I felt like I should do something to help celebrate Chadwick Boseman's life. May he find peace as he rests in power.
2073. T'Challa, king of Wakanda, the Black Panther, was dying.
He did not fear death. He had lived a fulfilling life and would not protest against some rest. He did not fear anything that would happen to him. He feared for his family and descendants.
The Earth was in peace, for the most part. It had been fifty years since Thanos was defeated for good. Most threats seemed undersized compared to the Mad Titan's rampage. Now his son was king, and his granddaughter was next in line for the throne. T'Challa knew where he would go. He would join his father and ancestors in the Djalia, and help guide his descendants to the right path.
Shuri stood by his bed, tears dripping from her eyes. She was still not ready to see her brother go. When he fought Killmonger and seemingly died, she had been heartbroken. Now, she was seeing it for real.
T'Challa noticed Shuri's crying. His hand shaking, he reached out and took her hand in his.
"Sister," he said. "We all must die sometime." Shuri wiped her tears away. "You're not ready. We're not ready. The people still need you." T'Challa smiled. "My son has taken care of them, and soon, my granddaughter will, too. You still have more time than me. Advise them, help them. They need you." Shuri broke down again.
T'Challa closed his eyes. "Remember what Mother said when she was about to pass?" Shuri nodded. "Weep for a day, celebrate for two." T'Challa opened his eyes. "I want my life to be celebrated, Shuri. After my funeral, have a feast in my honor. Then remember me fondly." He took another shaky breath. "Tell my tales to those who ask, the failures along with the successes. Let me be judged accordingly."
Shuri gave a small smile. "I still have the footage," she said, her tone playful. T'Challa laughed quietly. "I told you to delete that." Shuri chuckled. "Never would I ever do that."
T'Challa laid back against his pillows. A small contented smile grew along his face. He remembered all of his adventures. Germany. Saving Bucky Barnes. Claiming his kingship. South Korea. The fight with his cousin. Helping him see a Wakandan sunset. The fights against Thanos. Every fight since then. His son's birth, and then his granddaughter's. The happiest moments of his life.
The sun sank below the horizon, and Shuri left, bidding her brother one final goodbye. T'Challa closed his eyes, and slept a few hours before a brilliant light forced them open.
By his bed stood a figure cloaked in light, a staff in his hand. His face was hard to discern, but it looked familiar. Then T'Challa realized the face flickered through those he had met, those he had befriended, those he had loved. His father, his cousin, his mother, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton. The face settled on that of a man with white hair, blue eyes, and glasses. A smile was upon his face.
"T'Challa," the man said, his voice strange, yet familiar. "It's time to go." He held out his hand. The former king took it. "Was I a good king? Was I a good Black Panther?" T'Challa asked. The man's eyes sparkled. "No. You were the greatest." T'Challa nodded, and followed the man into a blinding light.
His eyes cleared, and he could see Djalia. The purple skies, the borealis, the trees, it was as he had seen it. Panthers lay in the trees, watching him. He walked to a symbol on the ground. Four panthers and a jaguar walked up to him. The four panthers changed to his father, mother, Zuri and his uncle. T'Challa embraced all four, holding them tightly. At last, he broke apart from them, and focused on the jaguar. Gold eyes winked as it morphed into a humanoid form. His cousin, N'Jadaka, Erik Killmonger.
"Hi, cuz," he said. The two embraced tightly. "I am glad you found peace, my cousin," T'Challa whispered. "And I'm glad you found yours," Killmonger replied. "C'mon. The sun is about to rise. This is better than a sunset."
The six watched as the sun rose above Djalia. Killmonger was right. It was better. T'Challa thought of his family. They would certainly mourn him. In fact, he could hear them now. Then he heard his son toast his life, and knew they were following his last instructions. The life of the greatest Black Panther was being celebrated. He shared a knowing glance with his mother. T'Challa, king of Wakanda, the Black Panther, would never be forgotten.
Rest in power, great king. Let your light shine across the world, and let your example be followed. It's truly hard to believe he is gone. No, not gone. As long as he is remembered, he's never really gone. My prayers are with his family and loved ones. Wakanda forever.