234. Revelations Beneath White Ashes. (Patreon)

Queen Ramonda POV:

Grief is a luxury.

That is the cruelest truth of being a queen.

Wakanda mourned.

The drums beat in a slow and heavy rhythm. Each strike like a heartbeat trying to remember how to keep going. The air itself felt weighted, as if the very land resisted accepting that its king was gone.

My husband.

My king.

T’Chaka of the Golden Tribe.

T’Chaka the Revealer.

The man who stood against tradition and tore away the veil of secrecy that had protected Wakanda for millennia because the world had changed… because he had forced Wakanda to change with the world.

And now… He is a king without breath.

I stood tall because I had to.

Hunter stood at the left while T’Challa at the right, shoulders squared, eyes forward. They wore strength like armor.

But Shuri… My daughter sobbed openly, her hands clutching at the ceremonial cloth.

She was allowed. She was the only one of us who still could be herself.

“Queen Mother,” Okoye’s voice cut through the quiet, firm yet respectful as she bowed, “the Parker family has arrived.”

Even in grief… politics did not wait.

I nodded slowly. “Prepare to receive them.”

As I walked through the palace halls, my steps measured, I could feel the tension.

The Jabari would grow restless, the Hyena tribe would question.

The Taifa Ngao (he Tribal Council) would demand answers regarding leadership, direction, strength and perhaps… Alliances.

It was a bitter thought.

That in the shadow of my husband’s death, I would have to consider the might of Parker Industries not as an ally of choice but as a necessity for stability.

I stepped outside to receive them. The hum of advanced engines faded as the aircraft settled.

Peter Parker descended dressed in white.

George, Benjamin Parker, Gwendolyn, May, DeWolff and Teresa wore white. Even the Spartans, all eight of them stood in pristine white armor, their visors glowing a calm sky blue.

They mourned as we mourned.

Not as outsiders but as those who had taken the time to learn.

May approached me first without hesitation or politics.

She wrapped her arms around me and for a moment, I was not a queen, I was a widow.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We're here,” she said softly. “No conditions.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gwen stand beside Shuri, Teresa and DeWolff joining her. They didn’t speak at first. They simply stayed.

Behind me, I heard Benjamin Parker.

“Don’t bottle it up, kid,” he said gently to my sons. “Real men know when to cry.”

T’Challa’s composure cracked while Hunter’s breath hitched.

Then they broke as they began to sob softly and for that, I was grateful.

The procession began.

The sarcophagus was made of Vibranium, etched with the likeness of the Black Panther floated forward on an anti-gravity platform.

His arms carved across his chest, his legacy carved into history.

The Dora Milaje flanked him, we followed.

Behind us, Wakandan tribes, foreign dignitaries and members of Parker Industries all walked the same path.

The shamans danced while their songs of sorrow filled the air.

Citizens wept openlywhile my tears kept falling silently.

The Spartans fired their salute 21 blank rounds echoing into the sky.

The Dora Milaje struck their spears 21 times.

Symbolizing honor and finality.

At the Hall of the Kings… My husband T’Chaka the Revealer, 545th King of Wakanda was laid to rest.

The grav lift lowered him into the earth and a part of me went with him.

Peter Parker stepped beside me with his ands clasped behind his back.

“Queen Ramonda,” he said quietly, “my condolences.”

“I must speak with the royal family privately. I request the presence of your head shaman.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Very well.”

He walked away and I exhaled slowly because when Peter Parker asked for a private discussion it was never a simple matter.

Peter POV:

Birnin Zana glowed.

Neon lights danced across structures that once hid behind tradition while foreign languages echoed in streets that once knew only one.

Cultures blended while people mingled in every way.

Caucasians and Wakandan Africans married and loved and started families. Families that would have been impossible in other timelines.

I leaned against the balcony rail, watching it all.

“This,” I murmured, “is what progress looks like.”

Not domination or assimilation. Integration through choice and freedom.

In most realities, Wakanda reveals itself… but never changes.

Here?

It not only changed but evolved and I helped push it.

The doors opened behind me.

I didn’t turn.because I already knew who entered.

The royal family and my family followed by the head shaman.

The Dora Milaje sealed the room.

I stepped toward the table.

Removed my glasses and placed them down.

They unfolded, expanded and formed a holographic projector.

A face appeared.

“This,” I began, “is Erik Stevens also known as Killmonger.”

T’Challa frowned. “And why are you showing us this man?”

