chin, raising it, bringing them together.

He’d kissed her. Even after what she’d done, with how convinced she’d been that he wouldn’t want to see her again. She should have been relieved—elated, even—that he’d still wanted her, even if it was only in their shared dream. It meant that what had happened between them on the beach had not been an accident, or a moment of passion. And yet all she could think about in that moment was her family. They are all dead and gone; Mama by Namor’s hand specifically. And even though he apologised, she still can’t forget the image of her lying still.

Yet, night after night, some deep, sick part of her still longs for his presence. He, who invaded her home, who still stalks her dreams like a wandering shadow, and plagues every other thought that passes through her mind. She can’t see her own family, and yet he is always with her.

She wishes he was gone; maybe then she will be able to move on with her life and get back to her duties as the Black Panther.

 And yet..she also wishes that things had gone differently that day in the cave. Perhaps all of these feelings could have been easier and more natural if she’d simply been allowed to stay with him. What can she say? Against her better judgment, she wants to be held by him again. She wants to cry in his arms and talk about nothing and everything, listen to the sound of his laughter, and watch the way his eyes sparkle, just as they had in Talokan under his glowing sun.

But then, she sees Mama, clad in white and smiling warmly, and she chokes back a fresh wave of sobs.

…Perhaps Nakia was right, in a way. Perhaps wanting him is a sort of self-destruction. There’s no other way to explain this. Even if she still doesn’t know how it happened, there must be something wrong with her to continue to subject herself to this kind of pain. This needs to stop now.

She sighs and leans back into the chair, then glances down at the bracelet. It’s strange…she’s never considered herself to be a very sentimental person, but she had still brought it with her to Haiti and kept it close to her at all times, the way that someone would with a stupid little talisman. He’d been so relieved to see it wrapped around her wrist, even called her good. What a joke. She’s not the good person here. He still has no idea that she’d used a sample of the thread as the basis for her new heart-shaped herb, not even because she’d cared about the mantle, but because she’d wanted his head. She’d used his mother’s bracelet, his own gift, against him, without a hint of guilt or regret.

Then, something dawns on her. His mother’s bracelet. Hidden in the lining of the threads, there are still a few plant fibres from the Talokani herb, glowing so softly that only she can see them with her enhanced vision. A promise from his god Chaac to his ancestors, that they would be safe from all harm.

Perhaps our gods are trying to bring us together.

The mere idea of it is beyond insane and goes against everything she has convinced herself to be true. It is so deeply mystical and unscientific that she knows T’Challa would have been all over it. But if their connection has something to do with the plants, then she needs to do her research to find out more. And there are only two places where she can find what she needs; her home, or his.

The man at the desk looks to be ready to say something to her, but just as he opens his mouth, she slams her palms on top of his desk so hard and loud that he nearly jumps out of his seat. “Are there any flights tonight going to Cancun?”

He blinks, looking to compose himself. “Y—yes, there is a flight leaving in one hour.” His eyes narrow at the screen.

“And—?”

“There’s a six hour stopover in Miami, then transfer to American Airlines. Which means…ah, nineteen hour journey altogether.”

She doesn’t have the patience for all of that.

“Does your airport have any private jets available?”

He stifles a laugh. “What?”

“A private jet, I don’t care how good or bad. Whatever you’ve got, I can pay for it.” When she sees that he doesn’t believer her, she reaches into her pack and pulls out her credit card.

“We don’t have any private jets on hand,” He says, waving her away. “But I can book you a first class ticket if you really need it.”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Forget it.” She doesn’t care about flying in the lap of luxury, and frankly, part of her is afraid that if she takes the long flight she might talk herself out of it. So, without another word, she goes to find a private bathroom, where she gives Nakia a call.

“Shuri? What happened?”

She tells her about the missed flight, and her plan to go to the Yucatán peninsula. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she tells her about her dreams and her theory.

Nakia doesn’t speak for awhile, to the point where Shuri starts to wonder if her beads are broken, but then she blinks and sighs. “You know, you could have told me this from the start.”

“I know.” Shuri says guiltily.

“I mean, it’s pretty absurd, but considering the things we’ve seen over the years—“

“Nakia, I know.”

“So,” She says. “You’re going to find a way to break off this…bond, with Namor. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Nakia sighs again, but this time there’s something…different. Relief, maybe? Or the opposite? “Is this really, truly what you want to do? Or are you just doing it because of what I said?”

Shuri hesitates, then sits leans back against the wall. “Yeah, I need to do this.”

“Okay…then how can I help?”

 

***

 

A few hours later, Shuri’s standing alone in the most isolated section of the airport parking lot, waiting for her ride. The jet comes in quite suddenly, pulls her up and leaves just as quickly. 

Aneka greets Shuri first with a giant hug that knocks the wind out of her. Okoye, who is piloting, puts it into autopilot soon after and also wraps her in an embrace.

“Ah Shuri,” She says, rubbing her back. Then, she pulls back and looks her up and down, her eyes narrow. “You’re looking skinnier. Are you hungry? We brought you some snacks.”

Shuri half-expected this, and she should be annoyed. But instead, she laughs and hugs Okoye tight. “I’m starving.”

The flight from Port-au-Prince to the Yucatan peninsula is approximately one hour and thirty minutes long. It would have been a bit shorter, but they need to go around a storm system in the gulf to get there. The three women spend the first half of the ride enjoying each other’s company, talking about how they’ve spent their recent weeks. Shuri has very little to talk about, beyond what she’s already told Nakia. She’s been having weird dreams of Namor, can’t sleep. The Yucatan might be the place where she can get some answers about that and put a stop to it. If it doesn’t work, they’ll go home immediately.

Okoye and Aneka tell her a bit about their mission to Cuba and the new American operations. They said that they had been able to take care of everyone themselves, without killing anyone. Pretty good results, considering that the Talokanil had made a point to not leave anyone alive.

“We kept an eye on things and sure enough, they left it alone and the Americans were evacuated soon after.” Aneka says with a light-hearted shrug. "We sank the ship as soon as the last one left."

“If they try anything again,” Okoye says, keeping her eyes on the window. “We will know immediately.”

Shuri nods and smiles to herself, biting into her chocolate bar. “And none of Namor's warriors showed up?”

Okoye shakes her head. “It’s a shame.”

“I think she wishes she could have sparred with their big general,” Aneka whispers in Shuri’s ear. “I swear, he’s all she talks about these days.”

“Hayi! Ayingomsebenzi wake lowo!”

Aneka lets out a hearty laugh.

Later in the trip, while Aneka takes a nap, Shuri can’t seem to find sleep. So she sits silently in the back, working away at her snacks. At some point, her eyes fall to the window. Even now, with the sky so dark, the clouds look soft, fluffy, and beautiful. They bathe the nose of the jet before dissipating off the sides. She used to fantasise about flying up and touching them, before she sat down to study them and learned that they were just…water.

But…they’re more than that, aren’t they?

The cirriform clouds form in stable air, and look like semimerged filaments; translucent ribbons that cross the sky without giving any rain. Stratocumuliform clouds with elements of stratiform and cumuliform clouds that form in semi-stable conditions. They build on each other and form high turrets and mountains in the sky that makes it look like you’re in a whole new world. Cumuliform and cumulonimbus clouds build in unstable conditions, tower low or high. They hold rain and thunder in their bellies, swell and burst, and let it fall to the earth below. And sometimes, when the storms get rough, the flashes of lightning look like branches of a great tree, or perhaps the hand of a god. And the thunder sounds like the hooves of horses, pounding against stone.

 

***

Nakia was able to provide coordinates of the beach where they’d surfaced during her rescue. And with an additional hour of research (and some much-needed help from Griot), Shuri is able to use that location to find the original beach inhabited by the tribesmen who would become the first Talokanil. She figures that if she’s going to take this shot, she should be as precise with her location scouting as possible. (The only other option would have been to return to the cave—no, no, he would be there—she needs to do this without him.) And lucky for her, the beach looks exactly as it does in his dreams.

…Sort of. The site of the pyramid has long been laid bare, and the trees have long been cleared out to make space for a luxurious hotel.

“I don’t like this.” Aneka says, crossing her arms.

Shuri doesn’t really like it either. It’s noon, so the property, beach, and ocean are full to the brim with colonisers. Most of them seem quite young and carefree, holding plastic cups of colourful cocktails while singing (off-key) and dancing (off-beat) to some pop music blaring from the speakers around the pool. It’s loud, obnoxious, and far too American for her taste. She and Aneka stand near the corner of the beach property, half-hidden in the decorative bushes, watching them carefully. Both of them are wearing some colourful bikinis and sunglasses to blend in a bit better, both hastily purchased from the hotel gift shop.

Okoye was more than happy to stay with the jet.

It’s strange to be out in the world now, with this new level of awareness. None of these people know that this beautiful hotel sits on the land that once belonged to a tribe. A tribe that had lived and thrived for centuries, built monuments to their gods, and passed down stories to their children. None of them know that this shining property was, at one point, a plantation. A place where enslaved people were bought and sold, beaten and brutalised, and buried underground, one on top of the other.

He had buried his mother on this land. They had called him a demon on this land. And now she is here, in a place filled with suffering, death, and drunken children, waiting to do something that she hadn’t thought she was capable of doing anymore: pray.

So, testing the waters, she sits cross-legged and closes her eyes, trying desperately to tune out the music and shouting around her. Bast, Chaac, if either of you can hear me, tell me how this is happening, and how I can stop it.

She breathes deeply, letting the grains of sand settle between her toes. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but the air is perfectly still.

And she feels nothing.

“Is it working?” Aneka asks.

Shuri groans and climbs to her feet. “No.”

“So what do we do now?”

“The full ceremony, I guess. But we should wait until things settle down for the night,” Shuri says, picking at the threads of her bracelet. “If something happens, we don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Things do not settle down until about two o’clock in the morning, when the last drunk couple has been kicked off the dance floor, and the only people left on the beach are too tired or high to care about their surroundings. The two women tried very hard to mingle during daylight hours, but they were not particularly successful, in part because of their appearance, and in part because of their dancing skills. Not to mention, they kept getting hit on by random men (Aneka tried to pretend that she and Shuri were a couple, but that just resulted in them being hit on for the next few hours by a number of very drunk women). And given that Shuri could not get drunk, any fun that she could have disappeared pretty quickly. So now, they have nothing left to do but try the unbelievably stupid thing that they came here to do.

 “Aneka—” Shuri says, plucking a thread from the bracelet.

“Yes, Shuri?” She says nervously, while she is trying to bury Shuri in sand.

She sighs and looks to the starry sky. A sliver of a crescent moon has begun to emerge, illuminating the thin thread dangling from her fingers. “I don’t know if this is going to work, but I need you to monitor my vitals.” Her eyes fall to the Kimoyo beads on Aneka’s wrist. “If anything happens, you need to get me out of there immediately.”

Aneka nods.

So, with a deep breath, Shuri closes her eyes and swallows the thread. It tickles her throat as it goes down, triggers her gag reflex, making her want to cough and throw it up. But she clamps her mouth shut and forces herself to swallow it down.

“Alright,” She says. “Here we go.”

Quickly, Aneka places her beads on her chest and then reaches under the sand to grip Shuri’s hand. “Good luck.”

“And if, for any reason, I start to turn blue, you have to promise to throw me into the water.”

Her mouth widens, like she’s going to laugh, but then, Shuri gives her a look.

“Oh—oh you’re serious.”

Shuri nods, then closes her eyes and attempts to let the rest of her body relax.

Chaac, Bast. Whoever is out there. Please hear me now. I need to understand how and why we keep meeting in our dreams.

…And I need to know why I can’t see my family. Why do I only see him?

Please.

Help me.

She pauses, breathes deeply, wiggling her toes in the sand. And just as she starts to doubt herself, wonder if anything happens, a sharp shock of pain runs through her entire body. Her body writhes and convulses, she’s overcome with pain just like when she took the herb. She feels like she’s dying. She is dying.

All at once, the blackness around her is overcome by a light. And though every cell in her body is screaming at her to stay, her spirit snaps off its tether and she falls right in.

 

Chapter 8: Vision

Notes:

Hiiiii so haha this chapter is very short...it was actually one of the first things that I had written for the full story (like I think I wrote it right after I published the second chapter, back when it was still gonna be a super short piece). I was going to wait longer, but then I realised the original chapter 8 is gonna be suuuuuper dense, so I figured ah what the hell, just get this up now.

Hope it's enjoyable! <3 <3 and also holy shit thank you to everyone who's been commenting and leaving kudos and everything, they've been absolutely incredible. You guys have been keeping me going!!

The asteroid has been hurtling through time and space for centuries. Or perhaps millennia, nobody truly knows. It seems to spend time orbiting planets, one after another, as though it wants a place to rest but needs time to carefully select an ideal location.

Astronomers, physicists, and many more from different planets have posed various theories about its origins, its makeup, its journey, and its purpose. Some say that it came from the heart of a dying star, or that it is a structure made by some unknown planet’s inhabitants. Others go even further, claiming that it did not come from any known galaxy at all, but that it had crossed over from another universe.

All that anyone knows is that it is harder than any substance known, and it can conduct electricity like no other mineral. Of course, these qualities have great value on the galactic stage. Many power seek to claim it. Unfortunately, any weapon, mining tool, or monitor that crosses its path is destroyed almost instantly. Each time this happens, it seems to absorb the energy generated and grows even stronger.

Some of the younger planets build their religions around this rock as it passes through their sphere, sending prayers and blessings as its multicoloured tail paints the night sky. They attempt to summon it to their home with songs and sacrifices, but then it leaves and never returns. To this day, there are texts that speak of its soft hum, as though it is a living, breathing thing.

What no one expects, however, is that it would bypass all of those planets and their living beings, and turn to a small, blue-green sphere in the outskirts of the Milky Way. A young planet, still quite primitive (some notice pockets of Deviant activity on its surface, and thus make a note to avoid it in their travels). Yet the rock seems to weave through stars and planets in between, just to get to that little sphere. As though it is being called to it.

Once it gets far enough to nearly reach the planet, the observers have largely given up and stopped caring. So they don’t get to witness the strange events that unfold. It meets the atmosphere and begins to burn up, more and more, until the whole structure is set alight in a great vortex of bright colours and a chorus of vibrations.

Then, in a moment, it splits cleanly down the middle, an event that sends a shockwave through the planet’s atmosphere, dispersing storm and ash. The two halves travel together in a dance, until they make contact and break off. The second shockwave sends one piece into the fertile black soil of a southern continent. It sends the other piece into the ocean a few thousand kilometres northwest, where it generates waves that flood the sands of the bordering land for months. And the pieces lie there, alone and forgotten, underground and underwater.

 

Years, centuries, millennia pass like leaves in the wind, while the energy of the rocks weave through the earth like threads of a tapestry. The planet’s lifeforms begin to evolve. On the land, the plants and animals grow strong and fruitful. Some of them are able to absorb the strange powers of the rock, and over time they develop a unique vitality, and glow just like it. Eventually some of the species begin to evolve into adequately intelligent primates. Humans, they are later called. They begin to come together and form tribes, and five of them settle near the resting place of the crater, in a land they call Wakanda. There, some of the plants glow a deep violet, pulsate with aether like no other. There are conflicts and strife, sometimes outright wars. But then one day, a warrior shaman from one of the tribes is led to consume one of the violet plants.

Shuri knows the story. She watches this part carefully, as Bashenga plucks a single heart-shaped herb and eats it, then keels over, clutching his heart and breathing heavily. This pain is familiar to her. A quick, but agonising death. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream and falls backwards into the sand, twitching and jerking, before finally falling still.

High above, the daylight melts away. She sees as it transforms into the violet-streaked sky of the ancestral plane. Bashenga stands alone in a bush, looks around and calls out the names of his mother, father, brothers and sisters. He receives no answer from them, but freezes at the sound of a great cat’s roar.

Bast.

The great gold and black panther jumps from the grass far beyond him, sailing through the air higher and faster than anything she has ever seen before. The goddess’s eyes blaze the same deep purple as the sky. She tries to reach out for her ancestor, call his name, to what—help him? Save him? But then, she freezes, hearing her goddess’s words echo through the realm.

You will keep them safe.

Then, it is over. The daylight returns. Bashenga stands tall among the tribesmen, carrying the strength of their goddess and the knowledge of a place beyond the realm of the living. He alone can bring his people together, and protect them from all harm.

They begin to kneel to him, as one people, one nation. Then Shuri blinks, and she is standing at the centre, adorned in white with her head held high. They kneel to her. I-panther emnyama. Umkhuseli Wakanda.

 

***

 

The second piece of the vibranium meteorite lays hidden in the depths of the ocean for some time. It rests and weaves its essence into the coral and grass as the tribes of the Yucatan peninsula begin to take shape and advance. They do quite well without its power, growing in knowledge and culture, building cities and temples of silver and gold to gods of the worlds above and below. But one day, invaders come for them. Skin as pale as the sand, and words as sharp as their iron blades. Everywhere their hands touch, they spread poison and plagues. And when they attack, their blows stain the sands scarlet.

Battered corpses fill the land. A shaman, sick with a fever and covered in painful sores and boils, prays to one of their gods for strength and protection. Chaac, the god of rain and abundance, with an axe that cuts down legions in battle and calls thunder and lightning. Though he has long cut himself off from human conflicts, he has seen the vibranium glowing at the bottom of the sea, and knows the truth of its power. So he does what is right, and guides the shaman to an underwater plant near his cenote that glows with the meteor’s power.

Consume this plant, and you shall be safe.

The people of his tribe, weak from starvation and sickness, drink the potion as commanded, then fall over, gasping for air, writhing in pain until their bodies cease all movement. Shuri notices one of these women, with her soft smile and hair tied high. She wraps her hands around her swollen belly protectively. Her jade bracelet sparkles in the sunlight…and then the day sky is gone. The sky is filled with a galaxy that pulses a deep blue like sapphire, the surroundings change to that of a shoreline, and the people climb to their feet, dazed and confused.

Distantly, a column of smoke rises into the sky, carrying the songs and laughter of ancestors long passed. Some of the tribesmen look to this with longing in their eyes. One of them begins to cry and reach out. Na’? Mother?

Then, suddenly, a great jagged bolt of lightning rips through the sky, followed by a roar of thunder. A large gust of wind blows towards the sea…and the sun returns.

Together, the people wake up. No longer ‘people,’ per say. Their skin bears the colour of the water, and can no longer breathe in the world of the living. They gasp for air and run where the wind guided them. Into the sea, towards safety, into the realm of Chaac and away from the oppressors and enslavers.

The pregnant woman feels something shift inside her, as though the energy of that rock is affecting the child within. And when he emerges from her womb, he is in fact changed. His skin is the colour of his people before they crossed over. His ears point to the clouds, and his ankles are adorned with the feathers of eagles. Born of the sea, and longing for the sky.

K’uk’ulkan. His people whisper, raising him towards the sun. Ajaw. Protector. Guerrero.

And then he alone is before her, mighty and sure, adorned in his serpentine crown and standing before his sun, while his eyes blaze as blue as sparkling waves in daylight. Still they chant, but from further below, half-engulfed in the shadows.

 

Shuri reaches out delicately to touch him, hold him, feel his embrace once more, but the image of the god dissolves in her palm, leaving the endless blue thread around her wrist and a sea of colours and voices in its wake. 

