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Chapter 15: The King's Invitation
The jet hummed with low vibrational energy, flying beneath the radar as it carried Hann across the African savanna. It wasn't Wakandan tech at its flashiest—this one was discreet, unmarked, and specifically designed to move invisibly through global skies. Only the elite used it. And now, Hann was among them.
He sat near the back, still gripping the staff loosely in his hand, the Ten Rings glowing faintly under the sleeves of his jacket. The Dora Milaje hadn't said much since he boarded. But he could feel their eyes watching him with measured curiosity. Not suspicion—more like scrutiny. Assessment.
Across from him sat Okoye, head of the Dora Milaje, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"You move like someone who's fought before," she said suddenly.
"I have," Hann answered. "Just not with people watching."
She gave a small nod. "Good. The king sees something in you. Don't disappoint him."
Hann tilted his head. "You mean don't disappoint you."
Okoye gave the faintest smirk.
The jet shifted slightly as it began descending. The clouds parted—and then he saw it.
Wakanda.
Not the Wakanda people imagined. This wasn't just a jungle kingdom or a futuristic city. It was both—a sprawling civilization tucked between ancient mountains and lush valleys, with gleaming towers of vibranium-threaded architecture rising in harmony with nature. Flying transports crisscrossed the skyline. The great golden dome shimmered faintly in the sun.
He felt something stir in his chest. A calling.
---
They landed softly on a platform overlooking the capital. Waiting there, cloaked in elegance and power, was King T'Challa, wearing a formal robe of black and deep violet, the Panther pendant hanging like a symbol of divine authority.
"Welcome," the king said as Hann stepped off the ship.
"I've never seen anything like this," Hann murmured.
"You weren't meant to," T'Challa replied. "But now you're here. That means something has changed."
Hann followed as the king led him through the palace. The halls were a blend of modern minimalism and ancient tribal etchings, every corridor echoing with the weight of history and progress. The two walked in silence for a while before T'Challa stopped in front of a large chamber lined with projections of ancient battles.
"This is our Hall of Remembrance," the king said. "Every king, every warrior—our victories, our failures, our lessons. We do not hide from our past."
Hann looked around. Some of the projections flickered with imagery of warriors wielding staffs similar to his. Others bore rings. "These… they look like—"
T'Challa nodded. "The Ten Rings are older than most empires. You are not the first to wield such power. But you may be the first in centuries to understand it."
Hann furrowed his brow. "I don't understand much yet."
"That is why you must learn."
---
Later that evening, Hann stood on a high balcony overlooking the city. The lights below shimmered like stars had been caught in the valley. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there when T'Challa returned, wearing the Black Panther armor again.
"You said before that I fight with instinct," Hann said, not turning. "But instinct isn't enough. Not anymore."
"No, it is not," T'Challa said quietly. "But it is the beginning."
Hann turned to face him. "Why bring me here?"
"Because Earth is changing. The battle in Johannesburg wasn't isolated. It was a test. Forces are gathering—forces that move in shadows. Thanos is only one of them."
At the mention of the name, Hann's stomach twisted. "You know about him?"
"I've seen visions in the ancestral plane. There is a storm coming. Earth needs defenders. But not all of them wear capes or shields."
"You want me to fight in your war?"
"No," T'Challa said. "I want you to build your own. Your own path. Your own alliance. But Wakanda will stand with you."
Hann blinked. "You're serious?"
T'Challa extended his hand. "You have my support. Resources. Intelligence. And when you call, we will answer."
Hann looked down at the rings on his hands—the inheritance of his forgotten lineage, the weight of worlds balanced in ten ancient bands—and then back up at the Panther King.
He took the hand.
A pact was formed.
---
That night, in a smaller chamber lit by flickering lanterns and etched stone, Hann was greeted by a familiar face. A woman in ceremonial robes, adorned with subtle gold and markings of wisdom—Shuri, T'Challa's sister.
"I heard you're the new hotshot with magic rings," she said with a mischievous smile.
"I guess that's me," Hann said. "You're the tech genius?"
"Understatement. I'm going to scan your rings. No explosions, please."
They laughed. Hann relaxed slightly. For the first time since Russia, he didn't feel like a hunted weapon. He felt… human.
But the peace wouldn't last long.
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Three Days Later
Hann stood at the edge of a cliff outside the city, a new tactical suit layered beneath his jacket—lightweight, reinforced, custom-built by Shuri to respond to the Ten Rings' energy.
He looked out over the horizon, his staff in one hand, and a secure communicator in the other. It buzzed.
"Target located. Movement in Berlin. Possible Hydra remnants."
He inhaled deeply.
T'Challa stood beside him. "Are you ready?"
Hann nodded. "Let's build something. Together."
The King clasped his shoulder. "Then go. And remember—true strength is not how you fight alone, but how you inspire others to stand with you."
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End of Chapter 15
Next: Chapter 16 – Berlin Shadows