“Because,” I replied calmly, “he is your blood.”

Shuri blinked. “What?”

“Three months ago,” I continued, “Project Resonance came online. A global bioscanner network designed to detect genetic anomalies and potential threats. Erik Stevens flagged immediately.”

I tapped the projection. “His genetic markers match yours.”

Hunter stiffened. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” I asked mildly.

Shuri looked at me sharply. “Did you tell Baba?”

“I did,” I said. “King T’Chaka stated the Hatut Zeraze would handle it.”

Zuri the head shaman collapsed.

“Care to explain, James?” I said lightly.

He trembled.

“…His name was N’Jobu,” Zuri whispered. “T’Chaka’s brother.”

Shock rippled through the room.

Hunter stepped forward. “Explain every damn detail.”

Zuri swallowed hard.

“The 1990s,” he began, voice breaking, “were chaotic. America was drowning in violence. N’Jobu was sent there as part of the Hatut Zeraze… but he changed.”

I leaned back slightly, letting him speak.

“He fell in love,” Zuri continued. “An American woman who was intelligent, ambitious and dangerous.”

“Amanda Stevens,” I added. “Born Amanda Waller.”

Zuri nodded weakly.

“She showed him suffering… but only one side of it,” he said. “She fed his anger. His desire to ‘save’ his people.”

“A savior complex.” I said flatly.

“Yes,” Zuri whispered. “She introduced him to Ulysses Klaue.”

“With N’Jobu’s intel,” Zuri said, “Klaue stole Vibranium.”

Queen Ramonda staggered.

“He betrayed Wakanda.” T’Challa said, voice hollow.

Zuri nodded. “They had a child. Erik.”

I stepped in.

“When T’Chaka discovered the betrayal, he went to retrieve him. N’Jobu begged for time to free his wife, to stabilize his son.”

“And Baba refused.” Shuri whispered.

“Yes.” Zuri said.

“And then?” Hunter demanded.

Zuri’s voice broke. “He drew a gun… on his own king.”

“I killed him,” Zuri said.

“Amanda Stevens was arrested and charged with domestic terrorism and sentenced to life. She died in a prison riot one year later.”

“Erik grew up knowing exactly what he was,” I said. “At sixteen, he joined the Marines. Then Delta Force. Codename: Mandrill.”

“Only three survived Mission Manatee,” I added. “He was one of them.”

“And now?” T’Challa asked.

“A mercenary,” I said simply. “Tracking Vibranium and lready in contact with Klaue.”

The room was silent but I wasn’t done as the projection shifted again to the ocean and a city beneath it.

“Meet Talokan.” I said.

Shuri leaned forward. “What… is that?”

“Your equal,” I said calmly. “Another Vibranium civilization.”

I began walking slowly around the table.

“Founded in 1571,” I explained. “When Spanish conquistadors brought smallpox to the Yucatán. A shaman, guided by a Vibranium-mutated herb, created a cure. A cure with a cost.”

“They survived,” I continued. “But lost the ability to breathe air. Gained strength and regeneration as long as they remained in water.”

“That tribe became a new subspecies of humanity.”

“A child was born,” I said. “He was different and stronger, he had wings at his ankles and could breath air. His true name has been lost to the ages but what remains is his monicker un niño sin amor or Namor."

"A child without love." Shuri said.

“Correct.” I said.

“He saw his people suffer. Burned the colonizers alive. The name that the Catholic priests gave him called him un niño sin amor and he accepted it.”

“They hate the surface.”

Queen Ramonda spoke. “What does this have to do with Wakanda?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Until the world finds them.”

“Vibranium-S is controlled by me,” I said. “But nations are searching for alternatives. When they find Talokan…”

“They will go to war.” T’Challa finished.

“Yes,” I said. “And Talokan will seek an ally.”

I leaned forward slightly. “They will choose Wakanda.”

“What side are you on?” Shuri asked quietly.

“I don’t choose sides,” I said. “I build futures.”

I gestured toward the city beyond. “This Wakanda chose the world and the world chose Wakanda back.”

I picked up my glasses as they reformed.

Then tossed a data chip to Shuri.

“Midnight Angel Armor schematics,” I said. “You’ll need them.”

“Prepare.”

Shuri POV:

The room felt smaller after Peter left.

He always made everything feel… insufficient.

I looked down at the chip in my hand.

It was heavy with the possibilities of war, change and future.

“You better not lose, T’Challa.” I muttered.

I felt that this will be big, very big.