Take care of business…

Death is like a jumping off point…

He will be king someday…

Protect us…

Let us burn it together…

Show him who you are. 

She sees Mama, Baba, T’Challa. Killmonger, his father. Her grandparents. Namor’s mother and father. Mayans of the surface world and below. Wakandans of ages beyond.

And then she sees Nakia. Little T’Challa. Okoye. M’Baku. Aneka and Ayo. Namora, Attuma. All alive, carrying the strength the vibranium meteors, born from that incredible metal strong enough to shatter the barrier between the logical and mystical…science and faith…dreams and reality…life and death.

The vibranium meteor splits again, and the violet and blue ribbons weave together, twist and tangle, separate, and tie together once more.

She gasps as the truth dawns on her, then pitches backwards into space, hurtling back until she feels as though she’s going to burn up—

And then she emerges from the sand, gasping with all of her might. Aneka pats her back and offers words of comfort, but there’s too much ringing in her ears to understand half of what she’s saying. She doubles over, panting, shaking, a million thoughts and images floating through her head. And then her eyes rest on the jade bracelet on her wrist, and the way that the threads glow a soft blue.

Shuri has had her answer all along. All of the vibranium on the planet Earth came from a single, original source that could defy natural laws and travel between realms. This connection between them was established the moment she plucked a thread from the bracelet to create a new heart-shaped herb. All of this confusion, pain, wanting and longing…it was always because of her. Because she chose to take up the mantle of the Black Panther, and challenge the K’uk’ulkan.

So, lifting her head, she breathes in slowly, then looks to Aneka. 

“What did you see?” She asks, her brow furrowed with confusion and concern.

 “My answer.” Shuri turns away, a deep ache forming in her chest. 

To her surprise, she can already feel tears forming. She looks back to the waves beating against the sand and hugs herself tight. “I know what I have to do.”

 

 

Chapter 9: Annihilation

Notes:

Hiiii ok so a few things

-I am amazed at the reactions this story's been getting. It's really first-drafty and I'm not proud of it (also no beta reader--still an open position for that), but if people really enjoy it, then I think when I finish it up I'm gonna go back and clean it up!
-My process with this was pretty weird and disjointed, and I made up a lot of stuff as I went along...I'd like to come back and make it better. Also I'm very sleep-deprived because hospital work and I'm flying home very soon...so I kind of just wrote this chapter in a manic episode this weekend. If I missed typos again, please give me a break
-I took a couple of liberties with a character in this scene (keen-eyed readers will probably know what I mean when I get there). Please just go with it. It's fan fiction, we can do whatever we want, even pretend that an actress was in a scene in BP that she wasn't in
-If anyone speaks Xhosa or Yoruba please let me know because I'm afraid the google translations have been garbage
-uhhh yeah hope you enjoy it. You guys seriously don't know how much of an impact your comments and kudos have had on me. Love you all, and enjoy!!

 

Shuri does not tell anyone of her plan on the flight back to the Golden City of Wakanda. Even when Nakia calls to check in, she simply tells her that she got what she needed, and that Namor won’t bother her anymore. It’s difficult to explain everything, and honestly she doesn’t understand all of it herself. She stresses that she will be fine, and that she will call her every day. Nakia seems to hesitate before nodding her approval, but little T’Challa interrupts them before she can say anything more.

“Hi Auntie!” Her nephew says joyously, squishing his face up close.

Shuri laughs and waves before saying goodbye to both of them.

Aneka hasn’t pressed her on anything since leaving the beach, though she occasionally looks back and gives a sad look. Perhaps she can sense something that Shuri cannot.

She spends most of the ride sitting silently in the back corner, picking away at some more chocolate and fried plantains, and staring at the horizon while she mulls things over. She knows it’s the right thing for her to do, but it still frustrates her to no end. All of this happened because of her actions. And she already knows that there’s no one else she can go to for help to undo them. They would all resent her for trying.

 

***

 

Shuri has Okoye and Aneka make a pit stop before they arrive at the palace so that she can visit her family.

The sun is just beginning to rise when they cross the river border into the country. After they cross, they adjust their course towards the mountains that separate the bulk of the country from Jabari land. Every descendant of Bashenga has been buried in the same place as him; in a mountain cavern known only to the royals and the Dora Milaje. There, each vibranium coffin sits inside in its own nearly indestructible tomb. The door is in turn labelled with their profile, name and title, date of birth, and date of passing. Hundreds of tombs line the walls of the cavern, starting at the entrance, where Bashenga’s door depicts his profile next to a painted black panther with violet eyes: ancient artwork of Bast herself.

Fresh white snow is beginning to settle, even in the depths of the cave, when Shuri steps into it. Aneka stays in the jet, and Okoye accompanies her as she traverses the spiral path, down and down, until she reaches the tombs of her parents and brother.

“Hi Baba, it’s been a long time,” She whispers, pressing her forehead against the ice-cold vibranium. Her eyes close, and for a moment she remembers their time together when she was younger. Playing in the lab and fields, watching his favourite American movies, and going over math and physics problems. When she finishes with Baba, she kisses the door and continues to T’Challa’s, where she greets him in the same way. 

“Hey brother,” She repeats the little ritual. “Your son is growing up to be so big and strong.”

Okoye follows, bows to the tombs, and kisses their faces. She murmurs a prayer to herself, calls them Father, and King, and then walks with Shuri to her mother, her eyes sparkling with fresh tears.

Queen Ramonda’s tomb is the newest. Vibranium does not accumulate dust, rust, or grime like other metals do. But there are a few purple hibiscuses standing up in a vase beside the door, next to her old spear. The Doras would have put them there quite recently. They did the same thing with the others for the first year after their deaths, but after that they stopped, as the mourning period had ended.

Shuri closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Mama’s tomb door. She whispers to herself in the same way that Okoye did. It is an improvised prayer, short and to the point. It is a prayer for her mother’s spirit to find peace with her family and ancestors somewhere, and it is a prayer for guidance. Even if everyone else will judge her for what she’s about to do, she wants to believe that Mama would not.

When she pulls away, her nose is stuffed and eyes are watery, so she wipes them and lets Okoye do her own little ritual. Once more, she murmurs to herself, then kisses the likeness of her mother and steps back, taking Shuri’s hand in her own.

“I came here a lot after T’Challa died,” Okoye says, her voice betraying a tremble. “I can’t say it made it easier, but it…helped…in a way that I cannot explain.”

Shuri nods, but keeps her eyes on her mother, taking in every last detail as though she has forgotten what she looked like and is trying desperately to remember.

“You know that you can come back here at any time,” She continues. “And if you want someone to accompany you, I will come at your call.”

She nods, raises her shoulders, then looks down to the hibiscus. White and purple, fresh and beautiful, smelling strong. They were always her favourite flowers. She used to grow them all over her balcony.

Something comes over her, and she begins to shake all over again. Without asking, she buries her face into Okoye’s shoulders and wraps her arms around for dear life. She winces slightly, from the pain, before Shuri laughs and relents. She cries for a bit, and eventually Okoye bows her chin, hugs her, pats her shoulder, caresses her head.

“She loved you so much.” Okoye whispers, and Shuri knows that she is crying too. “More than anything in the world.”

 

***

 

Shuri elects to sleep in her room for a few hours before presenting herself to the court. When she awakens in her bed—for the first time in over a month—the first thing she sees is a sleeveless dark purple dress carefully folded over the end of her bed, along with a set of large gold cuffs and a matching necklace. Slowly, she climbs out of bed and goes to examine the dress, brushing her hands against the velvety fabric. The presence of the formal outfit carries a pretty obvious message: she will be expected to meet the elders soon. So, she takes her time to get there, washing her body and hair, and styling her curls atop her head. When she finally gets herself into the dress, the woman who she sees in the mirror seems much older. She looks not unlike the Queen, and it makes her chest tighten and the room feel just a little bit smaller.

Ayo is the one to accompany her to the throne room, dressed in her traditional Dora Milaje uniform. She’s never been one for long conversations, and in this moment, Shuri appreciates it. Every now and then, she steals a glance at her neck to see the golden necklace marking her as the general. She wears it very well.

When they reach the doors of the throne room and wait for them to open, Shuri pauses and looks out at the window. Something glitches in her vision. Bars block the windows, the throne is broken and gone, there’s a pool of water filling the edges of the room, threatening to drown her. Someone lies facedown in there, she knows who the white hair belongs to. It’s all her fault it’s all her fault—

Suddenly, she jolts back to reality. She looks to the side, realising that Ayo has put her hand on her shoulder.

“Breathe,” Ayo nods to her. “You are okay.”

Shuri bites her lip, nods in thanks, and walks down the steps with her.

M’Baku is the first to greet her. He nearly jumps off his seat in excitement, stalks forward, and pulls Shuri into his arms.

“Welcome back,” He says. Before Shuri can get a chance to respond, he steps aside, pats his hand against her back, and announces to everyone present: “Glory to Hanuman, our Black Panther is home!”

The elders of the border, merchant, mining, and river tribes all offer light applause, two Jabari warriors standing at the throne let out a few loud whoops, and the six Doras standing behind them bow low, then tap their spears to the floor in approval. The only person missing is the Elder Statesman and old Mining Tribe elder: Zawavari. Shuri curls her lip in frustration, but doesn’t say anything. All of the eyes in the room are on her, not M’Baku, and not the throne itself.

She realises, after a moment, that just behind the black horned vibranium chair, there stands a two metre tall statue of Hanuman carved from wood. The white gorilla seems to be roaring and beating his fists against his chest.

To house the god of the Jabari in the house of Bast, is an absolute disregard of tradition. M’Baku must have done it the first day they moved in.

And Shuri has no problem with it at all.

It’s comforting, to see something new in this room. Politically, it is a sign of the unity between Wakanda and the Jabari tribe…sort of…she can’t imagine the other elders are too keen on bringing another god’s likeness into the palace. She doubts they were too happy when M’Baku had refused to don the mantle of the Black Panther. The two of them had agreed on this long before she left for Haiti.

I don’t need that herb to protect my country. We already have you.

Personally, she likes that the statue makes for a good focal point and distractor. It breaks up the room, adds something new, and reminds her that she is not in the flooded throne room anymore. She’s safe. She’s okay. She’s okay.

So, with a deep breath, Shuri clasps her hands behind her back and addresses the group. She tells them that she enjoyed living with Nakia away from the palace, caring for local children and getting in touch with their local community. She recites this with as little emotion as possible, and avoids any mention of her relationship with Namor. At this point, she wants—no, needs is more like it—to keep that circle as small as possible, limited only to Nakia, Okoye, and Aneka. 

But then, as if he can read her mind, M’Baku sits back and cocks his head, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Have you been in contact with the fish man?”

“No,” Shuri doesn’t blink.

The corner of M’Baku’s lip curls up, so subtly that it’s unlikely anyone else in the room can see it. She feels something crawl down the back of her neck. Bast, did Nakia call him or something?

“Your ‘Midnight Angels’ have been taking down colonising mining ships in the Atlantic Ocean according to our agreement. He hasn’t contacted you at all?”

They lock gazes, but then Shuri lifts her chin. “Not at all.”

He narrows his eyes, then relaxes his shoulders. “Alright then. Good to have you back.”

Shuri smiles, and they continue discussing official matters, including upcoming meetings, conferences, and the like. And when it’s over and she’s about to leave, she asks her king where it is she can find the Elder Statesman.

 

***

 

Shuri finds her in the forest just outside of the Golden City, tending to the new cluster of heart-shaped herbs. She wears a long red and black dress adorned with the signature patterns of the Mining tribe, and her braids are covered in thick layers of red otjize paste. Seems that, despite her newly acquired status, she has not forgotten where she came from.

“Hello Zawavari,” She says, keeping her voice as light and casual as she can manage. “How are the new herbs doing?”

The woman stands slowly, turns to her and raises an eyebrow, perhaps out of surprise but not suspicion. “Very well, Princess,” She says evenly, stepping aside to reveal the cluster of glowing heart-shaped herbs. “Wakanda is indebted to you for your creation.”

Shuri steps forward and kneels to one knee, taking one of the petals in her hand. The glow seems to brighten, ever so slightly as she brushes her fingers across the underside of one of them. For a moment, the violet in the petal’s veins seems to grow cooler, revealing blue undertones that she has never noticed before.

“They seem to be growing more quickly than they used to, and they appear to be more self-sufficient,” The Statesmen says from behind her. “I’m curious, how did you make them in the end?”

A shiver goes down Shuri’s spine, but she doesn’t let her nervousness show. “I reverse-engineered it with a DNA sample from my brother.” Her tone is even and guarded as she climbs back to her feet. “It took a lot of trial and error.”

Whether Zawavari accepts that, she hides it quickly with a smile. “Well, I am very glad that it worked. Between you and me, I think the other elders were worried that you had given up trying. I am very happy that you proved us wrong.”

Shuri nods, then glances back down to the glowing herbs. “I’ve been discussing something with King M’Baku,” She locks her gaze onto Zawavari’s and lifts her chin. “He is willing to reconsider taking over the mantle of the Black Panther.”

She blinks, disbelieving. “But, princess—he is Jabari.”

“You know that not every Panther has come from the Golden Tribe.” Shuri smiles coyly. “It would still be done through in ritual combat, of course. M’Baku has always respected that tradition. Will you be able to oversee the ceremony?”

“I’m—of course, but I could not—he does not worship Bast—“

She shrugs. “I don’t either,” says Shuri. “Nor did N’Jadaka.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” She says, her eyes narrowing.

“The last two times we performed this ritual, Zuri gave my brother a poison that stripped him of the heart-shaped herb’s power. I understand that the nature of the concoction has always been a closely guarded secret, but I’m still curious. Did it also come from a single plant?”

Zawavari seems to realise what’s going on, because her expression immediately darkens, and she takes a step back. “That is not something you need to know.”

Shuri clasps her hands behind her back, then takes a step forward. “That is not something you get to decide.” The woman freezes as she leans in, close enough that she only needs to whisper into her ear. “You and the elders never used the poison when it would have actually been useful. You instead allowed N’Jadaka to run my family out of the palace and burn the herbs.”

“We needed to maintain order and tradition,” She says sharply. “And if we had not followed him, he would have killed every one of us.”

“Perhaps,” Shuri says, stepping back. “But because of his actions, we did not have a heart-shaped herb for six years. My mother had to do what she could without a Black Panther for five of them. And when my brother grew ill, he did not have the herb to heal him. He died, because all of you let a madman destroy what was most precious to us.”

“We didn’t know—“

“He made it very clear who he was. He murdered Zuri, and you followed him anyway, even when he burned down the garden.” Her voice drops dangerously low. “And I know that it was you, Zawavari, who lit the torch.”

She says nothing.

“So I will ask you one last time,” Shuri says, brushing her thumb against the claws of her necklace. “Where is the poison?”

The Statesman complies with her request without resistance, and Shuri watches her carefully as she takes her to a nearby hut and prepares the mix. Turns out that the poison is in fact a combination of several plants growing in and around the hut, including redoul, larkspur, and two more dried black and red flowers that she has never seen before. The mix of neurotoxins is potent enough to kill any number of people with a few drops, but to a Black Panther, all it can do is negate the power of the heart-shaped herb, making them into a normal human. When it is done, she hands Shuri a small vial of smokey black liquid and hangs her head low.

“Thank you,” Shuri says, turning to the door. “And you know, of course, that nobody can know I was here.”

“What are you going to do, after?” Zawavari says.

She pushes the door open. “I’m going to return to my lab, and work.”

 

***

 

It is near sunset when Shuri leaves Zawavari’s hut, and the first place she goes to is in fact her lab. Everett Ross is there, helping her staff with their tasks. When he sees her, he offers her a quick, warm hug.

“How are you doing?” He asks.

“I’m alright,” says Shuri. “How have you been enjoying your time here?”

“It’s been pretty good,” Ross replies with a shrug. “I mean, like, it’s been awkward, and M’Baku keeps calling me oyinbo kekere, whatever that means. But I think my Xhosa’s getting better.”

“Ah, very nice. What have you learned?”

Then, in broken Xhosa, Ross says something that he’d probably intended to be comforting, but it comes out closer to ‘Thank you for the frog skins.’ She laughs loudly and corrects him, before leaving him to return to his work with a promise to take him out for lunch tomorrow. He seems comfortable in her lab in a way that Barnes never was. She can even overhear him having conversations with Griot. It feels good to see him like this, but it also sends a slight twinge of guilt through her. He was nearly imprisoned by his own government because he chose to help Wakanda, and if they hadn’t rescued him, he would probably be rotting in a basement somewhere. As nice as this place is, it is not his home.

She sighs and puts her necklace aside, changes into some plain clothes for a night out, and puts the vial in a deep pocket of her backpack. Part of her was planning on doing it in the lab, but Ross or any number of the others would respond without hesitation. Actually…if anyone’s with her, she realises, there’s a high risk that they might talk her out of it. So, without a word, she collects her things and leaves. Though she intends to eventually find a private place, like the bush, she first elects to spend a few hours wandering around the Golden City to clear her head. Unfortunately, there are very few activities that she wants to partake in around town, besides distract herself and perhaps find a reason not to do it at all.

She eventually decides to spend the evening bar-hopping near the university with a large group of senior medical students celebrating after their exams. Though she still cannot get physically drunk, there is something very fun about spending time with a group of people her age. She had been homeschooled in the palace for her entire life; Baba had said it was because she’d always been too advanced to be in a regular school. T’Challa studied with her when they were young, but he had to attend the university to get in touch with the people. He used to joke that she would have outsmarted all of them when she was twelve. 

The isolated nature of her education didn’t bother her that much at the time; her tutors—many hand-picked from amongst the university’s professors—were always kind and understanding, and they gave her the freedom to explore a wide variety of subjects. But she has never really had any friends her own age, and a part of her still envies those who got to have that experience.

Some of the students and patrons salute to her on sight. ‘Princess Shuri,’ a few exclaim in disbelief. Some boys call out ‘The Black Panther is here!,’ but most others are too drunk to know who she is or care. Either way, she brushes off any attempts at formality and offers to buy a round for everyone. Then two. She drinks the sour stuff with them, fakes intoxication, dances so wildly that she starts dripping sweat, and lets herself fall into the waiting arms of at least a few very bold students. Turns out, even if she is faking drunkenness, she can still turn the world into a blur for moments at a time. Perhaps because she is forcing herself to make adrenaline. Or maybe, there’s something far more abstract about the energy in the room that makes her want to drop her inhibitions. She lets a boy grind against her hips, though she cannot see his face properly under the flashing red and yellow lights. Someone twirls her and makes her giggle, another sickly sweet drink is offered to her. A tall boy yells to the sky that he failed his anatomy exam, and the whole crew laughs and whoops and pats him on the shoulders. They all sing loudly to the songs that blare overhead, in Xhosa, Yoruba, English, Arabic, French. At some point, a singer onstage calls out for her and offers to let her have a go. She laughs with her whole stomach and sings bits T’Challa’s favourite American songs off-key until her voice is only a soft rasp. And when the singer kicks her offstage, she falls into the arms of a girl she doesn’t know and kisses her without hesitation. Her heart flutters as they pull apart and she twirls off with her friends. She has forgotten—or perhaps she never knew—how good it feels to be around other people. Even if they do only call her Princess, or Black Panther.

