The mortuary chamber was silent, with only a solitary figure remaining in the room.
Namor stood with his back turned, one hand resting on the polished surface of the coffin where King Thakorr lay. The ceremonial robes, embroidered with golden threads and abyssal pearls, elegantly concealed the fatal wound in the old man's chest.
Byrrah entered without knocking, his posture rigid, reflecting a mix of urgency and profound dismay.
"What the hell are you doing, Namor? Ordering the arrest — or worse, the murder — of Wakanda's ambassadors? Do you even know what this will trigger? That is the prince and princess of the most powerful nation on the surface. You must revoke that order, right now."
The now-king of Atlantis didn't respond immediately. His gaze seemed lost somewhere on the old man's inert face.
"They killed my grandfather."
Byrrah stepped back slightly, shaking his head, desperate to appeal to his monarch's logic.
"It wasn't them, Namor. You know that. There is someone else lurking around Atlantis. Attuma is in the shadows, Giganto has disappeared... this is not the moment to declare a war."
Namor turned his head slowly, finding his cousin's gaze.
"Do you know what his last words were?"
Byrrah fell silent, petrified. Namor continued, his tone hardening with every word.
"Before he died, he came to. I saw my grandfather — the man he was — for the last time... and he used his final strength to warn me. My mother, the prison, the Titans, the soldiers massacred at the walls... and now him. All of it has been because of them."
Namor turned completely, his war cape rippling slightly in the current of the chamber. He moved toward Byrrah until he was centimeters away, forcing him to hold his gaze.
"How many more lives must they take before you understand that they are our enemy?"
Without waiting for an answer, Namor moved past him, heading toward the royal hall. Byrrah followed, swimming after him while trying, once more, to bring him back to reason.
"You're letting yourself be swept away again, Namor!" he insisted, raising his voice. "You're not seeing the full picture. We're talking about the destruction of an entire nation — the end of thousands of lives. You cannot make this decision on your own!"
They arrived before the immense doors of the royal hall. The Atlantean soldiers of the guard bowed their heads and opened the heavy doors.
The council of elders was there, waiting before the throne.
Behind them, six elite soldiers stood guard with spears at the ready. Before Namor could even sit, the elders began to raise their voices, challenging his authority.
"What makes you think you are capable of usurping the throne in this manner, boy?" one of the advisors exclaimed, his voice reverberating through the hall. "Who do you think you are to skip the coronation processes and, on top of that, unilaterally declare war against Wakanda?"
However, the ruler ignored them. As though the elders' words were nothing more than the murmur of a current, he swam calmly — ignoring their reproaches — until he reached the central platform and sat down on the throne with composure, leaving the elders speaking into the void of his indifference.
"The only one in the line of succession is me," he interrupted. "The only one with royal blood directly descended from King Thakorr... is me."
Namor leaned slightly forward on the throne, watching them with contempt.
"My grandfather was murdered," he continued, marking each word. "YOUR King. And the first thing you do, rather than seeking justice, is try to reproach me about protocols. A coronation ceremony? That's what concerns you while our nation bleeds?"
Seeing that none of them dared to refute him, Namor rose, his presence dominating the entire hall.
"In the face of Wakanda's clear attacks against our nation — against the ROYALTY of Atlantis — I will not stand idle. I will not allow them to continue attacking our people without receiving punishment. Wakanda has attacked... again. So it is now our turn to strike back as befitting. Does anyone have something to say about that? Does anyone disagree?"
The elders exchanged nervous glances, unable to stand up to him. Finally, one of them — face pale but voice steady — raised his gaze.
"Your Majesty, we cannot act with such haste. Wakanda is not the only threat to Atlantis — there are other fronts, other dangers that—"
"You hesitate?" Namor cut him off. "You hesitate to strike those who have clearly dishonored these waters? Those who murdered the princess and your king? Those who freed the ancient Titans that have cost us so many lives?"
The elder stammered, trying to reconstruct his argument, but Namor gave him no opportunity.
"Someone like that cannot belong to the council."
He made a sharp gesture with his hand. The soldiers guarding the rear nodded in unison, threw themselves on the elder, and seized him firmly by the arms. The councillor began to struggle and shout as he was dragged toward the exit.
"No, this is a mistake! Namor, listen!"
The soldiers ignored his pleas and removed him from the hall, closing the doors behind them.
The silence that followed was absolute — almost suffocating. Namor swept the hall with his gaze, stopping on each of the remaining council members.
"Does anyone else have something to say?" he asked calmly.
No one moved. Slowly, one by one, the elders bowed their heads before him in a gesture of forced submission.
The now-King offered a faint smile and waved them off with his hand.
"You may withdraw."
Byrrah, who had been watching the entire scene from the side, clenched his fists, his brow marked by a deep frown.
