Chapter Eighteen
Zy'aire

I wake up at dawn this morning and hurl my guts up. I spend the next half an hour hunched over the toilet bowl, with Livy sitting beside me rubbing my back. I haven't eaten much in the last few days, so most of what I'm hurling is bile, it burns my throat, makes tears spring into my eyes. I let those tears fall, and I let more fall as I leave the bathroom, as I start to get ready for today. For the funeral.

A knock comes to my door soon after I begin getting ready and in comes Stevie and Lee. Ten minutes later Jo appears at my door as well. They don't do anything to help me get ready, only Livy does. Instead they just sit there, trying to be supportive, trying to be here for me.

"When I was still trying to get used to things here in Wakanda," Jo begins, smiling to herself as she leans against my dresser. "Uncle T'Challa would take me to the market and introduce me to the people, trying to make me feel more comfortable in such a strange land. I remember he took me to a booth that sold leather bound journals and he bought me one with the Jabariland mountains on the cover. That was the journal Aunt Shuri taught me how to write in."

"Uncle T'Challa was the one who taught me how to fly a ship," Stevie says with a low chuckle. "I remember after our first lesson, he said 'you'd think someone who could actually fly would be able to avoid hitting so many trees'."

"I remember that day," Livy says, helping with my panther claw necklace. I'm wearing a black long sleeve shirt, black pants, shoes, diamond earrings, a gold panther ring, Baba's vibranium ring, and a near floor length black sleeveless coat. "Didn't you cause him to throw up?"

"I was eight! No one can fly a ship well at eight." He says defensively.

"I knew how to fly by six." Livy mumbles to herself. She and the others are wearing black as well, their shirts and coats embroidered with the story of the ancestral plain, detailing the journey each fallen Wakandan goes on, of the ancestors they reunite with. My own coat is embroidered with it as well, it's traditional to wear these designs during a time of mourning.

"I don't know if I can do this." I admit. In about an hour I have to go outside and give a speech, I have to look at my father's dead body, I have to watch him be buried in the City of the Dead, in the Hall of Kings where all the past monarchs have been buried. I have to say goodbye once and for all.

"You can," Livy assures me. "And we will be there with you the whole time."

"You won't be alone, Zy." Stevie adds.

"Never." Jo says with a nod.

"All for one?" Lee begins with a sad smile.

"And one for all." Stevie continues, leaning his head against Lee's shoulder.

"United we stand." Jo says.

"Divided..." Livy says, brushing the back of her hand against my cheek.

I grab onto her hand and kiss it. "We fall."

-

Everyone is gathered in the City of the Dead, a place I have not been very often. I remember the first time I was brought here by Baba, I think I was maybe six years old. He told me the story of the heart shaped herb, how it used to grow in the gardens here until Killmonger destroyed everything. This destruction cut off our access to the ancestral plain, because you needed the herb in order to cross over while your heart still beats. I was the first monarch in Wakanda's history to not enter the ancestral plain as part of their coronation. I never resented that until now. I think I would be more at ease if I could see the place Baba will be traveling to. I wish I could see him again, not dying on a hospital stretcher, not struggling to take breaths. I wish I could see him whole, see him happy. Just one last time.

Baba has been placed in a vibranium casket, his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing black pants, black shoes, and a black caftan. A wooden panther mask has been placed over his face. When I touch his hand it's cold, lifeless. The contact sends chills all throughout my body. I don't take my hand off of his though, I keep it there as long as Mama, Aunt Shuri, Livy and I stand there to say our own goodbyes. It's tradition, everyone has to come and pay their respects and bid goodbye to the monarch, everyone in Wakanda. The royal family are first, then extended family and friends, then Wakanda's subjects. I insisted Livy be here to say goodbye as a member of the royal family because she technically is now. She's my wife, though we will definitely have to go through another ceremony to make things more official and to crown her as queen. She holds my other hand the whole time we stand there, her palm and fingers warm against mine as opposed to Baba's.

When we step aside, Aunt Soroya, Uncle Bucky, Uncle Alex, Uncle Khari, Uncle Everett, Stevie, Lee, and Jo step up. There is not a dry face amongst them, but Aunt Soroya and Uncle Khari look particularly devastated. As I watch them approach Baba, I realize they've been to his funeral before. Baba was a victim of the blip, he had a funeral like this after Thanos's attacks. They have had to attend two of his funerals, mourn him twice. No wonder their eyes look so hollow, their hearts so withered. I also realize that Aunt Shuri, Mama, Uncle Bucky, Uncle Alex, Uncle Everett had been victims of the blip as well. The only ones that had survived were Aunt Soroya, Uncle Khari, and Aunt Okoye. It must be hard attending this second funeral of Baba's with Aunt Okoye now gone too. Her funeral is tomorrow, as is the funeral for the Avengers who fell, one of whom was Scott Lang, someone Aunt Soroya was incredibly close with.