But, as midnight approaches and the lights begin to dim to purples and blues, something begins to twist in her stomach, and she leaves the group to their partying. Starving from the exertion, she goes to get a late night snack, and eats it on her way out of the city and to the riverside, where she last sat with Mama. When she arrives, it is nearly one in the morning, the sky is overcast, the animals that normally cross the area are fast asleep, and the only sounds that her ears can detect are the occasional drops of water, and the buzzing of insects’ wings.

She sits down for awhile in that darkness, cross-legged in the sand, staring at the still river and wondering—hoping—that something in it might move or break. But when nothing happens, she turns to her pack and digs deep into it, past her sweater, the conch shell, a bag of fried plantain chips, until her fingers wrap around the small vial.

It feels like ice in her hands. When she uncorks the top, there is no scent, and the liquid within is thin as water and black as the sky. She looks at it for a long while, brings it closer and closer to her lips, prepares to tip her head back and take it into her body…but then she stops herself. She closes the vial and continues to clutch it in her hands.

Why is she doing this? Besides getting Namor out of her dreams and cutting off the ancestral plane, why is she trying to drink this poison? It’s so stupid and selfish and not something befitting a Black Panther. So why? Why? Why?

…Perhaps, a small part of her suggests, it’s because the mantle of the Black Panther was never truly hers to take. If everything had gone according to plan, T’Challa would have raised his own son to one day inherit the throne and powers, just as Baba had done with him. She would have been content to live out her life in her lab, tinkering away.

But that isn’t possible anymore. Because her brother is dead.

Shuri didn’t start trying to grow the herb because she’d wanted to take her brother or even her nephew’s place. She did it because she wanted him back. She did it, because she wanted Namor dead, and because she wanted to see Mama one last time. She never ever wanted to call herself the guardian or protector of Wakanda. She was just terrified of living in a world without her family by her side. 

But…she did it anyway. And she continues to do it, every day that she wakes up and gets out of bed. Every day, she pushes herself, eats and drinks—even if it’s only a bite—moves forward, and continues to live in this world of the living, while her mother, father, and big brother are lying in vibranium tombs under a mountain. And every night, she keeps going back to the ancestral plane, searching for her loved ones, and finding only her own shadow. Even when she tried to take a break from it all, the pain and guilt followed her like a predator. The wounds were opened up and left to fester, leaving a series of angry, painful scars. And no matter what, they will never ever close.

Because they are dead, and she can never make that go away.

Shuri pulls her knees in and buries her buries her face in them. She can feel her entire body trembling and tears pricking her eyes. It hurts. None of this should have happened. It’s not right.

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair. 

It’s not fucking fair that this is her life.

No one should ever have to lose the ones they love like this. No one should ever be afraid to fall asleep because they keep seeing their brother’s or mother’s still bloodless body. No one should have to struggle to hold together the shattered pieces of their heart while the people around them get to go about their lives like everything is normal. Yes, she has Nakia, Okoye, Aneka, Ayo, M’Baku, even Ross and Barnes…but they are not a replacement for who she’s lost.

If Shuri could make a machine to allow herself to travel to a timeline where her family is alive and happy, she would do so without hesitation. But she can’t do it, and she can’t let what’s left of her spirit wither away while she spends the rest of her life trying to make one.

They are dead.

She is alone.

…And he yet he is still with her.

All of those nights she searched for a sign on the horizon, called for someone—anyone—in her dreams, and he was the one who came. She hates him, she despises him so much for what he did to her. But still, he came in her dreams. And he came at her call.

Shuri looks down at the vial in her palm and sets it down into the sand beside her. Then, she screams into her knees for what feels like ages. She screams so hard that a few stray birds fly out of the trees. She screams enough to blow the grass away. And she screams and screams until her voice is raw with pain and sorrow and the tears are threaten to drown her where she sits.

A breeze hits the skin at the back of her neck, and when she looks up, another gust disturbs the water ever so slightly. Slowly, she inches forward and kneels over, so that she’s on her knees, staring at her reflection. Her features are dark, blurred, but unmistakably her own.

She closes her eyes, and breathes deeply, listening for the breeze. And when it comes and wraps around her shoulders, she exhales slowly, then sits back and reaches for her backpack.

 

***

 

Namor is alone in his throne room when the sound rings in his ears, high and clear through the thick cold water around him. It makes him tense at first, but then he turns his gaze to the east and feels his breath catch in his throat.

Shuri.

Chapter 10: Dawn

Notes:

Hi guys!! Absolutely incredible that the last chapter got the story up to 11K hits. You're all absolutely amazing. And even though I haven't had time to respond to all of the comments, I have read every single one and I love and appreciate every single one. Y'all keep me going.

ANYWAY, slightly shorter chapter this time, but please enjoy!! I wrote this on the flight back home. The next one is gonna be the smut oneTM.

Shuri does not leave the water, nor does she drift off to sleep. She screams some more, hits whatever can find, sobs into the sand until her throat goes dry, and punches a nearby tree trunk so hard that her fist leaves a wound in the wood. Then she punches it again, again and again, until the top eventually falls over, leaving a fractured trunk as high as her chest. And she curses to herself, chastises herself again and again, as she sits back down and meticulously pulls out a few dark splinters.

Eventually, she runs out of energy and rage and decides to sit back down, right next to her open backpack. Eyeing the water, she searches again for some sort of change, meaning, or whatever she can get. The wind is picking up, causing the air to feel cool. It creates small waves in the river and clearing out the clouds above to reveal stars dotting the horizon. So, she makes a bonfire and warms herself up. And she makes a promise to herself that she will wait until dawn, and if nothing happens, she will wait until the next time they sleep. 

The moon is just beginning to fade when the water begins to shift. It goes still, something bubbles up to the surface.

And then he is there, dark hair rising from the depths. He emerges from the water, flying low over the river until he lands gracefully at the shore. When she looks down, she can see that even his bad wing is now fully functional, though it still twitches ever so slightly.

Shuri looks up to him, wide-eyed, and goes still, as though her spirit is trying to leave her body. This isn’t the first time she’s seen him emerge from the water like this, but the sight of him takes her breath away all the same. The sky is not alight with violet. Still, this has to be a dream—it’s real—he’s here.

“Hello again, Shuri,” He says, the corner of his lip curling into a light grin.

She looks down to see that in one hand, he is clutching the conch shell.

“Hey,” is all she can manage.

He looks her up and down awkwardly, then, realizing she’s not going to stand up, searches for a spot where he can sit. He chooses to go to her right, far enough away from the bonfire so that he is not strangled by its heat. Then, he sets down the shell beside him.

The two of them sit silently for a moment, staring out at the water. Finally, unable to take the awkwardness, Shuri bows her head.

“I’m sorry.”

He stifles a chuckle. “Sorry for what, calling me again? I was more than happy to come.”

Something twists in her chest. Slowly, she shakes her head and pulls her backpack into her lap. “I was cruel to you.” Then, she plucks the vial from the bottom of the bag and pulls it out for him to see.

“I went to your people’s old home.”

He blinks with surprise.

“Where you buried your mother.”

His tongue clicks in his mouth. “You saw the hotel, then?”

She nods sadly. He is dead silent while she explains what she saw on the beach. How the Black Panther came to be, how N’Jadaka broke it by burning down the herbs. How she’d tried to remake it to heal her brother while he was dying from his illness, and how she eventually brought back the sacred herb by using a thread from the gift that he gave her. In her quest for vengeance, she’d acquired a power unseen in Wakanda for years…and unintentionally linked them in life and death. They would continue to see each other as long as he is alive, or she holds the power. She would continue to experience these confusing feelings with the man who murdered her mother. So, by that logic, the only way to stop seeing him without more bloodshed, would be to take the power of Bast out of the equation.

She offers it to him, dodging his gaze, and looks back down to the sand while he takes the vial and examines it. “This is a poison that our people use to strip the Black Panther of their power.”

“Why would such a thing even exist?” He says, with an air of disgust.

She shrugs. “Wakandan tradition states that only the current king or queen can hold the power of the Black Panther. That, and there should not be more than one at a time. When my father passed the mantle onto my brother, he took this. And when my cousin challenged my brother for the throne, my brother had to take it before they could fight.”

A pause. Then, he hands it back to her, gingerly. “But you are not the one on the throne.”

“I’ve never been one for tradition.” She says. “Neither is the current king.”

She looks to him, who seems puzzled.

“You’ve met him, right? Tall guy, fur on his suit, straw skirt, very…loud.”

He looks down, mutters something, as if trying to recall who this man is.

Shuri narrows her eyes. Is it possible they didn’t meet? “He fights with a wooden club.” She holds her hands up to try to replicate its size.

A pause, then “Ah yes, I remember. He tried to hit me.” He looks to her, suspicious. “I thought I killed him.”

Shuri chuckles, setting the vial into the sand. “He’s quite stubborn.”

He smirks in return, then stops and inches a little to his left. “Does he know what you were planning to do?”

Shuri shakes her head.

“Huh,” He says. “Then, are you still planning to do it?”

She draws in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Why do you think I called you?!” She snaps, immediately regretting the harshness of it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you call me here to talk you out of it?”

She looks down guiltily.

He draws in a deep breath, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see him leaning backwards to watch the stars. “Shuri of Wakanda.” He begins. “You, the last living heir to your royal bloodline, brought back a legendary vibranium-infused herb that, by all accounts, should no longer exist in this world. You did it using two DNA samples, and your own wits.”

His voice carries a hint of awe that makes her look up. But he just keeps staring at the water, with a nostalgic smile. “You are the first person to have ever bested me in single combat. You spared my life, even though I killed your mother.” He pauses, closing his eyes for a moment. “You kissed me.” He stops and breathes, as if to savour the memories. “You are brilliant, Shuri, and a far better person than I could ever hope to be. Your country is lucky to have you as its guardian.”

Shuri stops, amazed, then wipes her eyes and leans in closer to him.

“I could take this vial from you and drain its contents right now, but you asked me to talk you out of drinking it. So I will do my best.” A breath. “I understand that this is a way for you to never have to see me again when you go to sleep. I would not judge you for choosing to take that path. But I think to do so would be a waste of your gifts. And you would be depriving the world of a great hero.”

She stares at it and sets it down between her legs, but says nothing.

“I understand why you would want to drink it,” He says quietly. “But why would you not want to?”

Shuri sighs. “It’s supposed to taste disgusting.”

“Really?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You know, when you took me to your kingdom, I would have been happy to stay there. It was beautiful. And I liked talking to you. You didn’t try to coddle or patronise me, and you didn’t judge me for wanting to burn the world. It felt…good, to just be able to be with you like that. I wanted to spend more time together because you made me feel less alone. But then when you—“ She shivers, then draws in a shaky breath. “—When you killed my mother, I wanted you to burn too.”

“I know.”

“The Black Panther isn’t supposed to be driven by hatred or vengeance, but I was. It was all that I could think about, putting your head on a pike. And it was wrong for me to do that. I want to do better. I need to be better.” And she knows that, logically, she can’t make that change by running away from the person she has become.

She is suddenly acutely aware that the bonfire is dying beside her, and the sky is beginning to grow pale.

“You should not be ashamed to feel the need for vengeance,” He says. “We are avatars for our gods, and thus represent them and all of our people, at our best and our worst.”

Shuri pauses, then swallows back a lump in her throat. “My brother was never like that. He was always the best of us. He was good.” Then, looking down, she realises that his hand is only an inch away from her. Heat begins to bloom in her chest, rising to her cheeks.

“I doubt that,” He says. “None of us stay pure.”

She has nothing to say to that.

“I’m not trying to insult him,” He says suddenly. “I know you loved him dearly.”

“I get it.” She does, but even so her tone comes out like a blade scraping against stone.

He goes silent.

“You listened to me tell you about my family, and you told me about yours. So why did you kill my mother?”

After awhile, he lets out a long sigh. “When your assassin came to my cenote, I was with your mother in Cape Verde. I thought she had called me there to bargain for your freedom, but it was only after I returned that I’d realised it had been a distraction.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“It didn’t matter, I had assumed that you had all planned it. Your assassin murdered two of my children.”

She tenses, remembering how she’d tried to heal Nakia’s victim before being pulled away. Then, realising what he’d said, she looks to him. “Children?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I know you’re old, but is it like—a lot of people in Wakanda would call the Queen ‘Mama,’ and the King ‘Baba.’ Is it like that?”

He shakes his head. “Remember, I was born of the first generation of Talokanil, of which there were only about thirty. We all aged considerably slower than the average human, and sometimes we would intermingle with other kingdoms. But we grew our numbers by having many, many children.”

She blinks. It seems reasonable, given the timeline, but it’s strange, even disarming to hear it said aloud. Staring at his face, it’s not always easy to remember that he is, in fact over five centuries old. He has lived ten of her lifetimes. And it takes a moment for her to process that there are still other underwater kingdoms. But she does not pry; perhaps they want their privacy.

“Being who I am, I have had many paramours over the centuries.”

Shuri raises an eyebrow. “Really?” Something flutters in her chest. Her cheeks feel a bit hotter, imagining him with someone--anyone else. Bast, why is she like this?

He smiles knowingly. “It was often for religious purposes. You know, ‘ah if we pleasure our K’uk’ulkan and take his seed, the crop will be better this year!’ As a result, I have many descendants.” He pauses. “The women she killed were my daughters.” He closes his eyes, then lets out a small shiver, as the breeze brushes against their skin. “Their names were Abha and Talya.” When he speaks again, there is something new to his voice. The smallest crack in the glass. “I have held the hands of my dying children and grandchildren many times. I have been betrayed, and I have been powerless in the face of destruction. I was so sure, upon meeting you, that things would be different this time. So when she killed them, it hurt me more than you could ever know.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighs again. “But it did not give me the right to take your mother away from you. And for that, I am truly sorry. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

Shuri bites her bottom lip, then closes her eyes. “Mama was a strong swimmer. If she’d been alone in there, she would have survived. She died saving Riri from drowning,” She whispers, feeling her body break into trembles. For a moment, Mama’s still form flashes through her mind. But then, she sees her standing. Smiling and clad in white. Show him who you are.

Shuri rests her hand on his, and looks him in the eye. “I forgive you. And I am so sorry about your daughters.”

He smiles sadly in return, then turns his hand until their fingers are interlocked. They keep their gaze on each other, his dark eyes sparkling, while he begins to brush his thumb lightly against her palm. Then, without another word, she opens the small bottle and pours its smoky black contents onto the sand. When the last drop falls, she lets out a long sigh and throws the vial and top back into her bag, before closing it and putting it aside. When she returns, she wraps her fingers in his again.

“I don’t want to be angry,” She finally says, letting a stray tear fall. “I don’t want to be consumed by vengeance.” No matter how much she hates him, she hates the feeling even more. The way that it would eat away at her spirit like a cancer. All-encompassing, all-consuming. It gives nothing, but only takes from its host. Her goodness, her love, and her desire for understanding, and companionship. Her belief that she can be better. That anyone can be better.

She leans in closer, holding his hand tight while she places her free hand on his cheek. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

He shivers, then takes her other hand in his. “You’re not alone.”

As though his words are stoking the flame within her, Shuri leans forward and kisses him. Slowly, passionately, then she whispers: “Neither are you, K’uk’ulkan.”

 

***

 

The Feathered Serpent God has never been alone, but he has always been lonely. His spirit has always yearned for companionship. 

To be alone is simply to be isolated physically, because of death or another form of separation. But, even someone who is alone may know where to find people. They can find the surface and take a breath. To be lonely, is to stand by the shoreside in the brisk night air, naked and exposed. You can see movement in the distance, and hear laughter and singing behind you. Yet even if you try to join the people, you feel as though you are a ghost, unable to speak to or touch anyone. You are not simply on your own, but unsafe. Unprotected. Vulnerable. The only one who can help you, is one who knows exactly what it means to be in your position. Loneliness is not something that can be remedied with the presence of sex. It is not a gap to be filled by just any willing man or woman. It is so much more.

And here now, kissing Shuri, holding her hand and caressing her face…he does not feel lonely anymore. There’s no mask that he needs to put on, no spear to brandish, no one to intimidate. It is just the two of them, and they can just be in the moment together. For once, there is nothing else to it. For once, he can just let himself be.

She stops for a moment, feels his hand, then blinks. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his heart racing. “I am,” He whispers, kissing her again. Shaking, hungry, wanting so much more. “I am absolutely okay.”

Shuri smiles, then brushes her thumb against his cheek. Her dark skin is so soft, so warm and comforting. Far behind her head, beyond the broken tree trunk, the sky is beginning to transform into a rosy shade, and the sun is beginning to rise and form a halo around her head.

Seeing his reaction, the corner of her mouth rises slightly. “What?’

“Jach ma’alo’ob a wilikech.”

A nervous laugh emerges from her throat. “What does that mean?”

K’uk’ulkan softens, then kisses her again, lightly. He breathes against her lips. “You are so beautiful.”

She giggles lightly, then presses the side of her body against his. putting their hands on her thigh. “You can’t just say that to me.”

“Why?”

She’s moving their hands closer to the centre of her thighs. “It sounds too lovely.” Then, she leans forward and breathes against his lips. “Say it again.”

He grins. “You are beautiful. Radiant. Extraordinary.” He says it again and again, then in Yucatec, again and again, breaking each sentence with a kiss on her lips, cheek, down until he is kissing her neck. “I am in awe of you, Shuri.”

She moans softly as he descends, whispers something in Xhosa, and then his name. His true name, K’uk’ulkan.

When he kisses her collarbone, a new shiver goes down her body, so strong that it makes him pause. He looks to her uncertain face, then, when she nods, he traces the top of her black shirt. Her side, waist, hip, and thigh. Her other hand, still interlocked with his, trembles slightly, then her grip tightens. Her eyes shut tight, and a whisper escapes her lips. “You are incredible.”

He kisses her collarbone, then just below. “I want you.” He says, unable to help himself any longer.

“I want you too,” she breathes. Then, with only a moment’s hesitation, she leans her head back, inviting him to continue.

Chapter 11: Yaakunaj

Notes:

We have officially made it to the smutTM chapter! Enjoy <3 <3 I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so there will be a little bit of a hiatus, but I hope this ties you guys over until then!

When K’uk’ulkan kisses the bottom of Shuri’s neck, she lets out a small shiver.

“Keep going,” She whispers into his hair, and he is more than happy to oblige. Each kiss on her neck, cheeks, lips, chest grows deeper. Hungrier. He has a way about it, either from experience or the heat of this moment, that makes every touch and movement far more pleasurable than anything she’s experienced before.

Slowly, he pulls away from her skin and looks to her chest, eyes wide and each breath slow and careful. His fingers curl around the edge of her top, then pause before tugging it down below her breast. Like he’s afraid to push her too far.

He meets her gaze. “Are you sure?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Shuri pulls her shirt over her head and throws it aside, leaving only a thin bra underneath. “I said that I want you,” She murmurs, removing her Kimoyo beads next. With her other hand, the one bearing the jade bracelet, she reaches forward and brings her fingers underneath his chin. She brings it closer, brushes her thumb against his lips, then kisses him deeply. When she’s done, she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against his, a low purr escaping from he back of her throat. “And I meant what I said. So make this worth my while.”

He chuckles. “Of course, yaakunaj.” Then, their lips still pressed together, he pulls her towards him until she is straddling his lap, legs on either side. She does not know what this word, yaakunaj means, but he says it with such softness and endearment that it must be something good.  