Namor shifted his gaze toward his cousin.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, surveying the immensity of the royal hall. "You adore history, don't you? I know how much time you spent in the royal library during your youth, devouring the memoirs of King Kamuu. You know each of his decisions, the weight of his mandate and his relentless pursuit of balance with the surface dwellers. I know you aspire to follow that path."
Namor paused, closing his eyes for a moment.
"But those were different times. Kamuu lived in a world that could still be shaped. Ours is a world that seeks only our extinction."
Byrrah, though visibly tense, didn't look away.
"Once this begins, Namor, there will be no turning back. War will spare neither the crown nor the innocent."
Namor nodded calmly.
"I know. And that's fine. Difficult decisions require strong wills, Byrrah. And I assure you, mine is unmatched. I will put an end to my enemies — all of them — leaving no trace of their threat. Then at last, my people will know true security."
"You're not doing this for them," Byrrah said. "You're doing it for revenge. For your mother, for your grandfather. What you're doing isn't justice — it's—"
Before he could finish, Namor's face darkened. Suddenly, Byrrah went rigid, his body caught by an invisible, crushing pressure.
"Choose your words carefully," Namor's voice was a whisper. "I am lenient with you because you are my cousin — the only family I have left in this world. But I will not tolerate such insolence."
The pressure disappeared as quickly as it had come. Byrrah lurched slightly forward, struggling to catch his breath. He brought his hands to his sides, feeling the sharp pain begin to fade as his cousin rose to his feet.
"I hope I can count on you in the same way my grandfather did. As commander of Atlantis's forces, carrying out your duty with the same unwavering devotion as always. Am I correct?"
The commander remained silent for a few seconds, the beating of his heart thundering in his ears. He knew the line of dissent had just closed before him. With the weight of duty and the bitterness of the moment, he bowed his head, lowering his gaze in a gesture of submission.
"Yes, my King," he replied, his voice subdued.
====
The sharp pain in his broken arms was a cruel reminder of his vulnerability, but the crash of the vase shattering against the floor of the royal garden didn't ease the storm within him by even a fraction.
Byrrah let himself fall, cursing his helplessness. Everything was crumbling — the throne occupied by the iron hand of a cousin blinded by revenge, the void left by Thakorr, and the shadow of a war that Atlantis didn't need.
He was trapped in a labyrinth of frustration, searching for a way out he couldn't find — until a deep, vibrant sound interrupted his inner monologue.
Byrrah turned sharply and held his breath. Before him, suspended in the garden's water column, floated Zola. The young Aethelmar who had intervened on Princess Shuri's behalf at the walls was watching him while emitting soft sounds that traveled through the water.
The commander couldn't help but feel strange about the situation — these creatures were ancient, distant, and almost impossible to form any kind of relationship with, except for King Namor.
"Is that you... Zola? You're the one who protected Princess Shuri at the walls."
The whale nodded slowly, emitting a soft chirp. Byrrah moved closer, intrigued.
"I don't speak your language, creature. I don't have my cousin's abilities to understand you."
Zola moved her enormous head and opened her jaws just a few centimeters, releasing a series of bubbles that began to intertwine in the water, forming a geometric silhouette — perfect and recognizable.
Byrrah watched as the trapped air drew the unmistakable shape of—
"A... panther?" the commander whispered, his eyes wide. "You're looking for Shuri?"
Zola burst into sounds of joy, spinning on her axis and waving her six fins with enthusiasm.
Byrrah sighed, his expression turning somber.
"I'm sorry, Zola. Unfortunately, she and her group... are being..."
He stopped, shifting his gaze toward the soldiers patrolling the garden's boundaries.
A bold, risky, almost suicidal thought began to form in his mind.
His lips curved into a faint, cunning smile. He looked at the whale, who waited patiently for his response.
"Actually... yes. Yes, I can take you to her. But we'll need you to be very careful, Zola. If you want to find your friend, you're going to have to do exactly as I say."
====
Zola glided through the depths, far from the Atlantean patrols until she ventured into an immense underwater cavern whose entrance was hidden by dense banks of luminescent algae.
Once inside, the creature stopped and opened her jaws. Shuri was the first to emerge, propelling herself with her thrusters until she was face to face with the whale's enormous eye.
"That was incredible!" the princess laughed, gently touching the rough skin near Zola's eye. "I never imagined the inside of a whale could be so fascinating. Next time, I want to ride on your back, okay?"
Zola emitted a series of harmonious clicks and nodded. A few meters away, T'Challa and Okoye watched the scene with some bewilderment.
"I never thought my sister would end up being 'friends' with a giant intelligent whale," T'Challa admitted with a tired smile.
"Shuri always finds a way to surprise us, Your Highness," Okoye replied, relaxing her guard slightly. "And being honest, it's a relief that nothing exploded this time."
