The hatch of the Talon fighter hissed open, revealing a cabin bathed in a soft, ultraviolet glow. Two Dora Milaje guards stood positioned inside, their backs straight and their expressions carved from stone. They wore traditional scarlet armor, but the spears in their hands hummed with a high-frequency vibration that warned of a lethal technological edge.
"The King has granted you an audience," the lead guard stated, her voice a low, disciplined rasp. "Step inside. Do not resist, or we will be forced to treat you as a hostile combatant. This is your only warning."
Leander didn't say a word. He simply drifted forward, his feet never touching the ramp as he floated into the pressurized cabin. The guards' grip on their spears tightened until their knuckles turned ashen. They watched him with the wary intensity of hunters facing a predator that looked like a lamb.
The hatch slid shut with a vacuum-sealed click, and the aircraft banked sharply, its nose dipping toward the sprawling skyline of Birnin Zana. As they flew, Leander let his senses expand. This craft made the S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjets look like flying tractors. He closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his metal manipulation.
'Incredible,' he thought, a faint smile playing on his lips. 'It's almost entirely vibranium-based.'
He could feel the unique molecular lattice of the plane. Unlike the steel or titanium alloys he was used to, this metal felt "alive." It didn't just resist force; it absorbed and redistributed it. The energy core hummed with a stability that surpassed any arc reactor he had ever dismantled.
Beside him, the guards grew visibly agitated. They could sense the subtle shift in the air, the way the metal bulkheads of the plane seemed to groan softly in response to Leander's presence. One guard leveled her spear tip an inch from his throat, her eyes screaming a warning that her lips didn't need to utter.
In the Royal Command Center, the holographic feed from the plane played out in high definition. King T'Chaka sat in his chair, his hands steepled. He turned to his son, T'Challa, who was already monitoring a dozen data streams.
"I want everything," T'Chaka commanded. "How did a boy from the outside world develop the power to bypass our shields? Search every database. If he has a footprint on this planet, I want to see it."
"I'm already on it, Father," T'Challa replied, his brow furrowed.
Across the room, young Shuri was even faster. Her fingers blurred across a translucent keyboard as she bypassed international firewalls. After several minutes of silence, she sighed, a look of genuine confusion crossing her face.
"There's nothing, Baba," Shuri said, turning to her father. "I've checked Interpol, the CIA, and the Ministry of State Security in China. There are thousands of kids named Leander Hayes, but none of them match his biometric profile. It's as if he either doesn't exist... or someone very powerful has scrubbed his soul from the internet."
T'Chaka's eyes narrowed. "Shuri, go to the secondary lab. This is no place for a child. This boy is an anomaly, and anomalies are dangerous."
Shuri pouted, but T'Challa gave her a stern look that brooked no argument. He then stepped away to his private chamber, preparing to don the habit of the Black Panther. Shuri waited until her brother disappeared, then she ducked behind a tapestry, her curiosity far outweighing her obedience. She found a ventilation grate that offered a perfect view of the Great Hall. She wanted to see this "anomaly" for herself.
The Talon fighter landed on a private terrace outside the Royal Palace. When Leander stepped off the ramp, he was met by two massive palace guards. Without a word, they grabbed his arms, pulling them behind his back.
Click.
A pair of small, obsidian-black vibranium handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists. They were surprisingly light, but Leander could feel the dampening field they generated. They also confiscated his backpack and the small metal spike tucked into his belt.
The guard holding him gave him a rough shove. "Move, outsider."
Leander didn't budge. It was like the guard had tried to push a mountain. The man's eyes widened, and he put his full weight into a second shove, his muscles bulging. Leander remained rooted to the spot, his feet seemingly fused to the stone floor. He turned his head slowly, looking the guard in the eye.
The joy Leander had felt upon seeing the vibranium city evaporated. He didn't mind the security, but he had little patience for petty thuggery. "I am a guest," Leander said softly. "I suggest you remember that before your arm breaks against my back."
The guard bristled but sensed the sudden, lethally cold shift in the boy's aura. He stepped back, gesturing for Leander to follow.
They passed through three massive sets of reinforced doors, each etched with the history of the Five Tribes, until they entered the Great Hall. It was a cavernous room, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a breathtaking view of the Golden City.