He stares at her chest for a long while, then her waist and stomach, even the keloid that has formed around the spear wound in her flank. It does not hurt when he brushes his fingers against it, but seeing the way that his face darkens, she kisses his forehead and guides his hands away, so that they trace the shape of her body back up to her chest. And when he begins to kiss, suck at her skin as though it’s nectar, and work his way back down her chest, she guides his hands to her back. Together, they undo the clasp of her bra and toss it aside, leaving her breasts bare.

As he examines them, Shuri can’t help but shudder with a slight tinge of embarrassment. Underneath everything, they’re so small and unassuming—nearly flat—in keeping with the rest of her thin frame. But before she can say something about it, a joke or a self-deprecating comment, he brings his hands towards them and cups each one delicately. Something stirs with that, a distinct sensation of wetness below. Then, he leans forward and begins to kiss them, first right, then left. Slow, deliberate, each one lingering a moment longer than it should, like it’s hard for him to separate his lips from her skin. When his lips find her dark nipples, they settle on the spot for some time and suck, his tongue breaking through to play with the tips until they grow hard from the stimulation. A small giggle arises from within her chest, and the dam begins to leak, making her even wetter. He starts holding her hips, rocking them back and forth so that she’s riding his legs. One two one two, satisfaction blooms within her. She knows, oh she knows very well how insane this is, because of their troubled history and their likelihood of getting caught here. But in this moment, the rest of the world does not faze her.

(Frankly, the mere thought of getting caught now, with her top off and spreading her moistness onto his thighs, is only adding to her excitement).

After what feels like an eternity, he lets his mouth off of their breasts, leaving them reddened, hard, and swollen. Shuri lets out a few shaky breaths. “I’ve never gone all the way with anyone,” She admits, the words tumbling out of her. In truth, she’s had flings; nights like earlier, where she’d go out into the city alone and pretend to be a university student. She’d done it a few times in the months following the Blip, when she’d been thrown back so suddenly into this plane of existence, and T’Challa had begun to feel sick. Mama had chastised herself for acting out, for debasing herself and the royal family by allowing herself to be swept up by drunk young men and women. She’d always taken birth control as a precaution—she still does—but not one of them had ever gone below her chest. And not one of them had ever made her feel quite like this. “Just—I—I want it to be good for us.”

An all too mischievous smile quickly spreads across his face. “You said you want it to be worthwhile, right?”

Shuri smiles, shifting her weight to counteract the sensation building between her legs. “I do.”

“Then how can I make it so, Shuri?”

She considers this request for a moment, eyeing his lovely face. Strange…she’d spent so much of the past month hating him, that she’d never allowed herself to visualise a moment like this. Loving him. Lusting for him. Yet all at once, the possibilities are swirling through her mind, like her fantasies have always been there, but hidden behind a thick curtain. Now, it’s down. And it is freeing to be able to say that she desperately wants this. She is in love with Namor, with K’uk’ulkan, and she wants to keep going. She wants to have sex with him so, so badly that almost hurts.

So, without any more delay, she sits back and pulls off her shorts, tossing them to the right. “I want you to go down on me.”

His smile widens even further. “It would be my pleasure.” One hand on her back, another around her waist, and then she is laying backwards, further and further until her skin touches the coarse half-wet grains. 

She watches as he spreads her legs and takes a moment to drink things in. It makes her nervous, and before she can help herself she blurts out “I’m so sorry I haven’t shaved in a while!”

“No problem at all,” His voice is almost melodious, before he kisses her inner thigh. “Oh, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to taste you. You beautiful, radiant creature.” The other. Closer and closer, longer and longer, then he pauses, meets her eyes, and licks a clean stripe up the centre of her pussy.

A low growl forms in the back of Shuri’s throat. “Yes…”

He takes it and continues, licks again and again while she moans and twitches, then sucks at it, drinks the liquid from her cunt like a dying man. He digs deeper, so much that his moustache and the jade in his nose tickles her labia, making her giggle. Then finally, once he’s decided that she’s slick and ready, his lips find her clitoris and begin to suck again. Hard and slow, with an impressive amount of stamina. It feels like he’s been going forever, then he comes up for the smallest bit of air before diving back in. He’s done this before, she figures, but Bast, he is so capable and thorough that she does not care in the slightest. It is artful, the way that he eats her. Like he knows just how to move and how much pressure to use to make her body and heart sing.

She throws her head back and stares up at the golden dawn sky, feeling pleasure build within her. Her hand begins to drift towards him, eager to help rub the area. “I’m going to—“

“Yes?” He asks.

“Namor—I’m going to finish—“

Suddenly, he stops. Pulls away from her legs, and lunges forward to kiss her on the mouth, spreading some of her wetness there.

“Are we enemies, Shuri?”

She blinks. “What? No, of course not—Shorter—“ Another kiss. A gasp. “Namor’s shorter—nickname—“

He interrupts her with another kiss. She can feel his hand on her thigh, moving inwards. “If you truly want to give me a nickname, use it another time.” Without warning, he puts a finger inside of her. Then the second. “Right now, I only want to hear you say my true name.”

When he’d first asked her this in their shared dream, she’d complied almost as a joke. It didn’t seem serious to her ears at the time, only that he’d wanted her to stroke his ego. But now, in this moment, she understands why he didn’t want to hear Namor. He didn’t want her to say that he was without love. He wants to be seen as himself.

A third finger enters her. She nods and shuts her eyes, feeling her insides tense up. “Mmhmm.”

He begins to thrust his fingers in and out rhythmically. Faster, and faster. “Say it,” He breathes into her neck. “Who am I to you, yaakunaj?”

“K’uk’ulkan,” She murmurs dreamily, while he returns to her breast and closes his mouth around her nipple again. “My feathered serpent god.”

“That’s right. And you are my black panther.” He whispers. His fingers are still moving, every new thrust now accompanied by a loud squick from her wetness. “Say it again.”

Shuri lets out a strangled gasp and wraps her arms and legs around his body, digging her dull short nails into his skin. He flinches, but only for a moment.

“K’uk’ulkan,” She moans, biting her lip. Again and again she repeats his name, feeling come build within her as his fingers move faster, his other hand hangs tightly onto her hips, his mouth presses harder into her hot flesh, and his dark eyes stare into hers, sparkling as if they have been set aflame. “I—I—“ Suddenly, the dam breaks, she arches her back up and lets out a loud moan as the white—hot orgasm breaks through.

He does this one more time before he lets her come up for air. And when it is over, he bites at her nipples and lets go. Shuri only lets herself breathe for a moment before she sits up and wraps her hand around the back of his neck.

The boyish smile returns to his face, and his chin lifts half an inch. “Was that worthwhile, Shuri?”

She grins and wraps her fingers around the ones that he’d put inside of her. Then, she brings the come to her mouth and kisses him deeply, savouring every last bit of his mouth. “It was perfect.” She kisses his neck, sucks at the skin until she can see a mark begin to form. It brings her some self-satisfaction, to see that her mouth is strong enough to leave a hickey on his diamond-hard skin. “But now it’s my turn.”

He lets out a low growl at that, a primal sort of arousal, then lets himself lay back while Shuri adjusts her position.

No longer afraid, or even hesitant, Shuri pulls down his shorts, bit by bit, then reaches her hand inside and wraps her hand around his cock—her fingers do not meet her thumb—then pulls it out so suddenly that he lets out a small gasp. 

“Oh,” She mutters when she sees it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong with it?”

Quite the opposite, in fact. His brown cock is so large and wide that it looks, on first observation, that it might be too big for either of her holes.

But she’s not going to back down from a challenge. She will find a way to make this work.

“We’re good to go,” She says, nodding towards it. Then, she dips her head and opens her mouth wide to take it all in. She gags at first, but only for a moment. Movement helps combat that reflex, so she does what she can. At some point, his hand travels up to the back of her head, pushing her a centimetre lower than before. She continues, pushes herself, resists the urge to come up for air, and uses her nose to breathe. Eventually, she pulls her mouth back and licks the sides while one hand wraps around the side and moves up and down, pumping it up while she locks her gaze onto his.

Namor moans loudly and lays back against his elbows, murmuring her name dreamily. And when the noises get louder, and the growl returns, she leans forward and kisses his neck. He shudders and grabs her hips tightly, then her ass, while her hand is still on his cock.

“What do you want me to do next?” She asks coyly. “How can I satisfy you, K’uk’ulkan?”

He moans again at the sound of her name, and gives her bare skin a pinch. “I want to put it inside you.” Then, a pause. He seems to see her smile, sense her excitement, and grins. “Do you want that, Black Panther?”

She nods.

Again, his fingers find her wetness, and play with the flaps of skin covering the hole. “Are you ready to take it?”

“I am,” She breathes. Then, a pause. Something settles, as a stupid thought crosses her mind. “You don’t have like, any infections, do you? I don’t know, do you guys have those in Talokan?”

He furrows his brow. “No, no we don’t have those. Please don’t worry.”

“Okay—“ She nods quickly. “And I’m on birth control, won’t get pregnant, so—“ A shake of her head. She must sound so nervous, but it was honestly just bad timing. They’re rolling around in the sand and dirt. If anything happens, that will be tomorrow’s problem. She can get what she needs without any issues.

He pauses, then brings his palm to her cheek. He holds it tenderly. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do this, just tell me, and it’s okay.”

Shuri shakes her head, then realises she’s actually starting to tremble. Her grip on his cock relents, but only slightly. “I’m so much more than okay,” She says with a smile. “I want you inside of me. Now. So badly. ” And then, without any more hesitation, she adjusts herself and pushes it into her cunt, biting her lip when the flash of pain comes. He has warmed her up for this, yes, but it’s still big. And it still takes a moment for her body to adjust. But when it’s all the way in, and she moans, she begins to ride it, forwards and backwards, while he holds her hips delicately.

“Yes, yes just like—“ He murmurs, before his head rolls back again. He shuts his eyes and moans again with pleasure. And she rests her hands on his chest and gold-vibranium necklaces, caressing his skin with each stroke. “You’re so strong,” He whispers between breaths. “So strong, so good. My pantera—” He praises her like this, repeating the words as if deep in prayer, until he finally finishes and it bursts forth and fills her.

 

***

 

They lie together in the sand for some time after, staring up at the clear morning sky while tangled in each other’s arms. Their bodies are both filthy with sand, dirt, and bits of weeds that had washed up on the shore.

At some point, Shuri begins to laugh. It makes her cry a bit too, how hysterical it all is. She’s just had sex. Bast, she’s just had full-blown dirty, debased penetrative sex with Namor. 

And it was incredible. It has barely been half an hour and, despite her shaky breathing, she wants to do it all over again.

When she rolls over to the side to look at him, her cheeks grow hot as she realises he’s been staring at her the whole time.

“What is it?” She asks with a small laugh.

He lets out a long sigh. “I just want to look at you a little while longer.”

Shuri smiles and reaches out to hold his face, and his hand reaches up to hold hers. His fingers brush against the jade bracelet, and for a few precious moments they lie in this peace and serenity.

Then, at some point, she draws in a deep breath and kisses him. “We should wash up.”

As she climbs to her feet and walks shakily to the water, she can see him still watching her out of the corner of her eye. It feels so beautiful to be desired like this, to know that he can look at her now, with her hair and body a mess, and still want her so much.

The river, luckily, is cleaner than most, but she will need a real shower after this. Even so, the coolness of the water feels so intense against her skin, breaking through the flames underneath. She sighs and keeps walking until it is above her neck. After a moment, she turns to Namor, who stands up and straightens his shorts, then starts striding towards her. Unfazed by the change in temperature, he continues forward until they are standing together again, and he takes her waist in her arm.

“Thank you for that,” Shuri says, linking her arms behind his neck and legs behind his hips. “It was incredible.”

Namor’s expression is full of pride and satisfaction. “I’m very glad. You were fantastic.”

They stay like that for a minute, just floating in the water, spinning ever so slowly while the bustle of the city—the whole world, really—seems so distant.

Finally, unable to take the silence anymore, she tries to change the mood. “I know you don’t like me calling you Namor, but…can I?”

He tilts his head. “I suppose, if you want. But…”

“What?”

He dips his head. “You know how I was given that name. It represents my hatred. Of the humans, the colonisers, the whole surface world…” She understands what he means, even if he does not want to continue. He does not want to be seen as someone without love, not when he is with her like this.

She kisses him, bringing him back. “I know a bit of Spanish, you know. And I know that while sin amor means without love, con amor means with love.”

An eyebrow raises. “What are you talking about?”

“Namor,” Another peck. “K’uk’ulkan. Your names define you only as much as you let them. I know that you’re not a cold man, and I know that both of these names are a part of who you are. So don’t be ashamed of them. Don’t run away from them. Not with me. And if it hurts that much, then just remember that you can change the story.”

He looks up and smiles lightly, as if this thought had never crossed his mind before. “I think I would say the same for you. Princess Shuri. Black Panther. Protector of Wakanda. All of these are a part of who you are.”

She smiles and shifts her legs under the surface, bringing her cunt close to his. She knows that he’s right. “That they are.”

“So no more running?”

Her chest presses against his. “No more running.”

Sensing what she wants, Namor lowers one hand and brings the fingers close to it, sliding the first one inside with ease. Then the other.

Somehow, the sensation feels even better underwater.

“I have one more question,” Shuri says slowly, pressing her forehead against his. She presses her lips against his lightly, then pulls an inch away, smelling the salt and aloe. “What does yaakunaj mean?” She asks in between kisses, while his fingers are still inside of her.

He smiles and pulls her even closer, deepening the strokes. “In my language, it means love. You are my yaakunaj. You are my love.”

Her heart flutters with joy, and she kisses him back. “We have a word for that in Xhosa. We say sthandwa.” Another stroke, and another strangled gasp escapes her lips.

He smiles. “Sthandwa,” He says the word like he’s trying it on for size, savouring how it feels on his lips. And he seems to enjoy it. “Sthandwa, yaakunaj.” His lips find her neck, then her mouth again. “I love you Shuri. I love you so much.”

Hearing him say it like that, she wants to weep with joy.

“I love you too.”

Chapter 12: Sunlight

Notes:

Hi! Shorter chapter than I would have liked, but the next one will be the epilogue...I expect that one will be long, I'm planning on doing a series of short romantic/comedic scenes and stuff (might be two chapters, who knows) to wrap up the story. That might take awhile, but I thought it'd be good to get this out before I continued. It's been a very long winter break, and today's been a very shitty day...so I wanted to at least end it on a slightly better note.

Please enjoy, and thank you to everyone for the continued support! I really couldn't have made it this far without you. Ily all <3 <3

Namor has always understood there to be three types of living creatures: those born in the sunlight, those born in the shadows, and those who were born in Talokan.

The creatures born in the sun, to the shallows and surface world, use the light to survive. The plants use the light to power the process of photosynthesis, which allows them to create the most basic nutrients that they need to survive. Humans and other animals require it to sustain their bones, muscles, and skin.

Those born to the deep sea, where only darkness thrives, must be resourceful like no other. Of course, these creatures cannot know why they must behave like this, because there is no point of reference. They simply learn from birth to use what is around them: chemical energy, to synthesise their nutrients and stay alive. They don’t know the sun, they don’t understand the power of its rays, and they do not need to. There is no grief to be felt for an experience that has never been had. 

But the Talokanil live in the realm of darkness only because it is not safe for them to be in the light. They are like scorned lovers, disgusted by the people above and unwilling to share their hearts and spirits with anyone again. They learn to only enjoy their own company, guard their secrets. Survive. Survive. Just survive.

His subjects have lived in darkness for centuries, but Namor can still recall the way that his mother had wasted away from grief and heartbreak. Part of them would always remember the feeling of the sun, as they had never been entirely built to live below.

 

Once, when Namor was a young boy, he tried to swim to the deepest trench that he could find, just for the fun of it. Though his mother warned him against it, he darted through the water using the power of his wings and went as far down into the void as he could. Deep, deep, deeper, until he did not know which way was up, and could only float in blackness and listen for something that could guide him.

After awhile, he noticed a tiny ball of light before him, moving slowly towards his face. It was dim and a soft orange, like the sunset that he sometimes saw when he poked his head above, but it produced no warmth. Gingerly, he reached out to touch it, then flinched, as the light twitched and move. Seeing the large beady eyes, he let out a small scream and jerked his fingers back, just as the fish attempted to bring its razor-sharp teeth down onto his skin.

The orange fish was a small thing, not much larger than its head. And his skin was hard enough for its enormous mouth to have very little effect. But it looked like a frightening monster, feral, ravenous. Even he, invulnerable as he was, could detect this creature’s dangerous aura. It was strong enough to make his heart race and breaths grow shallow. The two of them stared for a moment, each uncertain of what to do. Who here was the true predator, and who was the prey? But then, the boy caught a glimpse of the light above the trench and broke off, swimming up for dear life.

When he found the blue again, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to Chaac and swam back to the city, searching for his mother. She chastised him for swimming off, hugged him tight, and he did not speak of the experience again.

As the years went by, his mother would sometimes swim up to the surface on her own, stealing precious moments in the daylight without an oxygen mask for her protection. Often, she would swim under suddenly, silently, her eyes wide and brows raised as though she had seen something horrible on land…or perhaps because someone had seen her. And after he buried her and returned home, covered in the Spaniards’ blood, he began to consider ways to safely bring the sun to Talokan, so that they could live their lives with a little more hope.

Because in the end, that is what the sun has always been to him. Hope.

Yes, it is useful to life forms in a literal way, but all creatures are able to adapt in some capacity to their surroundings to prolong their existence. All plants and animals are capable of gaining nutrients from what is put in front of them, even if they were born to a different environment. Even in the shadows, they can create their own lights to guide their path or bait their prey, like that hideous fish from the trench.

But, to humans at least, the sun is more than that, isn’t it? The sun warms their homes, powers some of their technology, and influences each person’s energy levels and sleep-wake cycles. That great ball of fire that moves in the sky each day…it is the reason that they get up in the morning. The sun is hope. The sun is life.

No wonder nearly every human civilisation since the beginning of time has regarded it as a god.

And even now, staring at Shuri’s face while they float in the river together…all he can think about is the sun rising above her head. The way it accentuates her features and casts her naked body in a warm glow.

She smiles, half-nervously, and meets his eyes. A short giggle escapes her lips. “What?”

Namor closes his eyes and presses his forehead against hers, saying nothing. Because for one more moment, he just wants to savour things between them. He wants to hold onto his sun.

 

***

 

Shuri knows that he’s watching her carefully while she’s putting her clothes back on. It makes her heart flutter a little, to see his gaze linger over her half-naked form, as though he’s trying to savour the look of her body before she hides it again.

When she finishes putting on her sandals and backpack, she walks towards him, standing still by the water, and wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pulling his head towards her for another kiss.

“Thank you,” She says quietly as she pulls away.

He laughs softly. “For what?”

“For last night,” Shuri continues, smiling at him. “It was really amazing.”

Namor grins at that. “I would be happy to do it again sometime.”

She smiles, then lowers her gaze to his bare feet, where one of the wings is still twitching ever-so-slightly. “How’s your wing doing, by the way?”

“It’s healed, I can travel normally.”

“Ah…” She says softly. “That’s good.”

Feeling his fingers hold onto her chin, she lifts her gaze back to his.

“What is it, my love?”

