Sunlight seeped through the windows inside the throne room. It was very early, but morning in Wakanda was still bright and persistent enough to illuminate T'Challa's tired face before he was ready to appreciate it. As the resident night owl in his family, he had always struggled to meet the fresh start of the day with as much enthusiasm as the soothing end of one.

During his childhood, his parents had assumed Shuri would be the one who enjoyed staying up late. But, at age seven, she surprised them by rising early enough to not only brew a pot of rooibos but also construct an entire bicycle in the research lab (all while wearing safety glasses) before anyone else had even stirred. The first time she did this, she had to get up at four to pick the lock to the lab, but eventually everyone left the door unlocked to spare her another fifteen minutes when she could be sleeping. Meanwhile, T'Challa would be fast asleep with a pillow over his head, having stayed up past midnight the night before, reading books and tracking constellations. Something about being the last one awake charged him with energy, and he liked to imagine himself a protector, the first one to know if someone were to cause a disturbance at that hour.

Things were still the same way for the two of them, but now their responsibilities had multiplied. T'Challa had taken to rising earlier and earlier to find enough time to care properly for his people, and Shuri was staying up later and later to keep inventing after an already full day of setting up their outreach centers. In fact, T'Challa was currently sitting at a pop-up desk she'd installed for him last month. Shuri had cleverly designed it to fold out of the floor.

This was a recent improvement, after he'd requested a place to do research that didn't prompt him to leave the throne room. He'd realized that, since becoming king, the first place anyone went when trying to find him was here, and not his personal quarters. While he appreciated this, it meant he spent a lot of time in this room, and on a day like today, having a place to work comfortably was a necessity.

He continued to scour news feeds, pausing every once in a while to make a note for his upcoming meeting with the Border Tribe. These meetings were becoming more and more frequent, ever since he had returned from making his statement at the United Nations. T'Challa intended to live up to his word; the real Wakanda would conceal the light of its existence from the world no longer. But he'd also been working with W'Kabi to ensure that, while Wakanda no longer hid in the shadows, they would not become vulnerable to attack or exploitation.

Once he felt satisfied he'd gleaned enough information on current events for today's discussion, T'Challa rubbed his eyes and put the tablet aside. He stood and walked over to the nearest window to examine the clouds on the horizon. They were darkening as the sun climbed higher. He was just musing on whether they'd see a thunderstorm that afternoon when the doors behind him opened unexpectedly.

He spun to find Okoye and three other Dora Milaje entering the room. They held spears aloft, and the tips glinted like fire in the light. They were wearing their usual serious expressions and red armor. What was unusual was the man they had brought with them.

He was bound at the wrists, but it didn't look like he'd put up much of a fight at getting caught. That alone was something that made people around here uneasy. The dangerous people were the ones who wanted to get caught.

"My King," Okoye greeted him, her gaze fierce and concerned.

"Okoye, what is this?" T'Challa examined the guest, marveling at his unique eyes.

"We discovered this man lurking at our borders. He has refused to explain his behavior, and insisted only upon being taken to you."

"By name?" T'Challa raised an eyebrow.

One of the Dora answered, "Simply 'the king'."

T'Challa approached the man carefully, drawing his hands behind his back. As he drew closer, he took in the intruder's disheveled appearance. The dirty robes he was wearing resembled nothing T'Challa had ever seen before. But, as Shuri often reminded him, there was still much T'Challa had never seen before. Like Matt Damon movies and primitive aircraft technology and, apparently, some fashion trends.

He narrowed his eyes and considered the stranger. "Who are you?"

The man was unnervingly calm, and responded in a voice deep and rumbling, like distant thunder. "I am a peaceful traveler, passing through with an important message. I mean no harm, but I warn against another who does."

T'Challa detected an odd accent and a subtle expression of fear...though, interestingly, not of the him or the Dora. "Do you know me?" he prompted.

"No," the stranger confessed.

"Can you tell me where you think you are?"

"I know I am on Midgard," said the man. "Beyond that, I am not sure." Midgard? Wasn't that an old term for Earth? Part of a legend?

"You do not know the name of this place?" T'Challa kept his voice devoid of skepticism, though it was a challenge.

"No."

"Mmm." He still suspected this intruder was here as a spy, and wanted to maintain an advantage should it become necessary.

Instead of explaining anything, T'Challa continued smoothly with the questions, the way his father taught him to assess a threat. Pretend to take someone at their word until you can verify. Never provide information the other party does not already have.

"Very well," he said, "Why have you requested to meet with me? If you expect me to release you without pardon or questioning, you are mistaken. While I am also peaceful like you, we are a cautious people with good reason to be so."

Appeal to similarities to inspire trust.

The man lifted his head, a new desperation creeping over his features. "I bring a dire warning. This is the first inhabited place I have reached in many days, and too much time has already passed. You are in grave danger, and you must tell everyone to prepare immediately."

"It is impertinent to give a king orders, given your position," admonished Okoye.

The man's eyes darted between her and T'Challa, and he seemed to be waiting for permission to continue.

Indebt them to you.

"I will hear you," T'Challa decided, while Okoye and the other Dora quickly hid their expressions of surprise. "It is foolish to let a warning go unspoken, even if we do not trust the source. However," he pressed as he saw the man open his mouth to speak, "I cannot hear your warning today."

Do not yield to their requests right away. See how they react to disappointment.

He continued, "I have a pressing issue that demands my attention. But I will gather the elders and we will hear you tomorrow. Until then, we will keep you under surveillance here, unless we are somehow assured you are not a threat to our nation's security."

It was true, T'Challa did have a busy day, but this postponement was less about that and more about eliciting a reaction.

"I understand. That is better than I hoped for," the stranger sighed, tilting his head to the side. T'Challa did the same, and they considered each other in silence for a moment.

Analyze the response.

While he'd never show it, T'Challa was startled by the man's easy acceptance. He'd expected him to get angry, or insist the warning could not wait. He was coming to understand this visitor was singular in manner from anyone else he'd interrogated before. A feeling of foreboding, however inexplicable, descended onto his shoulders.

The Dora led the stranger back out of the throne room, where they would escort him down to the subsurface levels to a small waiting room. The man wasn't exactly a prisoner, and the room was furnished with enough to make anyone at least comfortable, but it was also the perfect place to make sure he didn't wander out of sight. A few Dora would be stationed at the door at all times, and all things would be brought to the man to minimize his exposure to Wakanda in case there was indeed something nefarious afoot.

It didn't make T'Challa feel any better. He suspected he had a long night ahead of him, where he'd be staring at the stars, anxious to hear what the warning was. He disliked this part the most; the waiting and temperance. His mind would bend into all kinds of shapes, imagining the worst scenarios. But for now, his thoughts were interrupted by Okoye, who had stayed behind.

"Why did you grant his request? For all we know he is a madman. What made you listen to him?" she asked.

He looked at her thoughtfully, somewhat pleased she'd known what he was thinking. Sure, his decision had been partly a manipulation tactic, but he was genuinely curious. There was something specific about the stranger that made him unusually invested this time. "It was his eyes, Okoye."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

T'Challa folded his desk back into its slot on the floor with a click, then straightened. He glanced out the window at the gathering storm, weighing his words before answering.

"I want to know what brings a man with the eyes of a lion into the home of the Black Panther."