pa'atení
A memory of flames licking at the pillars of the throne room on the ancestral plane, N’Jadaka’s mouth curled in a mocking sneer, filled Shuri’s memory. Fire and earth. “You were happy to die at my hands,” she echoed, the skin on her arms pebbling as a shiver ran through her.
“Yes. But I only wished for one thing, and I had not gotten it before my death. So I was glad you showed mercy in the end.”
“And what did you wish for?” Shuri asked, advancing on him from the bed. “Your people swimming up the river to break Wakanda’s borders? An empire of blood against all other nations in the world?”
“I wished,” said Namor very quietly, watching her and not moving, “to hear you say my name.”
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Shuri, who has given up the throne of Wakanda, has a lot of time to think in Haiti about the future of Wakanda. Fortunately, someone else is more than happy to offer some assistance, but when new developments arise, she and Namor of Talokan must forge a tentative alliance while navigating a more treacherous sea than either of them expected.