His expression is so sincere and full of concern. His dark eyes seem just a bit brighter. “It’s nothing, I just—“ She clears her throat and steps back, separating their bodies, then shakes her head. “You can get out of the country safely, right? You won’t have any trouble with the patrols?” Ever since the battle, there have been twice as many jets as usual patrolling the city bounds. And though many river tribe warriors had fallen, more had taken their place to watch the border.

He pauses, then laughs softly. “I snuck through the border without any issue. Trust me, I will be just fine.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, then stops and swallows, avoiding his eyes. Bast, she knows what she wants to ask, but why can’t she bring herself to do it? She wants to make this moment last a little longer. She wants him to stay with her.

So, taking a deep breath, she steps back towards him, and asks softly. “Can you fly?”

He blinks, then the corner of his mouth curls up with understanding. “Of course I can.” She lets out a small yelp as he wraps his arm tightly around her hip. “Where would you like to go?”

 

Shuri has flown in aircrafts of many shapes and sizes. She has leapt great heights and experienced the rush of falling through the air currents and dropping to the ground or water below.

But this. This is different. She is holding tight to his neck and shoulders while he is holding her waist, staring into his eyes, her heart pounding like a great drum while he floats to a hundred metres above the ground.

She can’t help but look to his feet while he does it. According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that this man should be able to fly. Yet, he is flying and carrying her.

“How are you doing?” He whispers into her ear.

“I—Whoa—!” A gust of wind blows past, blowing Shuri’s curls so hard that she almost puts a hand on top to keep them from falling off. A panicked laugh escapes her lips, just as her grip is tightening around him. “I’m good. I’m good.” She shuts her eyes and lets her ear rest against the centre of his chest. His heart is pounding too.

“Then maybe we can--“

Before either of them can say anything else, Namor holds onto her and darts further up, so forcefully that he seems to create a large boom! She screams at the start, then slowly opens her eyes, then looks down to see that they are traversing a field of fluffy white clouds. Craning her neck, she can see the stratocumu—fuck she doesn’t even care right now—and watches with wonder as they shape and reform into great hills and mountains before her. It’s as though he’s brought her to a fairytale world, just for her.

They float for a moment, then continue, darting just above the fields, so close that her heels brush against the clouds, dissipating them before her. pressure and speed keeps her ear glued to his chest, but strangely, she does not feel panicked. Or particularly cold for that matter, besides a slight feeling of frigidity in the air. Perhaps it’s because of the incredible view before her, or more likely it’s because of his strong arms protecting her from any harm. At some point, she hears him chuckle slightly to himself; his chest rises and falls. He’s enjoying this too, like it’s his first time in the sky.

Flying. This is what it truly feels like, to have the cold air against her skin, the currents tangling her hair and cooling her heated cheeks. Her mind flashes to other people she has seen fly, like Tony Stark, James Rhodes, and that white woman who’d glowed like a star and singlehandedly taken down Thanos’s ship. But they all looked like they’d had something protecting them, helping them, blocking out the feeling of the atmosphere. Namor is soaring like an eagle. This is flight in its purest form.

“Hold your breath in three seconds,” She hears him say. One, two—she takes in a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks. He dives down right into the water, snow and ice. Immediately, it obscures her vision, though it actually feels a little warmer than the sky itself. Finally, just as she feels like she’s about to start gasping for oxygen, they emerge below. In a moment, he settles into a hover just in time to reveal a wall of grass cliffs.

She knows this place. It is about ten kilometres north of the capital, lush and rough. The perfect place for two siblings to play together, and for lovers to go be alone. She knows that T’Challa has been here before.

“We should stop here,” She whispers. So, he complies, and lands them at the top of one of the cliffs so that they are overlooking the capital’s walls. They sit together after awhile, side by side, hands clasped together between them.

Shuri lets out a deep breath, willing her heart to calm down. “That was amazing,” is somehow all that comes out.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Namor. Then, he draws out a long sigh and closes his eyes. “There’s nothing quite like flying, I will admit.” He opens his eyes and smiles at her, warmth all over his face. “I’m glad he got to share that with you.”

They sit there for a long while, silent save for the buzzing of insects and caws of morning birds. Finally, Shuri leans over and rests her head on his shoulder. He rests his head atop hers.

“I should get going,” She says, sighing sadly. “The others are probably worried about where I am.” She’d left her Kimoyo beads in her bag, silent.

“I should probably get back too…otherwise Namora might get on my back.” A pause. A breath. “Do you want me to fly you closer to the city, or back to the river?”

“No, it’s fine. Honestly they’ll probably ask fewer questions if they find me here.”

He pauses, then nods to himself. He understands what she means. “Okay.” Slowly, he lifts his head and pulls away, climbing to his feet. Shuri does the same, and gazes up into his warm brown eyes.

“When can I see you again?” She asks.

Namor reaches over to brush her curls aside, then kisses her tenderly on the forehead. “Whenever you’d like. You still have a conch left, and I suspect that we will see each other again when we sleep.” He winks, and immediately she feels heat rise to her cheeks.

Shuri nods, smiling wide. “Okay,” She says. “Then I’ll call you soon.”

Namor smiles, then kisses her on the lips. They part slowly, without sorrow or bitterness, but the promise of another meeting to come. With hesitation, they begin to untangle their arms and bodies from each other, until Shuri steps back far enough to give Namor the chance to shoot into the air. They exchange nods, and she starts walking away.

“Shuri—“ He calls out, causing her to whirl. There he is, cupping his arms to project his voice. He lowers his arms quickly, revealing an elated, boyish smile.

“Yeah?”

“You will be an amazing Black Panther.”

And with that, he turns and leaps off the edge of the cliff. Shuri hears the soft boom! as he speeds up, then watches until his form disappears high above the mountainous clouds.

She walks down the rocky terrain for a while before she calls for a jet to take her to the palace. Once again, they have parted, but this time, there is no sadness, longing, anger, or regret in her.

Just a heart full of love, and newfound pride.

Chapter 13: Union (Part 1)

Notes:

Hey! We're finally getting to the end of the story! I've decided to uhh...lighten things up for the end. To be quite honest, I don't have the patience for a big long story with like...a real plot. A lot of this has really just been me having my fun with the characters.
To everyone who's stuck with me this long, I hope you enjoy this chapter! After this, just one more to go! It might take a little while because school, but hopefully it will make everybody smile!

Shuri’s desire for Namor and her memories of their night and morning together continue to occupy her thoughts long after she reaches the city. She doesn’t return to the palace for a few hours, knowing that she must look like a lovesick teenager. Instead, she weaves her way through the streets, feeling a slight spring in her step. She wonders, briefly, if Namor has already returned to his own palace. Perhaps he’s doing the same thing as her, avoiding his advisors and wearing that stupidly childish, charismatic grin on his face.

At some point, she stops by a small cafe to pick up some chocolate malva, and the woman at the register gives her a wide smile. Her gaze is so knowing that Shuri lets out a small giggle, fully aware that she must sound delirious, and takes her treat to go.

Later that evening, she bumps into Aneka and Ayo while they are walking hand in hand on the palace grounds. The pair don’t notice her at first, but when they do, Aneka sprints up to her and hugs her so tightly that she feels like she’s going to burst.

“Ah Shuri, are you okay?” She says as she pulls back.

“I’m good!” She somehow squeaks out.

“We understand that you spent last night outside of the palace walls,” Ayo says then, an eyebrow raised.

Shuri stares at her for a moment, mindful that she, unlike Aneka, is fully decked out in her Dora General uniform. “I uhh…” Shit. She’d prepared a lie for this, why won’t it come to her?

“Yeah, it was all over the student chats,” Aneka interjects, before reaching down and fumbling with her beads. After scrolling through a few windows while Shuri and Ayo awkwardly look between her and each other, she pulls up a video with some loud voices and her singing and dancing onstage. 

As she turns off her beads, Shuri clears her throat and shifts her feet awkwardly, knowing full well that she must look flushed. “Yes, I eh—“ She stops, then purses her lips and stares at her friend. Aneka is barely two years older than her. She only graduated from university a couple of years ago, so it would make sense for her to still have contact with the students there. Any other night, such a thing would be a liability…but this could be an out.

“I stayed out…overnight.” She continues, slowly, nodding her head to sell it to the two of them. “Lost track of time. Sorry.” Then, she blinks, keeping her eyes shut half a second longer, as if her body is still anticipating a lecture from Mama about responsibility.

Yet, Ayo barely seems to react to this information. Aneka, on the other hand, claps her hands and laughs. “Ah, I’m glad you had fun!” Then, she winks and wiggles her finger at Shuri’s face. “You look different, you have like—like a new glow about you.”

Shuri doesn’t even get a chance to move before Aneka wraps an arm around her shoulder and turns them away from her girlfriend.

“So,” She whispers conspiratorially. “Were they good? Are you going to see them again?”

She sucks in a breath, then nods. The smile comes with ease. “Definitely.”

 

***

K’uk’ulkan.

She sees him again that very night, in the realm of the dead. Strangely enough, however, this time it seems that the environment around them has changed. The winding paths of the bush, once an endless labyrinth of worn down lines of grass and dirt, seem to find their end. Lying before her now, is the white-sand beach from before. Hesitantly, she steps forward, one foot in front of the other, until she is standing at the edge of the sea. Barefoot, the water against her is cool and pleasant. The sky above her shifts, morphs with every passing moment, weaving a beautiful tapestry of shimmering blue, violet ribbons of light. And twinkling among them, she swears that she can see hundreds of stars.

Shuri.

She turns at the sound of her name, and sees him before her. He breathes shakily with her, his shoulders tense, and then he lets them go. His entire body seems to relax in that moment, just like hers, and on his face is an expression of absolute relief.

Though it is not the real world, the pair make do for a time. They spend the eternity of the dream exploring each other’s bodies, continuing from the very place they left off. Each time, Shuri feels a dull pleasure wash over her, and she whispers to him that next time…next time, they’re going to do that position. He agrees each time, with a cheeky laugh and kiss, though his smile fades into a confused stare when she suggests that she would be interested in pegging. When she finishes explaining to him what this would entail, he seems a little apprehensive, but says he would consider it. And frankly, that is good enough for her.

The next night, they meet again in the realm, under the colourful starry sky.

They walk for awhile, hand in hand, and discuss their plans for the future, admitting to each other that they have not yet told their companions the truth about their new relationship for various reasons. At some point—they cannot say when, for time has no meaning in this place—they start trying to coach each other on what they might say.

I don’t think Attuma will care whatsoever. Twice now, I have caught him growing flustered at the mention of your bald warrior friend. He might be happy for an excuse to see her again.

Yeah, but I don’t know how she will respond to such news. Nakia already knows. But she still thinks you’re bad news.

Which one is Nakia?

Shuri hesitates, then, realising how little it matters, lets the words flow unbidden.

Nakia…was the one who took us out of the cave. And she was the one who saw us that night in Haiti.

Shuri half-expects him to blow up at that revelation, and at first he looks to be considering it. But moments later, his expression softens. His gaze darts around the ground, as though he is trying to review the past week, and then he exhales a very long, exasperated sigh.

I need help with Namora. She’s still not keen on any sort of alliance between our countries. If she found out about— He gestures between them awkwardly. She might lose her mind.

You’re scared of your own warrior?

You have never seen Namora angry.

 

***

A few weeks later, while Shuri is accompanying M’Baku to his first official UN meeting in New York, she slips away during the evening on her motorcycle. The strangeness of the exercise becomes evident to her immediately; it is her first time in America since she went to Oakland with T’Challa. It is also her first time ever at a UN meeting, and though she spends most of the time sitting to the king’s right in her suit and speaking very little, she knows she’s not going back anytime soon.

Strangely enough, nobody seems to give her a second look when she leaves. It’s not the first time this has happened. Since her morning with K’uk’ulkan, she’s had multiple instances where she would unceremoniously exit the palace grounds…and no one would try to stop her, or question her upon returning. Perhaps this was because of someone’s specific instructions—M’Baku’s, or perhaps Nakia’s--or because, now, as the Panther and last member of her family, she was grown-up enough to go out without being followed.

The idea that she could only go out with supervision was once something she greatly lamented, though in the past year it had been a convenient excuse for her to stay close to her lab, and her mother. This new freedom pains her a bit; an unspoken sign that it’s time to stand on her own. But it also carries an ease with it, and even a thrill. She is on her own, and no one is around to chastise her.

She doesn’t stop driving until she has crossed the bridge to Long Island and finds an undisturbed shoreline in Gantry State Park. There, she carefully hides her motorcycle and bag, and checks the time. 23:45.

They had already agreed to meet at the banks of the East River, but just to be sure that he can pinpoint her location, she blows into her conch shell and throws it into the water. He emerges about an hour later, spear in hand, initially not even noticing her. He’s soaking wet and muttering  something to himself while Mayan, and she watches with surprise as he reaches down to his stomach and legs to pick off a few pieces of plastic wrap, and plastic rings.

When he meets her eyes, he’s barely concealing his irritation.

Smiling, she activates her suit and wraps him in an embrace. “It’s good to see you again, K’uk’ulkan,” She says, kissing him on the lips while fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the river stench.

He still doesn’t seem particularly amused, though the kiss has added some levity to his features. “You know, you might have picked the worst place in the world to do this.” Then, without taking his eyes off her, he reaches behind and pulls another piece of plastic off of his back. He tosses it aside with disgust. “I don’t understand these people and their…obsession with plastic and oil. It’s foul.”

“These countries don’t have vibranium to power their technology.” Shuri points out, then immediately stops, feeling a strange shame at that. They have so much vibranium just sitting around, being endlessly transported by the mines. If the colonial powers of the world hadn’t already demonstrated their unwillingness to use it—or allow other African countries to use it—for altruistic reasons, the world’s power grids could look very different right now.

“Have they not made strides to harness solar power? Wind power?”

“They have.” She admits, recalling some images that she’s seen of solar fields and wind farms in various countries.

He mutters something to himself in Mayan and digs his spear into the grass, so deep that it stays perfectly upright even when he lets go. “So why aren’t relying solely on those sources?”

“And as I understand it, the capitalist corporations in these countries want to keep using oil, as they don’t think the other sources will make them a sufficient profit.”

Without skipping a beat, he kneels down to wipe the remaining water and gunk off his shin plates, then rubs his feet in the grass like a dog, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Do you know where these corporations are based?”

She narrows her eyes. “I do not.”

He pauses, then looks out across the river, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?”

“We could force them to make the change…”

“No, no, we are not doing that tonight.” Shuri asserts, pulling his arm and attention back to her. They only have so much time together, and as much as she would be happy to sit around and criticise the failures of America’s energy system, this is not the right time for him to be committing acts of eco-terrorism.

“But I—“

“No.”

He looks her up and down for a moment, then lets out a huff that causes his chest to puff out like a bird, before sitting down cross-legged on the grass. Slowly, she lowers herself to be next to him, then leans over to kiss his cheek.

“We don’t have that must time tonight,” She murmurs. “And I’ve missed you.”

He smiles gently and kisses her back. “I have missed you too.”

“Griot,” She says to her earrings, mindful of their location. “Is there anyone within a five hundred metre radius of us?”

No, Shuri.

Perfect. “And you will inform me if anyone gets close?”

Griot seems to sigh. Yes, Shuri. I will inform you if anybody gets close so that you can protect your dignity—

Without letting him finish that sentence, Shuri pins Namor to the ground and starts kissing his face, his neck, and his chest.

The sex is quick, and her clothes do not come off for the duration. When it’s over, she climbs off of him and goes to get her bag.

“Listen,” She says when she returns to his side. “If we’re going to do this, we need to find a way to make it look as natural as possible.”

“How do you propose doing this?”

“Well, for starters, we need a more effective way to communicate with each other.” With that, she holds up a black bracelet of Kimoyo beads. Before he reacts, she turns his head to the side, scans the back of his neck with her own, and places his set around his wrist. They light up a bright blue the moment they touch his skin.

“Interesting,” Namor murmurs, examining the beads. “So, what do I do with them?”

She tells him what each bead does in turn, waiting patiently while he tests out the functions. He’s a remarkably quick learner. And when she explains to him her plan, he seems all too eager to set it in motion.

 

***

 

Shuri flicks her finger across the hologram of the CIA-issued vibranium mining ship, while Okoye and Aneka “Griot, how many are we dealing with down there?”

A few beeps sound off before a series of orange lights appear on the ship. Twenty-nine crew members, at least ten of whom are armed with shotguns.

The women all know that it’s quite possible that Griot was unable to detect the crew members in the deeper levels of the ship, but…cross that bridge, right?

Okoye clicks her lips, then steps forward and points to the lights at the top. “Okay, so Aneka and I can take these twenty. Shuri, you’re going to go to the keel here and slip through the window. Find the—“

“Find the agents in charge of the operation, collect the data from their computers, and shut them down.” Shuri nods, holding up her USB to confirm her intent.

Minutes later, the two Midnight Angels jump out of the back of the Fighter and glide down to the hull of the ship. Shuri watches them go, then, when satisfied, she taps her Kimoyo beads.

“Ten minutes, are you ready?” She draws in a breath, then continues. “And remember, we’re not killing anyone today.”

A pause. “Fine.” Then, “Ready.” Says the voice on the other end, though it’s barely audible under the static and water. She makes a note to herself to update the beads to work at greater depths in the ocean, then walks to the drop point, folds her arms against her chest, and commands Griot to take over piloting.

Will do, Shuri. Dropping in 3—2—

She closes her eyes and lets herself drop down into the sky, flips her body forward, folds her arms to her side, and dives down. She hits the water near the ship like a speeding bullet, then swims to the side and digs her claws into the metal side. Slowly, carefully, she climbs up the side, eyeing the window for any visible activity, and then opens the window and slips her way inside. From there, she spends a few minutes weaving her way through the labyrinth of control rooms until she reaches a door propped open by a small paint can.

Steadying her breathing, Shuri opens the door and slips inside, hiding under the table. At the other side of the room, two light-haired white men, one sitting and one standing, seem to be watching a cluster of monitors, some displaying signals from their sensors, others displaying images of the ocean floor.

“Two hundred feet and descending.” One of them says, his voice clear and across the room.

Shuri creeps forward, under the tables and chairs, then stands up once she’s confident that they haven’t detected her presence. She scans the room and door for any potential newcomers or missed crew members, then tip toes closer to the man sitting down.

“So, how long do you think this is going to—“ An equally loud voice replies.

She leaps forward and wraps one hand around the neck, then drives the side of the other directly into his carotid sinus. He crumples immediately in her arms. When she lowers him, she turns to the other man, surprised that he hasn’t tried to attack her or pull a gun on her yet.

She stands still for a moment, waiting to see what he’ll do. But he just sighs and pushes himself away from the table. “Black Panther, huh? What do you want?”

“You aren’t—“

“Oh wait,” He holds up a finger to interrupt her, then reaches into his ears and pulls out a pair of earplugs. “They warned us in the briefing to keep an eye out for any singing blue people. Not sure what that was about, but I assume you’re probably not gonna kill me.” He pauses, then looks up at her, inquiring. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Not if you help me out.”

Collecting the data and disrupting the server turn out to be pretty easy. The man is happy to help her out, while murmuring something about how he hates his job and how much of an asshole his passed-out boss is. Once the computers and power in the room are off, he lets her check for communication devices and destroy his walkie-talkie, and agrees to fake unconsciousness and lie on the floor until help eventually arrives. In return, Shuri swears up and down to him that she won’t let the ship sink.

