The old king seemed to mull over the dissenting elder's words for a moment, then offered no opinion either way, turning instead to survey the other council members.
By ancient tradition, the Mining Tribe had overseen the extraction of vibranium for centuries. The metal's importance went without saying — the tribe had long held the dominant position among Wakanda's four great tribes, and the king's own lineage descended from them. As a gesture of balance, or perhaps compromise, the current Mining Tribe elder held little real authority. The heavyset older woman with her crown of small braids muttered and grumbled at length, then concluded by saying she would defer to whatever the king decided.
"This is an opportunity we cannot ignore. The secret is already out — there are people in the outside world who now know Wakanda's exact location. What are we going to do about it? The times demand that we change!" The Border Tribe elder, his face marked with ritual tattoos, spoke with force, calling for an overhaul of national policy and urging Wakanda to step onto the world stage.
The Merchant Tribe elder — a wizened old woman — sat with her eyes half-closed, as though she might have drifted off. Open the borders or keep them sealed, it was all the same to her.
The old king surveyed the four elders. One in favor, one opposed, two abstaining. He was pleased. His own voice would now be the deciding one.
A king could not pretend that the leak had nothing to do with him. He needed to make a gesture — to demonstrate that he took the matter seriously — while keeping the situation firmly under his control. He considered his words for a moment, then spoke in a clear, carrying voice: "T'Challa."
The young prince had no idea why his father was calling on him, but he stepped forward. "I'm here."
"I am authorizing you to leave Wakanda. Find out where this leak came from. Follow the trail wherever it leads."
The king then turned to Daisy. "This will require Miss Johnson's assistance as well. T'Challa will need official cover and support abroad."
Daisy nodded at once. This had already been arranged between them — her cover identity as an Oxford University student would serve nicely.
With Daisy "assisting," this investigation could run for a hundred years without the trail ever pointing back to her. And frankly, the old king had no real interest in uncovering the truth either. Daisy's read on the situation was: a great deal of noise, very little action. T'Challa would spend a couple of years abroad, and then the whole business would quietly be dropped.
By sending his heir out of the country, the king would also have a free hand to consolidate power at home and lay the groundwork for Wakanda's eventual emergence onto the world stage.
T'Challa himself had fewer calculations running through his head, but he did know one thing — once he was outside Wakanda, seeing Storm would be far easier. The distance between America and England was nothing to either of them.
The two exchanged a loaded glance, and Daisy rolled her eyes.
With the broad strokes settled, the details fell into place quickly.
First, all the mercenary prisoners were handed over to the Mining Tribe to work the mines. Even the dissenting elder agreed with this particular measure — in his own words: Those people once forced our people to dig for ore under the whip. Now the shoe is on the other foot.
Batroc knew a number of critical details, and T'Challa intended to bring him along as a source of leads.
Juggernaut, with his enormous size and strength, would ordinarily have made a valuable laborer in the mines. But the shamans of all four tribes objected in unison — each had received a divine message: evil should not be allowed to remain in Wakanda.
The tribal leaders were alarmed and treated him like a curse to be driven out. Juggernaut too was handed off to T'Challa.
Before the party departed, the old king held a private meeting with Daisy.
"Miss Johnson — do you truly believe the outside world will accept us?" The old man's voice carried a trace of worry.
Daisy thought it over. "If the world were to suddenly learn just how powerful you are, that would probably be… difficult."
To secure her help, the king had gifted her a cloak — the kind used by the Border Tribe. It could generate a faint blue energy shield; the vibranium content was modest, but even in its passive state it offered decent protection.
Daisy couldn't help feeling a slight pang of regret. Over in the MCU there didn't seem to be much of a cape-wearing tradition — not like the DC side, where capes were practically standard issue. Still, it was a free gift, and she wasn't about to turn it down.
She offered a few complimentary words, but the old king wasn't swayed by flattery. Daisy shifted to something more practical. "Perhaps Wakanda could take things in stages — first, gain recognition from the international community. Then gradually let word spread, and invite the leaders of friendly nations to come and see for themselves."
She already had a specific leader in mind: the President. Nick Fury's official cover was as a retired colonel — he couldn't appear at something like this.
The old king's eyes lit up. The approach had real merit, and it aligned quietly with certain ideas he'd already been turning over. He didn't know that Daisy had simply pulled it from memory — it had originally been his own plan all along. Lately, he'd been growing increasingly convinced that the outside world was full of capable people, and that Wakanda's centuries of isolation would eventually cost them dearly.
The king had already given her the heart-shaped herb and the vibranium bracers. Daisy felt she should offer something in return. She made a sincere promise: she would work to smooth the path, and would at least ensure that the right people in high places knew Wakanda existed.
The old king, sensing her genuine intent, presented her with one final gift: a Border Tribe war rhino, to be offered to those same important leaders as a gesture of goodwill.
Daisy stared at the enormous animal — over 6 feet 6 inches (2 meters) tall at the shoulder, weighing several tons — and felt her mind go blank.
"This… um…?"
"Give it to our African allies," the old king said warmly, his voice full of feeling. "There are fewer and fewer rhinos on the savanna these days."
Daisy's head began to throb. The old man was cleverer than she'd given him credit for. He'd clearly noticed her interest in vibranium — and deliberately said nothing about it, producing a rhino instead.
She didn't even know where to begin embezzling when the gift was a living animal…
And just looking at the creature, she could tell its appetite would be staggering. Setting aside the question of whether New York would even allow her to keep it, the daily food bill alone would bankrupt her. If she didn't want to go broke, her only option was to pass the rhino along to one of those well-connected allies with the resources to support it.
She gave the animal a pat on its broad head. The rhino had been domesticated and was perfectly docile, glancing up at her with small, calm eyes before losing interest entirely.
She walked around to its far side — and found a cheetah draped across its back.
"The rhino I can understand, but this cheetah is…" She hadn't even finished the question before something brushed across her consciousness — a message from the Panther Goddess.
The goddess had selected this cheetah — supposedly the most beautiful and spiritually gifted in all of Wakanda — to appear in the film.
And this was no ordinary cat. It was essentially an avatar of the goddess in the physical world. Concealment, combat, killing — all trivial. It could also shift its size at will, growing larger or shrinking smaller as needed.
"To have earned the goddess's favor… you have no idea how envied you are," the old king said, his voice carrying a note of genuine wonder.
Then, being a careful man, the king adopted a convincingly frail expression and waited.
Daisy knew when she'd been dismissed. She said her farewells and left.
She cast one last longing glance at Wakanda's holographic projection technology as she went. The system was far more than a communication tool — it functioned as a complete personal terminal. Unfortunately, it was powered by vibranium, and Wakanda's technological development had taken a completely different path from the rest of the world; even if she took one with her, it would be useless outside.
Their relationship wasn't at the stage of exchanging technology transfers. She ran the numbers in her head — she'd already extracted everything she reasonably could from this visit. Time to let it go.