Both shared a brief laugh, relieved that everyone had made it out safely. Legion, however, remained to one side, analyzing the dynamic between the young princess and the creature.
"Setting the jokes aside, it's clear there's a real bond. Shuri and Zola understand each other, as if they speak a language of their own... if it is a language, I should be able to translate it," he murmured. "Unless their communication is of a nature I can't pick up on."
"Perhaps it's selective," T'Challa suggested. "Maybe they simply choose who to communicate with."
Legion lowered his gaze to his wrist, studying the Omnitrix. If Zola was an intelligent species, the watch should have performed an automatic scan when they were this close. Looking at the interface, he confirmed his suspicion — the device was emitting a faint yellow glow while the dial turned, processing the creature's data. After a few seconds, the glow ceased and the watch returned to its original green tone.
Hoping the watch would allow him another transformation, the hero activated the dial. However, his gesture stopped when he saw that Ghostfreak's icon was still the only one present.
Looking for something? Before you think about trying out a new transformation, remember we still have a pending appointment.
Legion shook his head slightly, letting out a resigned sigh at his passenger's persistence.
"I see that Zola has brought you all here safe and sound — I'm glad," a voice resonated from the dimness of the cave, putting the group on alert.
The Dora Milaje moved in perfect synchrony, positioning themselves at the front and adopting a defensive combat stance. However, T'Challa raised a hand, indicating they should lower their spears.
"Stand down," he ordered, keeping his eyes fixed on the figure emerging from the shadows. "If Byrrah wanted to hurt us, he would have done so already. Am I wrong?"
The commander of Atlantis's forces advanced until the faint light of the cavern illuminated his weary face. He nodded slowly at T'Challa's words.
"You are correct. King Namor — as he now is — has decreed that Wakanda is the enemy, and that all those who came to Atlantis must be detained... or executed."
The silence that followed his words was heavy. Byrrah sighed, visibly frustrated by the situation he was left to manage.
"Of course, I do not share that position, but my authority is limited against my cousin's madness. Fortunately, young Zola arrived at precisely the right moment, just as I was searching for a way to save you. I was able to devise this plan so you could escape the capture squads Namor had sent."
Shuri, without moving far from Zola, placed her hand on the whale's damp, rough skin, giving her a sincere smile.
"Thank you, Zola," the princess murmured.
The enormous creature, feeling the gratitude in the young woman's touch, responded with a series of low, joyful sounds, vibrating gently in the water.
T'Challa approached Byrrah and extended his hand. The commander, wincing in pain from the effort in his injured arms, returned the gesture and they shook hands firmly.
"Namor declared war knowing what's out there?" Legion asked, surprised by the new king's lack of common sense.
Byrrah nodded with bitterness.
"Hunter sent assassins after him while he was with his grandfather. When they couldn't kill him, they killed Thakorr instead. Now Namor just wants to take revenge on those who took his family from him. He was always someone impulsive, driven by what he feels — and right now, he's not thinking clearly. He's going to leave barely half our troops to guard the city and take the rest to the surface to attack Wakanda."
Shuri entered the conversation, concerned.
"Wakanda is on alert — we can repel an Atlantean attack... but if Namor attacks personally... after seeing what he's capable of, I don't think my inventions will be able to stop him."
"He'll attack at night to catch you off guard," Byrrah explained. "You have to warn your people and figure out how to defend yourselves. You'll also need to evacuate the civilians."
T'Challa shook his head, looking at his devices with frustration.
"There's no way. Nothing we have functions at this depth — we can't send any signal to the surface. We're cut off."
"There is a way," Byrrah said. "A device from ancient times that can travel from the deepest depths all the way to the surface."
Shuri tilted her head, intrigued.
"What is it? A magic conch shell?"
The commander gave a small smile and shook his head.
"No. It's a chip. Before Atlantis ended up beneath the sea, we were a civilization with technology that today would seem like magic."
"Let me guess — something happened and it was all lost," Shuri cut in.
T'Challa glanced at her sideways, calling her to order. Byrrah, however, laughed lightly.
"Exactly, that's what happened. But some of it was salvaged. It's part of our ancient communication system, stored in the palace's security chamber. If you can retrieve it, you'll be able to send a warning to Wakanda with enough time to prepare."
T'Challa, thinking of his people, asked about the Dora Milaje who had been left behind. Byrrah lowered his gaze, uncomfortable.
"They're most likely in the palace dungeon."
The prince exchanged a serious look with Okoye. He knew they needed to rescue them, but they also needed to warn Wakanda.
"How much time do we have before the attack?"
"Five hours," Byrrah replied.
T'Challa nodded, calculating the possibilities.
"We could do two things at once, but first we need to work out the details."
Byrrah nodded, understanding it was time to leave.