When she approaches the top floor, however, she can still hear a few shouts and clanging blades. Skipping up to the top, Shuri calls out for her friends, and then lets out a sigh of relief when she sees the two of them side by side, Okoye with her spear, and Aneka with her daggers. Around them are the crumpled but (hopefully) living bodies of the crew, some of whom look like mercenaries.

“So…is that it?” Shuri asks, looking down and kicking a shotgun out of one man’s hand.

“How many did you find?” Asks Aneka.

“Just two,” She says.

Okoye groans. “Okay, so at least eight left—“

“Get down on your knees! Hands in the air!” A shrill voice cries out from below.

Shuri steps back, re-activating her mask as a new stream of shotgun-wielding colonisers emerge from the stairwell. Okay, five, six, seven…She turns, seeing another cluster emerge from far behind. Already, she can count at least fifteen people, at least half of whom look way too buff and armoured to be mere crewmen. Clearly, the CIA was doing more to invest in security for their operations.

Cute.

“What’s a few more colonisers to take down?” Okoye grins, getting into her fighting stance while her blue mask covers her features.

“Let’s do this,” Aneka says happily, doing the same.

Suddenly, the ship begins to tremble, at first subtly but then hard enough that they all momentarily lose their balance. Someone swears, a man points his gun directly at them, but Shuri remains unfazed.

A large whistle sounds out, the unmistakeable call of a whale.

“This some shit that you’re doing?!” The man with the gun asks, his voice panicked and gun shaking.

Oh, if only he could see her smile under the mask.

A second later, the colonisers behind her yell out some expletives as a large blue whale jumps out of the water and brushes against the side of the hulking boat. The water splashes high over the rail, powerful enough to mask the appearance of the warriors. Namora lands gracefully on one knee, Attuma lands so harshly that he dents the floor, and two other warriors that perch themselves on top of the railing.

Okoye and Aneka turn to her, and though she can’t see their faces under the masks, she can only imagine that they are utterly flabbergasted.

“Hey, Okoye!” Attuma shouts with his booming voice, pointing to her. Even under his mask, they know that he's wearing a grin on his face. Namora says something to him in Mayan, they exchange a nod, and then she turns to the colonisers, readying her spear.

Okoye whirls around to Shuri, mask now off, and gives her a look of utter shock. "What are they doing here?"

"I called them," She says plainly. "Just in case we needed backup."

Okoye considers this for a moment, then nods. Her face morphs into a grin. "Attuma!" She cries out, pointing his way. "Ko'ox destruir le colonizadores!"

Shuri wants to laugh, but then the man in front of her recoils, yelling at the top of his lungs: "Oh FUCK!" She almost chuckles at him, his fear in the face of these incredible warriors, then realises he’s looking above her head. Tilting her head back, Shuri looks up and grins widely. Perfect timing.

Namor lands gracefully between her and the gun-wielding man, slamming the base of his spear down. While the others remain petrified, he steps forward, calmly reaches for the gun, then wraps his hand around the barrel.

The man, stupidly, tries to shoot. It blows up immediately, and he falls back, clutching his hand and crying out in agony.

“Glad you could make it,” Shuri says quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I couldn’t allow our allies to get into too much trouble.” He smiles at her knowingly. The pair of them turn to Okoye, Aneka, and the rest of the warriors, who nod hesitantly in return. The colonisers around them remain frozen in terror. Then, someone blinks, another shouts, and they move in, encircling the group from all sides. 

Shuri and Namor turn their backs to each other, ready to fight. She looks up, hearing a flapping sound, then sees a black helicopter approaching the side of the boat, with two people hanging out the sides holding very large guns.

“Ready?” Namor asks.

Shuri’s heart is pounding with excitement. Hoping the others can’t see it, she laces her fingers in his. “Ready.”

Chapter 14: Union (Part 2)

Notes:

Hiiii...so remember how I said that this was gonna be the last chapter? I lied, there's one more coming. I once again decided very last minute to split up the content. So please enjoy!

Death is not the end, but the beginning of a new life. Like the tree that burns in the dry season, and grows in the rain.

In the past, Shuri would often roll her eyes at the proverb, before launching into a some tired, protracted ramble about the actual cycles of death and regrowth in their bushes and forests. Plus, why would they compare the dry season burnings to the a person’s death? Those are done on purpose, the scope limited by professionals from the Border and River Tribes. Was the person who wrote this convinced some sick fuck who advocated for eugenics and population culls?

To be fair, the last bit was only something that her mind would spiral towards after a long while. She would never say those things out loud to her family, least of all T’Challa.

But she realises, now, that perhaps she never fully understood the metaphor of the proverb, in part because she never listened long enough to truly appreciate the second half.

And with every new tree that grows, we remember sadly and fondly, each one that came before.

She understands now, that the saying was not simply about death, but about grief. Shuri had spent so much time fearing that she would be left completely alone after losing her family. She would wake up some nights in her room, with only the sounds of her own breathing emanating through the space, and wrap herself in her arms to weep. She was so worried that she would have to spend the rest of her life with only herself to hold onto. No one to share her thoughts with, her hopes and dreams, the things that made her cry.

Shuri broke. She knows that now, and she knows that she broke more than once. She broke when Baba died, and she sacrificed all but her body to ensure that her brother would not meet the same fate. She broke when T’Challa died, knowing that she had been powerless to save him, and let her shattered pieces remain on the lab floor untouched. And she broke when Mama died, quickly, and violently. She turned her anger outwards, ready to burn and shatter the one who had caused her this pain even if it meant destroying those who were still keeping her tethered to the physical world.

And yet…against all odds, she has grown to accept this brokenness within her, and take steps to repair it. When a rope is cut, and you tie it back together, it will always be thicker in the spot where it split. When a bowl is shattered and repaired, the spider’s web of cracks will forever remain. And when a person is gravely wounded, inside or out, there will always be slight scar marking the spot of the injury. Every break, every wound, carries a connotation of irreversible change. One must not hide it, in shame or guilt, but accept its presence, and keep pushing forward.

She has learned how to do this, every day that she wakes up and faces the dawn. And she knows, now, that her grief is not something to be avoided or cursed, but acknowledged as her expression of everlasting love for those who have passed on, and those who are still with her.

She misses her family. She misses the days when she could still be a child, ignorant of the world’s cruelty. Without a guide, the world can seem dark and terrifying, full of monsters and villains and that horrifying abyss of the unknown. But…when there is a hand to reach out to her through the shadows, she can begin to find her way again.

Perhaps this was the lesson Mama had been trying to teach her all this time. Even when she is lost, the stars will be there to guide her. The stars…lights each representing the spirits of those who love her and who she loves in return. Her friends and mentors from Wakanda, teammates like Riri in America, even Nakia and little T’Challa, living in Haiti. 

And K’uk’ulkan…Namor. The god-king of Talokan, the boy without love. The man who took away her mother, and yet she found it in herself to forgive him and love him. And to think that even he, of all people, loves her just as much.

Each one of them continues to watch over her, think of her, and are always there if she needs them. So many stars dot her sky, waiting for her to see them. All she has to do is open her eyes, and look up.

 

***

 

A week after the incident on the mining ship, Shuri returns alone to Mexico to visit Namor’s abode. She had initially sold the idea to the others as a last-minute strategy meeting, after admitting that she had been in contact with him through Kimoyo beads that she had gifted to him in New York. She remained vague about that part of the story, but said that the pair of them had found common ground, and decided to proceed forward as friends and work to build a stable, lasting alliance between their countries. This would be necessary, she said. Now that they’ve started going out of their way to sabotage CIA missions, it’s likely that the Americans would try something soon. And Ross, who is by all accounts, a fugitive, doesn’t have access to that information anymore. Both countries are flying blind, and they need each other to survive.

M’Baku and Okoye had offered to accompany her, or send someone else to help her out, but she asserted—as flustered as she was—that it was important for her to go alone. Shuri was the only one who had ever seen Talokan’s capital in person, she was the one who had fought and beat him that day. They would respect her more, especially if she were to show up alone.

When she arrives at the mouth of the cave, she waits for a moment by the shore, swatting away flies and picking at the palm leaves hanging near the water. Eventually, he comes, pokes his head above the water, and meets her gaze.

“Nice to see you again,” She says, raising an eyebrow playfully, as though they hadn’t spent every other night the past couple of weeks talking to each other through the beads.

“Were you followed?” He asks.

She shakes her head. She’d already checked with Griot, who in turn had given her the all clear.

Namor blinks, then stares at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes at her simply purple tank top and shorts. “I asked if you needed a suit. That doesn’t look particularly appropriate for—“

Without breaking eye contact, Shuri taps at her right wrist and lets the Black Panther suit cover her from neck to toe. Then, she taps a separate bead, which causes a new helmet to encircle her head, still shaped like that of her normal suit, but now with a visor more appropriate for swimming.

“The suit can provide me with three hours of oxygen at a time, and is stable at a maximum depth of fifty thousand feet.” For one last touch, she raises her hands to him, and spreads her fingers apart, revealing near-translucent nanotech webbing between them. “And now I can swim faster too.”

He looks at her incredulously, then smirks and offers her a hand. “Still, I doubt you will be able to swim as fast as me. Let’s go.”

They swim together, hand in hand for about ten minutes to get to the cave. It’s quiet and dark in the water, and though they occasionally exchange a look, they scarcely exchange words until they reach a rocky area jutting high above them. Though Shuri hesitates, initially, he guides her carefully through the rocks, then straight up towards the dim, pale green light.

When they surface, Shuri finds herself face to face with—of all people—Namora. She’s standing at the top of the steps to the pool, dressed in a simple red robe with a lion fish finn in her hair, her hands clasped formally at her hips, and her face ice-cold. She offers her a curt nod when she steps out, looks down at their hands, still clasped together, then turns to Namor and says something in Mayan. 

Luckily, Shuri actually has Griot with her this time in the helmet, and he translates her words directly into her ear, so quietly that the others don’t know.

Shall I get you two anything, my king? Food? Drinks? Or—She turns to Shuri, then clicks her tongue. Perhaps a larger bed?

Feeling heat begin to flood her chest, Shuri unweaves her hand from his, then removes her helmet. “Griot, please translate aloud.” She says before turning to the other woman.

“It’s good to see you again Namora,” She says in English, then bows her head and waits a beat while her AI translates the words to match her dialect. “Thank you for helping us on the ship last week. I don’t need anything, but I appreciate the offer.” Then, she draws in a breath and prepares herself to deliver the script that they’d agreed on. The script that would hopefully allow the most hesitant Talokanil to buy their relationship.

“I have come here to spend more time with your people and K’uk’ulkan on behalf of my king, so that we can discuss moving forward as official allies.”

 

***

 

After the last word reaches her ears, Namora stares at Shuri for a moment, as though searching for some hidden meaning between them. Neither of them budge, but then Namora turns to him and moves her hands behind her back.

“You already know my opinion on this,” She says in Mayan. “Bring the girl down if you would like, but if she steps out of line, I cannot make any promises for her safety. “ Then, she sighs and walks past them, into the water.

“Her dress is in the hut,” She says without turning. “I will be at the palace if you need me.” Then, she dives in without saying another word.

After it becomes clear that Namora has gone deep underwater, Shuri turns to him and crosses her arms. “You said she was alright with me coming.”

“I was not lying about that. She just needs some time to warm up to you.”

“And the others?”

“We will say…there have been mixed reactions, especially amongst those who fought your people directly. Attuma’s probably been the most enthusiastic about our nations’ new arrangement.” He smiles to himself slightly at that, remembering how eagerly he’d jumped into battle alongside the woman, Okoye, a week ago. They’d seemed good for each other, and they fought together as efficiently as they’d fought against each other. If the other Wakandan and Talokanil warriors could find common ground like them, they would be unstoppable in the face of nearly any threat.

“Before we get down to official matters,” He says, holding her hand back out to her. “I’d like to show you something.”

She tilts her head, then takes it and follows him up, her eyes darting occasionally up to the glow worms and stalagmites. It’s nice to see her smile at them with a childlike wonder.

Together, they stop just at the side of the hut. “Now,” He says softly. “Close your eyes.”

She does so, her smile growing little by little as he carefully guides her around to the door. Then, he turns, takes her other hand, and brings her over the threshold,  deeper into his abode. Once in the centre, he lets go and steps back.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yes, you can.”

As Shuri’s eyes flutter open, he steps aside and sweeps a hand over, displaying his handiwork before her. The first mural, that he painted in the aftermath of their battle, and has been continually altering. The feathered serpent and black panther, locked together in the sweet embrace of battle, their claws and teeth as sharp as daggers. And the other image, the portrait of Shuri herself. Over time, it has become a way for him to meld his people’s traditional style and the beauty of her face. Each line, a thick black brushstroke, and each colour powerful and bright. Her beautiful dark brown skin and hair, and the white and jade robes of his people, against a backdrop of bright purple light. She looks like a goddess, much like she did the first time she entered the cave. Or the way she’d looked the first time he’d seen her in his dreams.

When he turns to see her reaction, Shuri’s eyes are sparkling with amazement, and one hand is over her mouth. The sight of her makes his entire body relax and fresh heat fill his chest, causing his heartbeat to quicken.

“How…how long have you been working on this?”

Namor smiles and reaches for her hands, dragging his thumb across her bracelets. He kisses her quickly. “I started a couple of months ago, and I worked on them every night since.”

“They’re incredible,” She says breathlessly. “And your painting style, it’s so much like in my lab—how do you do it?”

“I’d be happy to show you later tonight,” His arm slowly curls around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “But you should probably get changed first.” He nods to the dress and beads, folded over his chair. “And then we should have our meeting.”

She chuckles, shakes her head, then taps at her Kimoyo beads to de-activate the suit. Once it’s off and she’s back in her light civilian clothing, she puts her hands on his chest, letting herself move just a little bit closer. “I don’t have anyone to help me change.”

He kisses her again, then hoists her up, and in a swift motion, sets her down on the bare part of his work bench, and begins caressing her waist, under her tank top, feeling the warm skin of her hips, her thigh, her ass, and her perfect little breasts. “Oh yaakunaj,” He breathes, bringing his mouth down to her neck. “That is not a problem at all.”

 

***

 

When they finish having sex, they do in fact begin to discuss the terms for a formal alliance between their countries. Their agreement is straightforward in most aspects; Wakandans and Talokanil will work together to share their technologies, and protect the oceans from vibranium mining. In the near future, they will continue to send in small task forces for this purpose, no larger than four or five, and minimise bloodshed to limit the ability of the Western countries to claim victimisation.

(They also discuss sabotaging private oil rigs and garbage barges as well, and agree that they will do so once they find a way to do it without endangering the economy of the global south, or risking any spills or leakages into the water)

Of course, this is not a perfectly sustainable solution, and the fact remains in the back of their minds. The Talokanil only have a tacit knowledge of nuclear weapons, and though vibranium as a material is very resistant to bombs, it would not be wise to test them too much further. Queen Ramonda had unknowingly gotten that ball rolling with her last stunt at the UN, and M’Baku was still trying to smooth things over with them without sacrificing their autonomy.

The reality is, the CIA is already aware of their existence, and Ross has made it clear that Valentina will not hesitate to leak the information if—and only if—it serves her needs. At some point, the Americans will learn of the mutants living at the bottom of the ocean, and they have no way of knowing how they will react. So, they need to be ready.

That, and they need to be ready for any further threats. When Shuri tells him about the blip, he replies gravely that they lost about one third of their population as well, and are still attempting to recover. And when she describes the battle against Thanos’s army, he agrees to help her should such a thing happen in the future. Though, he adds, he prays to Chaac such a thing will not come to pass.

“That frozen creature that sprouted from the eastern ocean is still there,” He says quietly, crossing his arms. “We have people monitoring it for signs of life, and so far nothing has changed. But we don’t know how long that will last.”

 

***

 

“Ready?” Namor asks, though his voice is muffled slightly underwater.

Shuri nods and follows him towards the whirling tunnel. She lets out a little yelp as they enter, then screams and laughs to herself as it tosses her about, then finally spits her out at the drop-off point.

They swim together, while she remains mindful of the time. Once the city comes back into focus, she notes that she only has about two hours and five minutes before she needs to surface. He assures her that once they’re ready, it will only take them about ten minutes to surface.

So, as the vibrant blue lights come into focus, Shuri lets herself enjoy the magic of the city once more. She greets the people that they pass with the open-palm gesture of greeting, mimicking her partner. They respond in kind, though some of the older members do so with incredulous looks on their face. 

Perhaps they were among the warriors who fought her people on the ship. 

“You’re doing great,” Namor says, granting her a hint of relief. Though, it does irritate her slightly to see him swimming a little bit further away from her again, like last time. Not like she needs him to hold her hand, they’d agreed on this to ease his people into it, but with every passing moment she regrets more and more not doing this from the start. All of that pain and suffering could have been saved if he’d allowed her to stay with him in Riri’s place. If Mama hadn’t sent Nakia to find her. If…

No. No, she knows it’s not productive to think about the what ifs. This is where they are now, and she will keep moving forward.

“Hey K’u’ulkan!” A young boy yells out from their left, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Can you come play with us?!”

A group of seven other boys and girls motion for them to come forward, and the pair exchange shrugs and swim towards them.

“Hello,” Shuri says, bowing her head and opening her hands. “I’m Shuri. Can I play with you too?”

The children listen as Griot projects a translation of her words out of the helmet, then nod and motion for her to join them. She waits as patiently as she can while they sort the king and his companion onto opposite teams, and the boy who had called out for him explains the rules. They seem complex, but the overall point is simple enough: get the ball through the hole.

“Thank you for your help,” She says with a smile.

The boy nods, then cocks his head slightly, staring at her like she has two heads. “Are you that lady from Wakanda that came here in the suit? My mother told me about you, she said—“

“—We will stay for one point,” Namor says loudly from the other side. “Then we have to go.”

The one point takes about five minutes to complete, during which time Shuri swims around like a confused frog, just desperately trying to get close enough to the large metal ring. The Talokanil speed past her, some of them laughing—either at the game itself or her slowness, she can’t tell—until she finally manages to get close, and one of the girls kicks the ball towards her. Putting all the power she has into her core, Shuri kicks the ball around and flips into the water, a cheer erupting from the kids as she brings herself back upright.

“Good job!” Namor says, patting her on the back good-naturedly. “You’re a real natural.” She turns and sees him blush, then smiles and lets him say their goodbyes before they continue on their journey.

“They’re good kids,” She says quietly, checking the time again as they reach the edge of the capital, where the palace sun is just beginning to rise. Though, she wishes she could have heard what the boys mother had said about her.

“They are,” Namor says wistfully, leading them into the throne room. It takes a moment for her to make out the seat itself, under the glowing light, but it seems to take the form of a giant shark’s maw, each individual tooth looking bright and sharp. Far below, there sprawls a colosseum’s worth of seats, perhaps enough to fit a thousand people.

“Do you play that ball game with them a lot?” She asks, looking away from the overwhelming sights and making a mental note of the ninety minutes she has remaining.

“Sometimes, yes. I used to play it all the time when I was a child. Our people were playing it long before we settled in the ocean.” He pauses, drawing in a breath, then looks down and clasps his hands behind his back. “I never got to show you our lab, come on.”

They swim side by side to the lab. It looks almost as large as her own, though the walls are open, allowing the vibranium bars and jade detailing to shine in the light.

