The Golden Panther

Once upon a time, a new king sat upon the throne of Wakanda, and he wanted the world to know it.

Erik Killmonger, wearing Wakanda's crown for the very first time, decided he needed a Black Panther suit of his own. Not black, like the one T'Challa had always worn. Erik wanted something that shone. Something that announced, without a single word, that a different king now ruled Wakanda.

He chose gold.

Princess Shuri, the brilliant young engineer who had built the very first Black Panther suit with her own two hands, wanted absolutely nothing to do with helping him. So Erik turned to the royal archive instead, studying every schematic and diagram he could find, late into the night, until he understood the technology as well as anyone in the kingdom. Loyal palace smiths built the suit piece by careful piece, hammering vibranium plates until they gleamed like sunlight, fitting them to Erik's frame until it was, finally, perfect.

But a new suit was only the beginning.

As king, Erik summoned Wakanda's War Dogs to the palace — a whole secret network of agents hidden away in cities all across the world, quietly watching, quietly listening, quietly gathering information for as long as anyone could remember. Erik gave them a mission unlike anything they had ever heard before.

For generations, the War Dogs had only watched the world from the shadows. Now, their new king commanded something entirely different.

Arm it.

Erik believed, with every fiber of his being, that vibranium weapons — smuggled quietly to people fighting against unfairness everywhere — could finally even the odds for communities just like the one where he had grown up. He spoke about Oakland as if it still lived inside his chest, as if he could still feel the sunny sidewalks under his feet. He wanted every forgotten corner of the world to feel a little less forgotten.

But to many people standing in that grand throne room, listening to their new king speak, his plan sounded less like justice, and a good deal more like war.

Not everyone in Wakanda agreed with him. But not everyone opposed him, either.

W'Kabi, the proud and powerful leader of the Border Tribe, sided with Erik completely. For years, he had watched the criminal Ulysses Klaue escape Wakandan justice again and again, and it had filled him with a deep, simmering anger. Erik had finally answered for it. That mattered enormously to W'Kabi.

General Okoye, commander of the fierce and elegant Dora Milaje, felt torn right down the middle of her heart. She had sworn a sacred oath long ago to protect the throne of Wakanda — whoever happened to sit upon it. But quietly, deep down where nobody else could see, her doubts kept growing a little larger with every single order the new king gave. She watched him carefully, saying little, weighing loyalty against conscience.

Meanwhile, two other members of the royal circle could not bear to stay silent any longer.

Shuri and the clever spy Nakia slipped quietly out of the palace one night, wrapped in warm cloaks against the cold. They climbed higher and higher into the snowy mountains where the Jabari Tribe made their home, searching, searching, always searching for any small sign — any sign at all — that T'Challa had somehow survived his terrible fall from Warrior Falls.

They moved carefully, avoiding the Border Tribe's patrols, hope flickering in their chests with every step upward through the snow, their breath turning to little clouds in the cold mountain air.

And far below, high on the palace balcony, Erik Killmonger stood in his brand-new golden suit, watching cargo ships load quietly under the moonlight. He believed, with his whole heart, that he was finally about to change the world — the very same way his father, Prince N'Jobu, had always dreamed of doing from a small apartment thousands and thousands of miles away.

The gold armor gleamed in the moonlight. The ships waited at the docks, engines humming softly in the dark. And somewhere high in the snowy mountains, hope was still climbing, step by careful step, toward the truth.

Sleep now, and imagine that quiet golden gleam catching the moonlight, one small piece of a much bigger story that was still unfolding, one careful step at a time.