King T'Chaka sat on the throne. Beside him stood the Black Panther, his vibranium suit shimmering like liquid shadow, his claws glinting under the hall's lights. The leaders of the Border, River, Mining, and Merchant tribes sat in a semi-circle, their eyes filled with suspicion.
"State your business, Leander Hayes," T'Chaka said, his voice echoing with the weight of kingship. "Why have you violated the borders of the hidden nation?"
Leander didn't answer immediately. Instead, he simply pulled his hands apart. The vibranium handcuffs didn't break—they flowed. The metal liquefied, sliding off his wrists and hovering in the air before condensing into a perfect, floating sphere in his palm.
The hall exploded into chaos. The Dora Milaje rushed down the stairs, eight spears pointed directly at Leander's heart. T'Challa stepped forward, his suit's kinetic pulse beginning to glow purple.
"King T'Chaka," Leander said, his voice cutting through the tension with an eerie calm. "I didn't come here to start a war. I am a cultivator of metal. To me, vibranium is not just a resource; it is the key to my next stage of existence. I am here to ask for a small portion of your Great Mound. In return, I offer you a debt of honor. One day, Wakanda will face a threat that even your walls cannot stop. On that day, I will be your shield."
A leader from the Border Tribe stood up, his face contorted with rage. "You speak of our lifeblood as if it were common iron! You are an arrogant child! You will leave with nothing but the chains we put you in!"
T'Chaka remained calm, though his eyes were sharp. "How do you know our secrets? Who told you of the Great Mound?"
Leander looked at the circle of armed guards. Their presence was becoming a distraction. He raised a hand, his palm open.
Suddenly, the eight vibranium spears in the hands of the Dora Milaje began to vibrate violently. The guards gasped as an irresistible force yanked the weapons from their hands. All eight spears flew toward Leander, spinning in the air before sticking into the ground beside him, bundled together like a fence.
"Enough!" T'Challa roared.
The Black Panther launched himself through the air, a streak of black lightning. His claws, tipped with anti-metal properties, raked toward Leander's face.
Leander didn't even look up. He flicked the metal bead he had made from the handcuffs.
BOOM!
The bead broke the sound barrier in the confined space, the sonic boom shattering several decorative vases. It struck T'Challa square in the chest. The Black Panther was hammered backward with the force of a freight train, flying twenty meters across the hall and embedding himself three inches deep into the reinforced stone wall.
T'Chaka stood up, his hand reaching for the ceremonial dagger at his waist. The tribal leaders drew their swords, their faces pale.
T'Challa groaned, peeling himself out of the wall. The purple patterns on his suit flared brightly, having absorbed the massive kinetic energy of the impact, saving his ribs from being turned to powder. He landed on his feet, his eyes burning through his mask. He lunged again, his speed doubled by the suit's stored energy.
He didn't make it five steps.
Leander clenched his fist. The vibranium suit on T'Challa's body suddenly locked up. The joints refused to move, the fibers tightening until the Prince was frozen mid-stride like a statue. It was a terrifying display of authority over the very metal the Wakandans worshipped.
"King T'Chaka," Leander said, looking at the monarch. "Your underground reserves are vast. What I need is a drop in the ocean to you. I have no interest in your politics, your technology, or your gold. I only want the metal. If I wanted to take it by force, I wouldn't be standing here talking."
To emphasize his point, Leander pointed a finger at the bundled spears beside him. The vibranium shafts began to soften and twist, braiding themselves together like a pretzel until they were a solid, inseparable mass of metal.
Then, he waved a hand toward T'Challa. The Black Panther suit didn't just unlock—it disassembled. The helmet, the gauntlets, and the chest plate unsnapped and fell to the floor in a heap of silent metal, leaving T'Challa standing there in his under-armor, breathless and exposed.
The room fell into a deathly silence. The "invincible" Black Panther had been stripped naked in seconds.
Leander looked at T'Chaka, his expression neutral. "Can we talk like civilized people now? Or do I need to turn this hall into a birdcage?"
T'Chaka looked at his son, then at the twisted metal on the floor, and finally at the boy who stood unmoved by the might of a nation. He saw the truth then: Leander wasn't an invader. He was a force of nature that had chosen to be polite.
"Everyone, stand down," T'Chaka commanded, his voice heavy. He sat back down, his gaze fixed on Leander. "Very well, Leander Hayes. You have demonstrated that you do not need our permission to be dangerous. Let us see if you are as honorable as you claim. Tell me... how much vibranium does a 'cultivator' require?"