“Ixchel, Kan,” He says to one of the scientists.

Two scientists working away at benches immediately turn their way, then set down their work and swim towards them, greeting the pair with the customary gesture.

“K’uk’ulkan, welcome home,” One of them—a young woman who looks to be in her thirties—says in Mayan.

“Ixchel,” He says, bowing his head slightly, “I would like you to meet Wakanda’s Black Panther, and head scientist.”

She nods to Shuri and smiles, though it does not reach her eyes. “Welcome.” She’s quite pretty, with her dark hair tied tight in a bun, large jade earrings and pointed accessories, and a flowing dress that looks like beautiful collage of different types of coral and seaweed.

“Kan here is Ixchel’s assistant,” He says, gesturing carefully to the person floating at her side. Kan, who looks to be in their twenties, is dressed far more simply than their counterpart, wearing a tight band of cloth across their chest, accentuated by a few jade beads, and some dark blue shorts. Their hair is short, close-cut, and there is a jade piece on their nose.

“Welcome, Black Panther,” Kan says, bowing.

It takes her a moment to realise, but Kan—more so than some of the others she’s met—bears a striking resemblance to K’uk’ulkan. Perhaps it’s the shape of their face, the tan in their skin, or the similarities in their eyes. She says nothing, remembering what he’d said about Abha and Talya, but smiles and bows in return.

Namor puts a hand on her shoulder. “Shuri and I would like to discuss working together with Wakanda’s scientists, sharing resources, and optimising our technology.”

Ixchel opens her mouth as if to say something, then stops herself and purses her lips. “I thought we were to minimise contacts with the surface-dwellers. Especially—“ She gestures her head to Shuri.

Namor clears his throat, lowering his hand. “If we are to survive, it’s important to move forward and make changes to our policies when circumstances demand it.”

Shuri shoots him a look. Okay, she had agreed to this too, that they would try to sell their relationship as political necessity. But did he have to be so…formal?

Ixchel and Kan exchange looks, and murmur something in Mayan, quietly enough that Griot can’t translate it into her ear. Then, Ixchel turns back to Namor. “I have to finish my current project, my king, but I would be happy to discuss things with her in a few days time.”

“Last time we came here, Shuri expressed an interest in helping you to optimise the sastun’s brightness.”

“Oh,” Ixchel says, turning to Shuri. “What are you proposing?”

Shuri hesitates, then says “With a few kilograms of raw vibranium ore, we could weld it into a fibre optic amplifier and attach it to the sastun. If we do it right, it should improve the brightness by forty percent.”

“Ah, interesting,” Ixchel says, something of a smile spreading across her face.

“And this is still an idea, but perhaps eventually we could use the same principles to make smaller lamps for homes and work benches.” She points to the benches. “I suppose your vision is excellent, but if I had to work without much light I would have gone blind years ago.”

Ixchel and Kan nod.

“Most people use naturally bioluminescent plants and animals to light their homes,” Kan says quietly. “But if we could use a small amount of vibranium…perhaps that could be a sustainable option.”

Shuri exchanges a smile with them, then freezes momentarily, feeling Namor lace his fingers between hers. She watches, carefully, apprehensively, as their eyes fall to their hands, then back to them. They seem uncertain at first, but it disappears soon afterwards, and their expressions settle into soft acceptance.

“So…we’ll discuss more soon,” Shuri asks the others, then turns to Namor.

“Of course,” He says. “Now come, there’s more of the palace for you to see.”

 

***

 

Shuri stays with Namor for the night, and they sleep tight on a hammock in his cave, wrapped in each other’s arms. The next morning, they swim together from the cave to an isolated beach, her white and jade dress clinging tight to her body underneath her Black Panther diving suit. The sun is high, the sand is undisturbed, and the canopy of palm trees protects them from the rest of the world, giving them another chance to be alone.

After a while of waiting for the jet to arrive, Shuri sighs and lies back in the sand, folding her arms behind her head. “Do you think that went well?”

Namor, still sitting up straight, one knee up to his chest, draws something in the sand between them absentmindedly. “I do. I think most of my people will accept our relationship.”

“But for now, we’re keeping it strictly political.”

He shrugs. “You and I both know that some of them have figured out that it’s more than that.”

“I know…” She sighs, blinking through the sun’s rays. “But we should be able to do this without sneaking around. I don’t just want to be like…an ambassador to your kingdom. And you—“ She raises a hand, then drops it back into the hot sand. “You’re still the one who flooded our capital and bombed our palace. I think it will take awhile for my people to warm up to you.” You killed our queen. Despite having largely forgiven him, she still finds it difficult to say those words out loud.

He sighs, then puts his hand on top of her free one laying down at her side. “I understand.” His palm settles against his mother’s necklace, still around her wrist. “Do you have any suggestions for what we could do to remedy this?”

She shakes her head. “No idea.”

They sit silently with that, then Shuri closes her eyes, feeling a light, cool breeze brush against her nose, making her wrinkle it.

“We could get married.”

Shuri sits up with a start, then turns to him, her heart racing. “What did you say?”

He blinks. “We could arrange to get married. I can’t promise that it will solve all of our problems, but marriage has historically been used as a political tool. Such an act would solidify our alliance, and we can use it to justify spending time together without much…awkwardness.”

She stares at him, flabbergasted. She knows all of this--conceptually, at least—but it’s strange to her, hearing it actually being said. Part of her wants nothing more than to say yes, but she knows that she needs to do this rationally. At least, she knows that she must present the idea to Nakia, M’Baku, and the others, so that no one accuses her of being delirious…or hypnotised, or whatever.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” He says. “But, we can discuss such an arrangement with our trusted advisors and go from there.”

Shuri nods. “I agree with your reasoning. I just need a little time to think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

He stays with her until the moment that the Talon Fighter reveals itself a hundred metres away from shore, then kisses her as it comes to a hover above her head.

“I will see you soon, Black Panther.”

She nods, then leans in to hug him goodbye. He kisses her lightly on the cheek and she holds him tight, savouring every last moment before she once again has to let it go.

Chapter 15: Union (Part 3)

Notes:

And here we are, last chapter!!! Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with me on this journey. Thank you for your incredible comments, kudos, everything. This really did start (and in many ways ended) as a bit of self-indulgent fun, but I'm so beyond elated to know that it has become so popular.

Shuri holds tight to Namor’s hand as the doors open, then walks with him to the centre of the throne room. Right now, there is only King M’Baku, flanked by his personal Jabari guards. The other elders were not called for this meeting. This is only a test run, a rehearsal of sorts; they will proceed if, and only if, he hears them out.

“Welcome back, Shuri,” M’Baku says with a warm smile.

Shuri grins and curtsies low. “Good to be back, my king.” Then, she looks to Namor, who rolls his eyes and does the same.

“So…” M’Baku says, the corner of his mouth curled up in a playful smile. “You have brought the Fish-man across our border and into the palace.”

“That I have.” 

“Now why would you do something like that?”

Shuri steps aside and allows Namor to take the lead on this part. He straightens, puts his hands behind his back, and puffs his chest out. When she looks down to his ankles, she can see the wings fluttering ever so slightly, as though readying themselves for flight.

“King M’Baku of Wakanda,” He says, his voice low and measured. “I, K’uk’ulkan, king of Talokan, would like to ask for your blessing for the princess’s hand in marriage.”

M’Baku blinks, takes in a breath, and opens his mouth, pointing three separate times before he finally slumps back into the chair sets one elbow on the arm. The warriors standing behind him look equally aghast, lowering their spears until they hang lamely in their hands.

“Oh,” He finally says.  “Marriage, then.” Then, he looks down, and finally looks to Shuri incredulously. “How long have you two been planning this?”

Her eyes go wide, then almost immediately find the floor. “Awhile.” She manages to squeak out. They’d been ruminating on this for about a month.

“Why are you asking me?”

Shuri straightens, her lips pursed and cheeks puffed like a blowfish. “You are the ruler of Wakanda. We figure this would be the best way to solidify our alliance.”

He raises an eyebrow. “We have not done political intermarriages in hundreds of years. Plus,” He raises his eyebrow to Shuri. “I would expect you of all people, to be pretty hesitant about dowries. Why are you two—“ And then he stops mid-sentence, eyes darting between them. “Oh, oh—“ Then, without another word, he covers his face with his hand and starts to shake.

Namor gives her a look like, is there an issue? Is he sick?

But then, M’Baku startles them by bursting into laughter. They stand still until he finishes, and his warriors look even more awkward, though not entirely surprised at this.

“So that’s what you were doing in New York!” He says with a laugh, then points to Shuri and winks. “Oh I’m glad you had fun. Crazy kids.”

“Never refer to me as a child,” Namor says, lifting his chin. His voice is measured but carries a sharp edge, like a blade dragging across stone. “I have lived over fifteen of your lifetimes.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry it’s just—“ M’Baku laughs again. “Hanuman’s beard, this is absolutely ridiculous. It’s like you two are living a romantic comedy.”

“So?”

“Yeah yeah of course I’m okay with it. Just like—“ He bursts into another fit. “Be safe, use protection!”

Once he finally finishes his fits of laughter and they come to an agreement on when and how to tell the elders of their arrangement, the two step back and turn stiffly to leave the throne room. Just as they reach the threshold however, M’Baku requests that Shuri stays in the throne room a little bit longer.

Standing from the throne, he walks to Shuri and puts his hand on her shoulder. His voice is low and measured. “Are you sure about this? You can tell me anything’s wrong.” It’s a layered question, and when Shuri looks into his eyes, she can say the same wrinkle in his brow, the same dark pupil, the same concern and empathy that he’d shown when she’d broken down crying in his arms.

She nods, smiling. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

 

***

 

“This looks ridiculous,” Namor says with a frown, adjusting the rims of the olive-green bucket hat in a futile attempt to make it work.

“Nah, you look good. Besides, you need hide your ears somehow,” Shuri says good-naturedly, reaching up to readjust it.

“I can do that just fine with my hair,” He says, waving her hand away. In a fluid motion, he takes the hat off and ruffles up his hair, which seems to have grown an extra inch since they last saw each other. “Is that not sufficient?”

She tilts her head, examining his hair. Then, she shakes it. “They’re still sticking out.”

He groans, then puts it back on with a huff.

“You can take it off when we get to their house,” She says, pointing towards the end of the dirt road. “Just humour me for a few more minutes.”

He grumbles to himself a little as they continue on their walk, and constantly adjusts his shoes, cargo pants, and tank top. Shuri does everything she can to stifle her laughter, because in the quest to cover up his more distinct mutant features, she wound up making him look like an absolute douche. Even some of the local men and women on the bus had felt the need to side-eye him and laugh together in French. 

Finally, they reach the house at the end of the road, overlooking the beach. Shuri pauses before they walk to the threshold, staring out at the beach under the clear blue sky. It’s been months now since she sat on the sand and watched the water, and to see it again now, with everything that has happened…it’s strange. She can feel a tightness in her chest; a mix of her guilt and regret over how she’d ended things, and apprehension and excitement to return. She’s not the same woman who left this house months ago, having hit rock bottom and desperate to push away the people who she’d actually wanted to keep close to her.

So, taking a deep breath, she turns from the beach and to the door, knocks a few times, and stands back.

After a minute of standing motionless and listening to various noises, including a high voice yelling “Auntie Shuri’s back!”, Nakia opens the door and steps out, closing it behind her.

“Hey,” Shuri manages. “How are you?”

Nakia regards her for a moment, then looks behind her, to where Namor is standing awkwardly with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She looks back to Shuri, her face a strange mix of emotions. She’d called ahead over a week ago and suggested this visit, but they hadn’t actually seen each other in person since she left Haiti so many nights ago.

Without saying a word, Nakia reaches forward and pulls Shuri into a tight embrace. “I’m good.” She says shakily, caressing her shoulders. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

Nakia only allows Namor inside after thoroughly patting him down for any weapons, bombs or otherwise, and though the insinuation is clearly irritating to him, he doesn’t fight either of them on it. When the three of them step inside, T’Challa runs in from the kitchen and almost jumps into Shuri’s arms with excitement.

“Hey T’Challa, how are you doing?” Shuri asks, kneeling down on one knee to meet his eyes.

“I’m good! Everyone misses you at school, are you coming back to teach?”

She chuckles. “I’ll come visit from time to time, but I have a lot to do in Wakanda these days.” Then, she looks to Nakia, who nods and crosses her arms.

Shuri then draws in a breath. “T’Challa, I want you to meet someone,” She says carefully, drawing Namor to her side. “This is K’uk’ulkan. And he—“ She draws in a breath, preparing herself for the boy’s potential reactions. “He is the king of an underwater city.”

Without hesitation, he kneels down next to her and pulls off his hat, revealing his pointed ears and jade earrings. “It’s very nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand, which the boy shakes, his mouth hanging open.

“Woah…” He murmurs, staring wide-eyed at the pointed ears. “Wait, underwater…like in The Little Mermaid? I saw it in the cinema for my birthday, Ariel was so cool!”

Nakia stifles a chuckle, and Namor gives Shuri a questioning look.

“He’s kind of like Ariel, yes,” She tells her nephew. Then, she leans over to Namor and whispers in his ear. “I’ll explain later.”

After the initial introductions, thank Baast, things start to fall into place. The four of them sit around a table and share a pot of soup joumou, and once everyone is full, the adults go outside and sit on the porch around a table to talk, while T’Challa stays in his room to play with his toys.

Shuri takes some time to give the full true story. Originally, she’d simply said that they’d resolved things and wouldn’t see each other again. Now, she explains what she’d discovered about the synthetic heart-shaped herbs and the Talokanil plant, and their efforts to find common ground after all of their strife. Now, they intend to make things official with marriage, making their alliance official. They’d figure out the titles later. Right now, their priorities are to plan the ceremony—or ceremonies, if needed—and get their loved ones’ blessings. 

“So,” Nakia says after she finishes, taking a sip of her lemonade. “When exactly did you manage to find common ground?” She nods to Namor’s wrist. “Was that before or after Shuri gave you those beads?”

They exchange a nervous look.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Nakia says with a light sigh. “I understand that you want to keep that part private.” She turns to Shuri. “Who else have you told?”

“M’Baku was fine with it. Found it pretty funny actually,” She says. “Aneka too. Ayo…let’s say she was accepting.” She pauses, recalling their conversation. Ayo had seemed a little confused at first, but came around once Shuri made it clear that she could definitely kick his ass again in a fight if things went south. The idea that they had gone from mortal enemies to betrothed in such little time seemed like the most normal part of all of it.

“And Okoye?”

“Okoye was angry at first, but she said that was more because I kept things from her.” She sighs. “I apologised though, and she eventually came around. I think she’s more in favour of the ‘political alliance’ part than anyone.”

Nakia nods at that, as if that’s all Then, taking a deep breath, she sets the glass on the table and meets Namor’s eyes. “I want to apologise to you for taking your daughters’ lives. I understand that Shuri explained to you what I do and why I was there, but I think it’s better to hear it from me directly.”

He looks surprised, startled even, at the suddenness of this statement, but still composes himself and bows his head in response. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

They continue to drink their lemonade in silence for a few minutes, until T’Challa returns to them, wearing nothing but swim trunks and holding snorkelling gear.

“Hey K’uk’ulkan, you can breathe underwater, right?”

Namor blinks. “I can.”

“Okay, so at school we’re learning about starfish and mollusks and I’m trying to bring some into class. Can you help me find them?!” He asks excitedly, holding up his gear.

He looks to Nakia, who crosses her arms and turns to her son. “Can you wait for me to get ready?”

T’Challa lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Maamaaaa, I can swim on my own.”

“I know that, but maybe your auntie and I want to go for a swim too.” The corner of her mouth twitches up, and she turns to Shuri and Namor. “What do you say?”

And so, that’s exactly what they do. They stay in the water, swimming, relaxing, splashing, and laughing until the air begins to cool and the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Shuri and Namor stay on the beach, enjoying each other’s company long after Nakia puts her son to sleep. And the next morning, when they leave, the last thing she asks of her friend is when she can come back to Wakanda for the wedding.

Nakia smiles warmly. “I think we’d need some advanced notice, so I can get some clothes tailored for us. But otherwise…I’d say we’re pretty flexible.”

 

***

 

As with many cultures around the world, it is customary in Wakanda for spouses to obtain blessings from both of their parents and siblings, whether living or dead. Typically, this is done within the first month or so of a courtship. Shuri and Namor are together for nearly six months before they get a chance to do this properly.

It is two weeks before the first wedding, which due to take place in the heart of Wakanda’s Golden City. By this point, Namor and Shuri have both been splitting their time between their countries, helping each other to make plans, learn more about each others’ cultures and traditions, and get fitted for proper ceremonial attire. One early morning, after they’d spent the preceding night in her room making a frankly shameful amount of noise, they decide to go and cross some familial blessings off their list.

Shuri holds tight to Namor as he steps off the side of the balcony, then holds him tight and guides his path as he zips through the sky, southwest towards the mountain tombs. At her direction, he lands gently at the deepest level, shivering slightly as his bare feet touch the fresh, thick blanket of snow. Quickly, she jumps out of his arms and brushes snow and dust off her clothing, while he ruffles his snow-covered hair and cracks his neck.

“They’re this way,” Shuri says, pointing to the bottom of the spiralling path, only one level down. She takes the lead as they head down into the darker section, pausing for a moment at the sight of her uncle’s door. There is no body in this tomb. There is only a simple image as a profile; clearly modelled after an old picture, taken before he left for America.

Prince N’Jobu. July 13 1962-September 14 1992.

She never met her uncle, and it stings, to realise that she had never really paid much attention to his tomb either. Her father had killed him—his own brother—and erased the truth behind both of their deeds for decades. Now, knowing what she does about what he did in America, and knowing that she can’t go back and confront Baba about it…it’s yet another stark reminder to her about her past. If she wants to make a change, she needs to move forward and acknowledge the pain and consequences of it, without letting the memories drown her.

Baba’s tomb is several metres away, and, shaking her head, she guides Namor’s hand to the cool vibranium door.

“This is my father, T’Chaka.” She says quietly, gesturing towards his likeness carved into it. Slowly, she presses her forehead against the metal, kisses it, and steps back so that he can do the same.

He looks to her for a moment, swallows and lets out a deep sigh, then steps towards the door and mimics her action.

“King T’Chaka,” He says, laying his palms against the surface. “I, K’uk’ulkan of Talokan, would like to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter, Shuri.”

The tomb does not answer back, but he kisses it all the same and pulls back, looking to her for approval.

Shuri offers a small smile, feeling her eyes sting, and brings him to her brother’s door.

“Your son says hi,” She whispers as she presses her forehead against the surface. “And I’d like you to meet someone.”

Once more, Namor performs the ritualistic gesture, asks for his blessing, and lets Shuri lead him to the next door.

When they get to Mama’s tomb, Shuri takes his hand and performs the ritual next to him. And after he finishes saying the words, he whispers in Mayan: 

Sa’asik in, Beet.

Please forgive me.

Shuri swallows a lump in her throat and pulls herself from Mama’s door, a shiver running down her spine. He lingers there for another moment, eyes closed and whispering something to himself. And when he straightens himself out, he looks at her for a moment, before reaching a hand to her cheek and brushing his thumb against her eye.

“Are you alright?”

