The last glow of the setting sun sank below the horizon, and the sky over Wakanda faded from gold and red to deep blue as stars began to emerge. The sky, once blotted out by Ultron robots, had finally returned to tranquility.
In the distance, several buildings in the city center were still emitting thin trails of smoke, but rescue workers were already busy among the ruins. Blue energy beams illuminated the damaged walls, and the sparks from Vibranium welders flickered like fireflies between the high-rises.
This African nation, hidden for thousands of years, had revealed its true face in the fires of war for the first time.
But its people did not fear or retreat; they stood tall amidst the rubble, using ancient battle songs and modern technology to declare to the invaders: Wakanda will not fall.
Mavuika stood on the palace terrace, looking out at the city recovering from the war.
The night wind stirred his long hair, the golden-red strands shimmering faintly under the moonlight.
In his hand, he held a cup of local herbal tea. The liquid was deep red, giving off a sweet fragrance he had never smelled before.
Footsteps sounded from behind.
T'Chaka walked up to his side. He had already removed his black Vibranium armor and changed into a traditional Wakandan robe. The robe was deep blue with golden geometric patterns embroidered along the edges, and a necklace of Vibranium beads hung around his neck.
He looked less like a king and more like a kind elder, though those eyes still flickered with a sharp, all-seeing light.
"Your Highness Mavuika," T'Chaka began, his voice low and gentle.
"Do you not care for the bustle of the banquet hall?"
Mavuika glanced at him, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
"I do. But sometimes, I want a moment of peace."
T'Chaka chuckled softly.
"As do I."
Standing beside him, he also looked out at the city.
"It has been over a hundred years since Wakanda experienced such a war. The last time was when colonizers tried to invade."
Mavuika was silent for a moment, then said,
"About Ultron, I am sorry."
T'Chaka shook his head.
"It is not your fault. Tony Stark has already apologized himself. My friend, you do not need to apologize on his behalf."
Tony had indeed apologized.
Just a few hours ago, when the last of the Ultron robots' remains had been cleared away and the Wakandan warriors began counting the casualties, Tony stood before T'Chaka. His faceplate was retracted, revealing a weary, dust-covered face as he gave a deep bow.
"King T'Chaka," he said, his voice hoarse.
"Ultron was my mistake. Stark Industries will take full responsibility for Wakanda's losses—whether it's money, technology, or manpower... you only need to ask."
T'Chaka looked at him and didn't answer immediately. He looked at this young man—the man who had created Ultron and then destroyed it with his own hands. In his eyes, there was no anger or blame, only the complex scrutiny an elder has for a junior.
"Mr. Stark," he finally said, "I accept your apology. But Wakanda does not need charity."
Tony looked up, a hint of embarrassment and guilt flashing in his bloodshot eyes.
"It's not charity," he said. "It's responsibility. I'll clean up the mess I made."
T'Chaka was silent for a moment, then smiled softly.
"Very well. Then let us talk about 'responsibility'."
The two sat down by the ruins and began discussing the reconstruction of Wakanda.
Tony produced a list of Stark Industries' resources, while T'Chaka listed the supplies and technical support Wakanda needed. Finally, they reached an agreement that satisfied both parties.
But Mavuika knew that the reason T'Chaka agreed wasn't just because they needed help.
He looked at T'Chaka's profile. The moonlight shone on his graying beard, plating it with a layer of silver.
"King T'Chaka, what are you planning?"
T'Chaka turned to look at him, a flash of surprise in his eyes. Then he smiled.
"You are more perceptive than I imagined."
Mavuika did not feign modesty.
"When you've lived a long time, you naturally see a lot."
T'Chaka was silent for a moment, then said,
"Wakanda cannot stay hidden forever."
Mavuika watched him.
He continued, "For centuries, we have hidden in the jungle, using technology to disguise ourselves from the outside World. Because we were afraid—afraid of being plundered, afraid of being colonized, afraid that greedy invaders would destroy our home. But the World is changing, technology outside is advancing, and one day, our disguise will be seen through."
He paused.
"Rather than being discovered passively, it is better to step out proactively. That way, we can at least maintain the initiative."
Mavuika nodded.
"You've been waiting for an opportunity."
T'Chaka nodded.
"Yes. An opportunity for Wakanda to appear before the World without it seeming abrupt. Ultron's attack—"
He gave a bitter smile.
"Brutal as it was, it was indeed an opportunity. Wakanda helped defeat an enemy that threatened the World. This beginning is better than I imagined."
Mavuika looked at him, a trace of respect in his amber eyes.
"You are a good king."
T'Chaka smiled gently.
"I am only thinking of my people."
He turned and looked toward the banquet hall.
Through the tall glass windows, one could see the interior brightly lit and bustling with people.
T'Challa was standing next to Thor. They were talking about something, and Thor laughed heartily, clapping T'Challa on the shoulder with enough force to make him stagger slightly.
"T'Challa," T'Chaka said.
"He is more suited to this era than I am. He is young, has vision, and knows how to embrace change. I am old; there are some things I cannot let go of, but he can."
Mavuika looked at the young man.
He wore traditional Wakandan attire, but a high-tech Vibranium belt was fastened at his waist, and he wore boots that looked ordinary but had soles flickering with a faint blue light.
A gentle smile was on his face, but his eyes held the same sharp light as T'Chaka's.
"He will be a good king," Mavuika said.
T'Chaka looked at him.
"Thank you."
The two stood on the terrace for a while longer, neither of them speaking again.
The wind blew from the valley, carrying the moisture of the waterfall and the fragrance of the forest.
In the distance, the city lights flickered on one by one, like stars on the ground.
Inside the banquet hall, the atmosphere was warm and boisterous.
This was a traditional Wakandan victory feast.
The Wakandan banquet hall was spacious and grand, large enough to accommodate hundreds of people.
The hall's decor was both solemn and warm, blending Wakandan tribal culture with modern technology.
In the center of the banquet hall stood a long dining table, laden with a wide variety of Wakandan delicacies.
There were golden-brown, crispy roasted meats, fresh and delicious tropical fruits, fragrant grains, and an assortment of specialty drinks and wines—a dazzling array that made one's mouth water.