"I'll be back in half an hour. I hope by then you've decided what you're going to do."
==
Shuri laughed while stroking Zola's rough skin, enjoying the harmonious sounds and vibrations the creature emitted. A few meters away, T'Challa lowered his voice to address Okoye.
"We're not leaving anyone behind. Everyone goes home. Prepare your soldiers."
The general nodded, her face a mask of discipline. She turned toward the Dora Milaje and, with a few gestures, gathered them in a tight circle, beginning to issue orders in a low voice.
T'Challa allowed himself a moment to watch his sister — as carefree as ever despite everything.
His gaze kept scanning the area until it stopped on Legion, who remained somewhat apart, distractedly examining a luminescent plant. The prince moved closer, stopping beside him.
"Does the plan work for you?"
Legion straightened and looked at him for an instant, weighing his words before nodding.
"Sure, the plan works for me," he replied, somewhat slowly. "The only thing that worries me is Namor."
T'Challa nodded, sharing that concern.
"He's on another level entirely. From what we've seen, I'd say he could go toe to toe with Thor or even Hulk without breaking a sweat — and that's not counting his regeneration..." T'Challa was quiet for a moment, then fixed his eyes on the hero. "Tell me — if you had to fight him, do you think you could win? You held your own with... Chromastone, was it? You defeated Terrax — couldn't you do the same with Namor?"
Legion laughed lightly.
"Who needs that multicolored rock? Ghostfreak is more than enough to make him wet himself."
He simply ignored it and shook his head.
"Every alien has its advantages and weak points. It's not the time to get into details, but no — I couldn't use it against him. Right now it's... sick, so to speak. It's something I'm still working on."
T'Challa nodded, respecting the silence on the matter — though the worry for his people and the threat of the Atlantean army remained on his face. He had faith that perhaps, just perhaps, the hero could deal with this problem.
He brought his hand to his belt, where the sphere his father had given him rested. Perhaps, he thought, his father had known that dialogue would serve no purpose — and that was the way to end the problem before it was too late. He closed his eyes for an instant, remembering the order he had received.
"If you could put an end to all of this at once... but had to sacrifice something very great to do it, what would you do?"
Legion raised his head and looked at the cave ceiling, thoughtful.
"No idea. I suppose it depends on the moment and the situation. But tell me — something tells me you're not asking this just for the sake of conversation, are you, T'Challa?"
The prince remained silent. Legion looked back at the luminous plant.
"If I were in your place, maybe I'd do whatever was necessary — but it's something I would have to think about very carefully. It's something you must do of your own free will, because in the end, the outcome will be your responsibility. You know, when I was a child, I watched a movie with my Nonno that left a mark on me. At one point in the story, a very wise character gave the protagonist some advice."
The hero tilted his head slightly, a faint nostalgic smile forming on his face as he remembered simpler, better times.
"'None of us truly chooses his end. A king may move a man, a father may claim a son. But remember that when those who move you are kings or men of power, you must protect your soul. Because when you stand before God, you cannot say: "But others told me to do it," or "that virtue was not convenient at that time." That will not be enough.' I pray every day that my decisions are the right ones, T'Challa — because for men like us, taking or ruining thousands of lives is easier than protecting them... which is exactly why we must be careful."
T'Challa fell silent.
His father's words hammered in his head: "It is an order." Everything was for the well-being of his people, but the burden was too heavy. The prince nodded to himself, as if accepting an inevitable fate, and began to move away slowly.
However, halfway there, he stopped. He turned his face just slightly, looking back at Legion over his shoulder.
"One more thing. You said it was from a movie — what's it called?"
Legion offered a smile while watching the algae glow.
"Kingdom of Heaven," he replied. "It's a great story, T'Challa. I highly recommend it if you ever get a moment."
The prince let out a brief laugh.
"Kingdom of Heaven," he repeated, storing the title in his mind. "Of course. When all of this is over and we're back home, I'll make sure to watch it. If the great hero Legion says so, it must be very good."
After saying that, T'Challa continued walking toward where Okoye was finishing her preparations with her warriors, leaving behind that brief instant of calm.
Who do you think you are — Uncle Iroh? Stop playing advisor and get your head in the game. Where we're going, there's a lot of action waiting for us. You know what that means, don't you?
The hero could only close his eyes, trying as best he could to ignore the wretch playing games in his mind.
Sooner or later you'll have to fold, and you'll have no choice but to transform. It's time for Ghostfreak to have his hero moment.
=====
HEYYYY, HOW'S EVERYONE DOING? HOPE YOU'RE ALL WELL!
INCREDIBLY, WRITING THE CHAPTERS IS TAKING ME LONGER AND LONGER — EVEN SO, I WANTED TO AT LEAST GIVE YOU ONE, SO HERE IT IS.
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