King T'Chaka stood rooted to the spot, staring at the space where the boy had just been standing. His heart was a drum of dread. As a King, he was trained to handle threats—armies, coups, or even the occasional rogue mercenary. But how do you handle a child who treats the foundational pillar of your civilization like a piece of wet clay?
The series of feats he had just witnessed hadn't just defeated his guards; they had shaken the very core of his faith. To the Wakandans, Vibranium was more than a metal; it was a gift from the Orishas, a sacred substance that defined their power and their isolation. A warrior in a Black Panther habit was considered invincible because no mortal weapon could mar that surface. And yet, this Leander Hayes had toyed with their national treasure with a casual, terrifying ease.
T'Chaka knew he couldn't refuse. Not yet. He couldn't predict what a youth with that kind of power would do if pushed. If Leander decided to stop being polite, the city of Birnin Zana might not survive the night.
From her hiding spot, Shuri felt her breath hitch. Her initial curiosity had spiked into a brief flash of fear when her brother hit the wall, but now, it was pure, unadulterated astonishment. As a genius who spent sixteen hours a day in the lab, she knew the molecular bonds of Vibranium better than anyone alive. What Leander had done shouldn't be physically possible. He wasn't just using force; he was overwriting the metal's properties.
King T'Chaka waved his hand, dismissing the remaining guards. Their spears were useless now anyway—mere sticks against a man who could turn them into pretzels with a thought.
"I am glad we have reached an understanding," Leander said, his grin returning. It was a friendly, almost innocent look that felt jarringly out of place in a room full of broken weapons. "I'm not here to be a smuggler. I'm a cultivator. The metal stays in my body, and the knowledge stays in my head. I have no interest in selling your secrets to the highest bidder."
He paused, looking around the high-tech hall with a hungry intensity. "But I'll need a bit more than just the metal. My process is... energy-intensive. I'll need access to your power systems. High-voltage electricity would be the most efficient."
Leander was itching to get started. He could feel his Iron Bones humming at 57%, crying out for the reinforcement that only the Great Mound could provide. If he could reach 100%, his Nirvana Golden Wings would finally solidify into their true form.
T'Chaka looked at his council, then back at Leander. "Zuli, show our guest to the primary energy distribution hub in the lower sectors."
A burly, bald man with the markings of the Mining Tribe stepped forward. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and his eyes were full of a deep, silent resentment. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Leander gave a polite nod to the King and followed Zuli out of the hall.
The silence that followed their departure was heavy, broken only by the hum of the city beyond the windows. King T'Chaka stared at the "hemp-flower" of eight braided spears embedded in the floor.
"Does anyone have a strategy?" the King asked, his voice low. "An outsider is walking through our streets, demanding our birthright."
T'Challa knelt on the floor, picking up the pieces of his Black Panther habit. This was last year's design, a masterpiece of woven vibranium mesh. Now, it lay in jagged fragments. He traced the edges with his thumb; the metal hadn't been crushed. It had been severed cleanly, as if the molecular bonds had simply decided to let go.
"He can fly," T'Challa said, rising to his feet. His kimoyo beads pulsed, projecting a 3-D hologram of Leander's flight path into the city. "We don't know the propulsion principle, but his top speed is staggering. He breached the shield bare-handed, which means his own energy output—or his ability to absorb ours—is unprecedented."
T'Challa paced the room, his mind working through tactical scenarios. "Crucially, Father, he ignores the strength of Vibranium. He manipulates it. Our weapons are not just useless; they are liabilities in his presence. If we fire energy blasts, he might just 'eat' them as he did with the shield."
He paused, recalling the sensation of the metal bead hitting his chest. "If we are to fight him, we must lure him away from any large concentrations of metal. His control range seems to be at least ten meters, perhaps more."
T'Chaka nodded slowly. "You are correct, T'Challa. But we cannot test his limits yet. We are in the preparation phase. Take him wherever he wishes. Provide him with what he asks for. Do not provoke the storm until we know how to weather it."
"Yes, Father." T'Challa gathered the remnants of his suit. His kimoyo beads locked onto Zuli's signal, tracking the red dot as it descended into the bowels of the mountain.
Shuri stepped out from behind the tapestry, her expression defiant. "Father, I don't think he's our enemy."
"Silence, Shuri," T'Chaka snapped, though there was no malice in it, only exhaustion.
"It's true!" Shuri insisted, projecting the footage she had captured from the Talon fighter. "Look at his body language. He stayed calm even when the guards were being rough. He didn't retaliate until he was in the hall. And that strike on T'Challa..."
She enlarged the image of the metal sphere. "Whoever that hit should have been killed. The kinetic force was enough to shatter stone. But he hit T'Challa, the only person in the room wearing armor. He knew the suit would absorb the impact. He wasn't trying to kill; he was trying to end the fight without anyone dying."
She looked at her father with a genius's clarity. "He knows Vibranium better than we do. He came here with a specific purpose, and so far, he hasn't harmed a single soul. I think he's just... lonely in his power."
T'Chaka looked at his daughter, then at the Queen, who had entered the hall to lead Shuri away. "Whether he is malicious or not, Shuri, he is a variable we cannot control. And in Wakanda, variables are dangerous. Go to your lab. Stay there."
The Queen took Shuri by the hand. "Listen to your father. Stay in your room, Shuri. Nowhere else."
Once she was behind the doors of her lab, Shuri checked her kimoyo beads. She saw Zuli's beacon—and the golden-hued signal of Leander. She looked at the door, then at her window. A small, mischievous smile played on her lips as she slipped out through the service duct.
Thousands of miles away, the cold wind of the North Atlantic whipped against the hull of a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport plane. Phil Coulson sat in the pressurized cabin, his laptop open. His eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, but the adrenaline kept him upright.
He was staring at a mission dossier that had been marked 'Level 10 - Eyes Only.'
"What happened, Phil?" an agent's voice crackled through his earpiece. "You woke up the Director at three in the morning. He's not in a good mood."
Coulson adjusted his glasses. "Nineteen hours ago, a Russian oil-prospecting team picked up a strange magnetic signature under the ice in Greenland. We moved in before they could call Moscow. We just finished cutting into the hull of a massive, decades-old flying wing."
"A crash site? Why the urgency?"
"It's not just a plane, sir," Coulson said, his voice trembling with a rare touch of emotion. "We found a round object embedded in the cockpit console. It's painted red, white, and blue. We found Captain America's shield."