She purses her lips, nodding. Then, she tilts her head to the right, seeing the last tomb in the cave, hidden in the shadow and almost entirely camouflaged by the rocks.

She draws in a deep breath, then grabs his hand and guides him towards it. “I want to visit one more family member.”

T’Challa fulfilled N’Jadaka’s wish after his death, and they had his body flown out near the coast of Cape Verde and dropped into the sea. But, soon after, he had opted to make him a small memorial; an honorary tomb for the prince of Wakanda who’d lived for so long in exile. They didn’t talk about it at all after the fact, and the builders of the tomb had made a point to move it as far away from the rest of the royal family as possible. They labelled it N’Jadaka, without acknowledging his American name. Their contempt for the usurper is still evident on every scratch lining the door.

Shuri had never visited his door, in part because of her own disdain for his actions, and in part because—like with her uncle—she had never truly known him.

But this time, something is drawing her towards the door. She wants to acknowledge the one who had appeared in her first vision. The only other person at the time who had not only acknowledged her grief and fury, but had held the same fire in his belly. The same desire to burn the world.

“This is my cousin, N’Jadaka.” She says, guiding Namor’s hand to the his profile on the door. “He is also called Erik Killomnger. He grew up in America, after my father murdered his.” At those words, she feels his twitch ever so slightly. He’s clearly taken aback by the evenness of her tone. “He drove my family from the palace, and my brother eventually killed him in combat.”

Namor looks to her, incredulous. “You want to ask for his blessing?”

She nods, then looks to his profile, remembering the first day she’d met him. When he’d cried out his true name and declared his goals. Power. Freedom. Vengeance.

“When a Black Panther consumes the heart-shaped herb, they die for a moment and go to the ancestral plane.”

He nods, recalling the story.

“He…he was the only other one who ever came to me. We both took the herb to be strong enough to avenge our loved ones.” She sighs, then laughs softly to herself. “I never told anyone about that.” To this day, not even Nakia knows who she saw that day.

“He sounds…like something.”

“You would have liked him,” She admits. “And T’Challa too, but, you know, for very different reasons.”

“Fair enough.”

“And,” She continues. “He told me not to take my mother’s sacrifice away from her.”

He pauses. “I see.”

She nods to him, then turns and leans against the door, closing her eyes. “Hey cuz,” She murmurs. “I want you to meet someone.”

 

***

 

After they finish, she has him fly them, not to the palace, but directly to her lab. They ride the elevator down in silence, and when they exit and walk through the corridor, she exchanges salutes with the staff that pass them by. A few of them, when they see the Talokanil with her, nervously attempt to give him the open-palmed greeting that he is accustomed to. He takes it remarkably well and responds in kind. By the time they reach her door, he seems to be in much higher spirits.

When the door opens, Shuri has Namor stay close and still, saying that she will be back in a moment. She salutes a couple of busy young scientists, then sprints to the bench and grabs two small black balls, then returns to see him staring at the murals on the walls and stairwells.

“Did you do those?” He asks.

“Some of them,” She says with a shrug. She points to the orange and green faces above their heads. “Those ones were mine.”

“They’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Shuri replies quickly. “Now,” She continues, holding the balls up to his face. “You need to put these on.” Without skipping a beat, she kneels down and sets them delicately on the floor, guiding his feet towards them.

“What are you doing?”

“Listen, when you’re in my lab, you need to wear closed-toe shoes.”

He groans and tries to jerk his foot out of her hand. “My skin is as hard as vibranium, I don’t think I need to do that.”

“We literally work with vibranium all day long,” She glares up at him. “Put them on.”

He relents, then pushes his feet on top of the balls. They immediately spread apart, wrapping around the dorsum of his feet and toes, providing full protection extending right up to his wings.

“Huh,” He says, examining them. “I suppose they’re not…uncomfortable.”

“They look good,” She says, climbing to her feet.

Namor stomps one foot on the ground, then stops, pursing his lips in surprise. “They make no sounds. What do you call these things?”

She grins. “Sneakers.”

Namor looks at her for a moment. Suddenly, as though the joke has just registered in his brain, his entire demeanour shifts, and he throws his head back and laughs. “That’s good, I like that!”

Shuri laughs and brings him to her own work bench. “I want to show you something.”

He follows, then stands behind her and leans over her shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back. She slips into her seat and pulls a disk out, with a small sphere of vibranium sitting on top, no larger than her thumb.

“Griot, please turn off the lights within a ten metre radius of me.”

Immediately, the lights above their head dim, until the two of them are bathed entirely in darkness.

“Okay,” She whispers, tapping the edge of the disk. “Here we go.”

The edge where her fingers touch lights up immediately into a bright blue. Then, the small vibranium sphere rises, little by little, its soft blue glow strengthening with every moment. A few more seconds pass, and it brightens to its fullest potential, hovering over the disk and casting a glow. Enough to light the desk as brightly as the overhead lights.

“I modelled it after the sastun. It’s just a prototype, but what do you think?” She asks, turning to meet Namor’s eyes.

He blinks, then opens his mouth halfway, unsure of what to say. Then, finally, he leans forward and brings his finger close to the sphere, touching it delicately. “It’s beautiful.”

Shuri reaches forward, then demonstrates how to change the brightness and colours by brushing one’s thumb over the edges of the disk. Then, she presses the palm of her hand down into the centre, flips it, and reaches up, pulling the sphere away from the disk and allowing it to hove.

“It can be transported up to twenty-five metres away from the disk. I still need to make a few more adjustments, but as of right now, it can function underwater indefinitely. You would only have to replace the sphere every six months.”

“You’re incredible,” He says, wrapping her from the back into a tight embrace. Then, he leans down and kisses her cheek, making her shiver. “They’re going to love it.”

 

***

 

In Wakanda, the bride and groom’s vestments are made by hand by the people of their respective tribes. They weave various textures, colours, and intricate images into the fabric so that the partners will remember where they came from, and where they will go from here.

Shuri’s dress is sleeveless and backless, made of a silky white fabric with subtle violet geometric patterns at the top of her chest, her waist, and her train. With every subtle movement, it seems to glitter, and the fabric curls and spreads like the wings of doves.

Atop her head sits an isicola, light and delicate as a flower, made of fabrics of different shades of purple that seamlessly fade into one another. The mix of colours and swirls at the top of the flared hat create an illusion of light, as though she’s wearing the glowing heart-shaped herb for all to see. And on top of the isicola, she wears a delicate golden crown; one of Mama’s own. A longtime treasure of the Golden Tribe, to be worn by every female descendant when she is married.

There are matching gold cuffs wrapped around her upper arms, a purple and gold beaded choker around her neck, as well as gold and white paint around her eyes, her lips, and forearms. She looks just like a bride. Some would even say, she looks like a Queen.

She imagines, for a moment, her parents standing with her, saying those words. And T’Challa, grabbing her shoulders, complimenting her, sharing a laugh, and wishing her luck.

Nakia and M’Baku meet her at the palace steps, and together, the three of them walk down the path, preceded by the Dora Milaje, Okoye, Aneka, and T’Challa the ring-bearer. Most of the country has come out for this ceremony. Shops have been shuttered, and the streets are lined with golden decorations and flags of all colours. People of every tribe don their corresponding garb, their most expensive dresses and suits, all grinning from ear to ear and dancing. Lining the streets and rooftops, men and women play drums and sing loudly and heartily. They sing in Xhosa for strength, love, and blessings. They sing praise for the princess and Black Panther, and they sing for the eternal health and happiness of the couple.

Even amongst the flurry of colour and music, Shuri can also see some interesting sights. Riri, wearing a red and gold dress that she’d had made by one of her aunties in Boston, dances with a couple of boys and girls, having the time of her life. Ross is standing awkwardly, wearing tailored orange and blue robes and sticking out like a sore thumb. To be fair, she had invited Bucky and a plus one, but he couldn’t make it. Nevertheless, he’d apologised and sent a very expensive vase in lieu of his absence, explaining that he was on mission in Myanmar. 

An envoy of about twenty Talokanil warriors came to this ceremony, including Attuma, Ixchel, and Namora—though she doesn’t seem happy to be there—sticking out with their blue skin and masks. Nevertheless, most of them wear Wakandan robes on top of their Talokanil garb. Attuma rocks awkwardly from side to side, while Ixchel and a few others appear to be dancing, or trying to, with some young Wakandan women. They actually look…happy to be there. For all she knows, it’s their first time meeting surface people at all. It’s good to see that even they’re not immune to the joyous, overstimulating atmosphere.

K’uk’ulkan, the Feathered Serpent God, is waiting for her at the end of the road, standing elegantly next to the officiant with his hands clasped delicately at his hips. He’s dressed as a warrior, with a pale blue wrap around his waist that’s embroidered with jade-green fabric, accentuated much like her own outfit. A matching ingwaca drapes over his shoulders, barely covering his typical golden neckpiece. But atop his head and neck, are beads of white, gold, and light blue. To her, he looks radiant, like he was born to wear it her people’s clothing. And like her, he wears white and gold paint on his face and arms, subtly dotting his skin like constellations.

When she reaches him, the music immediately halts. M’Baku and Nakia offer their blessings to the officiant in Xhosa, explaining that they will stand in for T’Chaka and Ramonda, before they both depart to their own sides of the audience. The officiant, an short old man with snow-white hair and violet robes, welcomes the guests in Xhosa. The living people of Wakanda, and all who came before. And, of course, the Talonakil who have joined them today.

He blesses them next, then asks for the ancestors’ blessings, going back to Bashenga. Finally, he wraps a purple cloth around their joined hands and commands that they accept their oaths to each other. The oath of marriage, to love one another with all their hearts and minds, to never leave them, to defend each other’s honour, and to keep their love for each other even after death. Both recite these vows in Xhosa—Namor had been a remarkably quick learner, and had even admitted to teaching himself some after their first meeting—and then kiss once they are permitted to. A cheer erupts then, from the guests, followed by the resumption of the dancing and singing.

Welcome, Shuri, Black Panther of the Golden Tribe. Welcome, K’uk’ulkan, King of Talokan and consort of Wakanda’s protector.

They walk around the city together, hand in hand, greeting people with outstretched hands. Then, when they finish, they take everyone to the palace grounds for the afterparty, where they sit for their first meal, and share cake before starting the dancing. The newlyweds must always be the first to start dancing.

She guides him to the centre of the floor, then nods to the band, who begin a slow beat, light but firm, like a heart.

“Are you ready?” She asks, raising her hand.

Namor smiles warmly, mimicking her movement and bringing it up, joining their wrists. “I’m ready.”

Together, they start bouncing on their feet, right then left, then back again, keeping in time with the movements. A cry rings out from the singer, followed by two more. They begin to sing their love song, their harmony filling her ears with joy. And then, the couple begin to move in a circle, flicking their hands in unison, moving their arms up and down, as though the form the beating of wings. With each beat, they both pick up more energy, until both are bouncing slightly. He bounces with a little more force and height, and the wings by his feet flap in time with the ring of small bells nestled below them.

She hasn’t done this dance since her brother’s coronation, on the boat with Mama. And he is a perfect partner, careful with his movements, but not mechanical. His body flows like a wave alongside the music, and he dances without a hint of embarrassment, like some of the boys she’s known. And the whole time, he doesn’t take her eyes off her.

They switch and move, then pull apart and come back, twirling and stomping, waving their arms and legs, and chanting until the other guests begin to join in.

Eventually, when the music slows down and the lights around the dance floor grow dim, they rock back and forth, her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and his wrapped around her waist.

“This has certainly been…an interesting experience.” He quietly admits. “I have never been to a surface-dweller’s wedding before.”

She chuckles and brings herself a little closer. “Thank you for doing this though, seriously.”

He kisses her, then keeps his forehead pressed to hers. “I would do it a thousand times, all for you.”

A shiver runs down Shuri’s spine. “You might not say that after tomorrow though,” She says slowly. “I doubt we’re going to get any sleep until tomorrow night.”

He shrugs. “Sleep is overrated.”

“Usually the consummation part happens on the second night. Though,” She bites her lip. “I mean—we’ve already crossed that off a number of times now.”

He pauses at that, then leans in and whispers into her ear. “We could just fly away and cross it off again.”

She laughs and kisses his cheek. “Nakia will kill me if we try that,” She whispers. “But I promise, once this is over, we’re gonna have the best night of our lives.”

He seems to be satisfied with that, so without another word, Shuri leans her head onto his chest and closes her eyes, then lets herself be carried off for a moment, by the soft melody and the slow beating of his heart.

In one week, she will travel with her husband to his cave in Talokan, to hold a similar ceremony and be officially declared his Queen-consort. There, they will provide her with a dress of white, gold, sunset-orange, deep ocean-blue, and heavy beads of jade. He will be dressed in his kingly attire, and they will perform the ceremonies. Then, they will dance again in his people’s style—not too far off from her own—and consummate their arrangement once more. Or perhaps, four or five times, depending on what they have left in them by that point.

Marriage, she knows, will come with its own ups and downs. They will have the added troubles that come with their former statuses as mortal enemies, not to mention their respective kingdoms’ troubled relationships with each other and the colonisers. But that will be its own journey. Right now, she just wants to live in this bliss.

 

***

 

“And you’re sure that’s the spot?” Shuri asks.

He looks to the manicured lawn, then nods. “Yes, that’s the spot.”

They sit atop the hotel roof and watch the sun go down, waiting for the space to clear and the colonisers to return indoors and to their beds. This is, perhaps, one of the dumbest things she’s ever done. But, she figures it counts as a decent, if last minute, wedding gift. 

When they see that the last white person has stumbled off and the hotel lights have dimmed, Shuri puts on her panther suit and shifts in into stealth mode, which covers the silver and gold markings in a dark black layer, making her resemble a shadow. Namor, too, is dressed in black, though only with a pair of shorts and armour on his shins. At two o’clock, the sounds of parties die down in the distance, and they fly down to the lawn, crouching so that they are not seen by any late-night security guards.

As she leaps out of his arms, he kneels down, and wordlessly, begins to dig at the grass with his bare hands. She watches him, keeps an eye on their surroundings, and scare off anyone who would dare interrupt their ritual before completion.

Shuri glances back down as he rips the layer of grass, revealing rich, dark soil underneath. He recites a Mayan prayer and reaches down to the small pack hanging from his hip, pulling out a handful of fresh corn seeds. One by one, he buries them in the soil where his mother’s bones and essence still lay, whispering prayers and well wishes for her spirit in the afterlife.

She turns to him, then kneels by his side and grips his hand, bowing to the soil and closing her eyes. Remembering the night she saw his mother, she whispers her thanks, and asks for her blessing for their marriage. Somehow, in her mind’s eye, she swears she can see her smile.

Together, they delicately place the blanket of grass back atop the soil. Hopefully the corn will still grow here, but even if it doesn’t, and even if it’s pulled like a weed, his mother will be able to reap the benefits on her plane. And that gesture, if small, means everything right now.

Just as they stand, however, Shuri hears a young male voice cry something out in Spanish, and a shiver goes down her spine. She whirls, her mask covering her face, only to blink at the sight of a security guard’s flashlight. Stepping into an attacking pose, she unsheathes her claws and hisses like a predator. The man steps back, his light trembling, but he does not move.

“¿Quién eres? ¿Qué estás haciendo?”

Shuri, motionless, tries to wrack her brain for a response in Spanish. But just as she gives up and takes another step forward, she feels her husband’s hand on her shoulder and pauses, then looks at him. Wordlessly, he shakes his head, then steps forward and in front of her. The flashlight, she then realises, was pointed at him.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” Namor asks, his voice even and low, and his fists clenched by his sides.

“M—Mateo,” He says shakily, lowering his flashlight.

“Mateo,” He repeats. She can see him now, standing about as tall as Namor himself, though narrower of frame. His skin is a dark brown, his face clean-shaven, and his black hair curly. He looks like he could be as young as twenty.

Griot translates the rest immediately into Shuri’s ears.

“Do you know who I am, Mateo?”

The guard shakes his head, then pauses, his eyes wide, and nods. “The Feathered Serpent. Like my abuela said.”

“That’s right,” He says slowly, stepping closer to him. “I am K’uk’ulkan, and my people once walked on this land. I am not here to kill tonight, but I am marking this land for reclamation. If you know what’s good for you, then you will run.”

Mateo stands petrified as Namor reaches for his flashlight, wrenches it from his hand, and crushes it in his hand. And when he still does not move, he reaches down and does the same with his buzzing walkie-talkie.

Then, he sprints off into the night.

 

***

 

When the sun rises high and the guests go out with pool towels in hand, they will find a part of the land disturbed, and a frightened security guard. He may tell them about the Feathered Serpent and his shadow, and maybe he will keep the story to himself.

For now, as dawn breaks a rosy gold, they sit together on the beach, watching the waves  on the eastern horizon and holding each other tight. Shuri feels the jade bracelet humming against her wrist, warm and alive, and closes her eyes, letting herself feel the soft, cool, salty breeze flowing from the sea. Embracing her. Holding her, comforting her, and pushing her forward. Someone whispers to her in Mayan, and in Xhosa. This time, she knows what they mean in both languages.

I am so proud of you.

Opening her eyes, Shuri looks across the water, then up to the sky. For a moment, the colours shift, darken, and transform into ribbons of violet and blue, with stars as far as the eye can see.

And for a moment, she feels truly at peace.

Notes:

The end!!

I know that I left a few loose ends, and hey! Maybe one day I'll write a sequel. I want to return to a few other projects for now (I have a very long reylo fic that I put on hold for this), and maybe I'll joke around and write some Nashuri one shots or do some more fanart. We'll see! Also I'm heading into the VERY busy season of med school, so I have to obviously prioritise that.

If I one day do a sequel, I think I'd make it a bit sexier, I'd definitely write a pegging chapter or three, and add a real Okoye/Attuma romance. Other ideas floating around include:
-Namora actually expressing her misgivings (possibly via coup)
-the CIA actually declaring a Cold War against Wakanda
-Valentina would probably be the main villain and try to take out Talokan and Wakanda in one fell swoop
-Riri comes back
-I'd say bring in the Thunderbolts, but I know pa'ateni is already doing it (and Neon is KILLING it)
-I'd really want to give Namor and Shuri a covert ops chapter, like when T'Challa and the gang went to South Korea.
-I'd love to expand on the underwater worldbuilding. I'd like to imagine Talokan as only one of a few communities, and each one is tied to local indigenous myths about underwater creatures
-They can do some eco terrorism as a treat!

 

ALSO, because there are a couple of plot details that I sort of dropped in but never really elaborated on (if you care a lot about your own interpretations and don't want me to destroy that magic, please stop now!)

 

-While I loved the theories about her being a ghost or Bast, the character of Esther was really just written as a one-off thing. I always liked that in stories. You know how sometimes you get characters who just show up, act super helpful, then leave? And then they're revealed to be a god or an elf or something? I just imagined Esther as a local siren who did a nice thing for a stranger

-As for Ixchel and Kan in the last chapter: I'd seen some pics on instagram and tik Tok of the actress playing Namor's unnamed scientist (presumably from one of the deleted scenes), but I never saw her name. I can't seem to find pictures anymore, but she was so pretty I had to add her in)
-Kan was meant to be one of Namor's descendants...but again, he does consider them all his kids, even if they're not all literally so.

 

If you have made it this far, thank you again from the bottom of my heart, for coming along on this ride. I love you all!!! <3 <3 <3