sinking|namor

|01-The Ceremony|

SHURI'S LAB, THE PALACE, WAKANDA
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Kalpana banged hopelessly on the glass tank before her, her breathing panicked and fast. She smushed her face against it, peering down at the synthetic plant before her. It was dark purple and dull.

"No," she called out to Shuri.

The Princess sighed and turned to the holographic DNA strand behind her.

"Griot," she asked.

Kalpana turned away and busied herself with measurements and a notebook full of purple pen drawings. She had to keep her mind occupied, or she'd linger on T'Challa and the terrifying memories and Thanos. Her airpods blared music in her ears, blocking out the sounds of Shuri's frantic movements. 

Suddenly, the printer behind her hummed to life and began the process of synthetic vibranium creation anew, dragging Kalpana over to it. Shuri sprinted to the girl's side as they watched it replicate another unsuccessful heart-shaped herb. Groaning, Shuri turned back to the DNA cylinder, prepared to request Griot.

But, too soon, Queen Ramonda entered the room through the passage to T'Challa's sickbed. She had always been gorgeous and still was, but now, wrinkles from age and stress marred her face. Tears soaked her cheeks, and her shoulders slumped with the weight of a loss.

Understanding her body language, Kalpana burst into tears. Sinking to the ground, she gripped the metal table behind her,  unsteady and fearful. The utensils above rattled as she held the table leg in a shaky vise. Clamping her hands around an abandoned paper by her foot, she tore it to pieces, her eyes red-rimmed and bulging. This couldn't be happening. Nothing was real. She needed to separate from reality. T'Challa wasn't dead.

"Griot," Shuri said in a tremulous voice.

"Yes," the AI answered. 

His voice was programmed, artificial, and incapable of creating emotion, but Kalpana was sure she heard just a bit of anguish and aversion tainting his speech. The girl held her breath, pressing her fingers into her antitragus, pinching her ear lobules, and willing herself to be invisible. With bated breath, lips parted slightly, she hesitated for the answer.

"What is my brother's heart rate?"

It was the consistent question they'd had all through T'Challa's sickness. Each time, the answers decreased exponentially, even if the questions were minutes apart. Griot always answered in seconds, but today, Ramonda spoke for him.

"The King....Your brother is with the ancestors."

WAKANDAN STREETS
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Kalpana fidgeted, brushing her hands along her ceremonial garbs, adjusting her woven earrings, and stepped up behind Shuri, keeping pace with the Princess and her mother as they proceeded through the streets of Wakanda.

People dressed in white banged drums, rattled noisemakers, and danced in the streets and balconies, and Kalpana spotted an eloquent mural of T'Challa on a wall nearby. She swallowed her depression as she watched others' celebrations, her eyes glossy and brimmed with tears. 

Choking back a scream, she kept her composure, studiously raising her head, surveying the crowd. 

In her palm, she could feel it growing cold. It sliced her fingers, and she cursed under her breath. Ignoring the sting, she slipped it into the deep folds of her robes and rubbed her damp palms on her thighs. 

"Don't do that. Sweat stains," Asira whispered to the girl.

Kalpana smiled gratefully at the Dora Milaje and stuffed her hands into her pockets. 

The procession stopped, and Kalpana moved beside Shuri, observing as the pallbearers placed T'Challa's black coffin before them. There was no inscription on the pristine obsidian surface, just T'Challa's panther mask and arms crossed in an x. 

"Wakanda forever," Kalpana whispered, turning away.

Overcome, she shoved M'Baku out of her face and fled, stripping off her hood and dress, sprinting out of the center city towards the outskirts and the river border.

RIVER BORDER, WAKANDA
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Kalpana ran until the muddy puddles in the grass plains soaked her feet through, and her breath was ragged and dry. Stopping to survey her surroundings, she found that she was standing beside the river border. She stumbled to the grubby riverbank, dropping to her knees, and scooped up water in her cupped hands.

Admiring the jade water, the young woman didn't notice the bedazzled man behind her and dipped her hand into the water, her fingers grazing a passing fish. Glancing up, she saw his dark reflection in the water and whirled around.

She had never seen him before. He was tall with deeply tanned skin and lots of crystal piercings in beautiful shades of green that made her think of envy and palm fronds. His black hair was plastered to his head, dripping trails of salt water down his face.

Scrambling backward until she hit the water, Kalpana eyed him apprehensively. While she was sure he wasn't Wakandan, she knew it was near impossible for outsiders to venture in and doubted that he could have broken through the barrier. Carefully watching his movements, she reached for the glass dagger concealed in her pocket as he walked towards her.

"Who are you?"

The question flooded the silence, clear and loud as a bell chime.

He smiled, running his tongue over his chapped bottom lip. He walked past her, feet half buried in the watery silt, towards the river. That's when Kalpana noticed the pair of delicate, porcelain-white wings sprouting from his ankles. Marveling at them, she gazed as he plucked an orange lotus flower from the water.

He turned back to her, took a few steps, and then kneeled before her, meeting her chocolatey eyes with his amber-brown ones. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he adjusted the flower in her crown-like updo, gently arranging its petals. He then leaned in, his lip brushing her ear, and whispered.

"Namor."

Rising abruptly, he swiveled, sprinted to the water, and dove into the waves, his muscular form receding quickly. That was the last Kalpana saw of the lotus boy for another year, though most days, she sat on the bank, dangling her feet in the tide, and admired the lotus' and lilies growing amongst the katniss and reeds.