These realizations lead me away from Livy and towards my aunt, my arms securing tightly around her waist, my head now leaning against hers. After a moment I pull away from her and give the same hug to Uncle Khari, then my other aunts and uncles, then my cousins. I've been so focused on my own grief, I haven't thought much about about theirs. My heart may be shattered, but theirs are too.

After they step away from Baba's body, Sam, Jade, Naomi, Analiese, and a few others bid him farewell. After they're done, more people step up to the casket, then more, then more. It's hours later that the time finally comes to lay him to rest, for me to give my speech, to say goodbye. And I'm not ready. How could I be? Every child grows up knowing that their parents will die one day, but no amount of time, no amount of preparation or knowledge will ever make you feel ready to let go of them. I had to watch Baba die, I already had to say goodbye. Having to do so again feels like my heart is being ripped right from my chest and crushed in death's cold grip. For it is death that has made us all feel shattered today, had made us all drown in grief.

These past several days we have been surrounded by so much death. Too much death.

I clear my throat and step towards Baba's coffin, sneaking a glance at him as I begin to give my speech, which Jo helped me write last night.

"T'Challa, son of T'Chaka, king of Wakanda, the Black Panther, has joined the ancestors," I say, my voice surprisingly firm and unwavering. I try to keep my eyes away from my subjects, my friends, my family, and only focus on the paper in front of me, on the words Jo scribbled for me. "He ruled Wakanda with dignity and honor for many decades, he ruled with a loving heart, a generous spirit, and an intelligent mind. His bravery and strength knew no limits, and when danger threatened the lives of not just his people, but all people, he took charge and made the ultimate sacrifice to defend them. He was a beloved king, a loyal friend, and a loving husband and father. His loss will forever leave a mark on our country and our hearts...mine most of all." I say, stuffing the speech into the pocket of my pants.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know that I can't finish the speech Jo wrote. The words feel so formal, so robotic, like a king. I don't want to be a king right now. I want to be a regular man whose mourning his father. I want to speak from my heart, to say goodbye in my own way. I owe myself that. I owe myself a lot more than I've ever been willing to grant myself.

I once again look at Baba, at his panther mask, his crossed arms, his vibranium coffin. I keep my eyes on him as I continue speaking, dropping all formalities, dropping all facades. "My father was an amazing king and father. He really was beloved, everyone talked about him in the highest regard, praised him for being the greatest king Wakanda, or any nation, had ever had. From a very young age I looked up to him, just as many did. But I did so in an unhealthy and self destructive way. I compared myself to him, put him on such a high pedestal that I could never even hope to reach it. I didn't resent him or envy him though. To me, he was perfect and I was flawed. To me, I wouldn't be a great king unless I became my father, unless I was perfect. I never blamed him for that, I always blamed myself. And even after I realized that I was the one that put such high expectations on myself, I still blamed myself, still thought I was lesser than him, that I was nothing compared to him."

I remove my gaze from Baba and lock it with Livy's, seeing pride shine in her misty gaze. I gives me the strength to continue on, even after my voice begins to strain, begins to waver.

"I told my father all of this the day he died, confessed the deepest secret of my heart. He told me that I'll never be him and that I shouldn't try to be. He told me I needed to accept the man I am, believe in myself as a king, and most of all, believe that my best is enough. His dying wish was for me to do this, to stop tearing myself down, to move on from my self destructive habit, to be happy. I didn't think I could, but I think now I finally can. I want to honor the man he was, the father he was, and I can do that by respecting his final wish. I want to be the best king I can be, and my best will never be his best, and that's okay. I see that now. I am trying so hard to make the world a better place, to make my country a better place. It's a difficult task, and I won't win all the time. I'll fail, I'll mess up, I'll make mistakes, but that's okay. I'm okay. I just wish I had this revelation sooner, I wish I had come to terms with myself before he...before he died. I wish he knew how grateful I am, how much I miss him, how much I-I love him."

I shut my eyes and tears begin streaking down my cheeks. I hear footsteps from my right and then feel a hand press against mine. I don't have to open my eyes to know it's Livy, but I do anyways. I need to see her face, see those piercing blue eyes look up into mine. I find them clouded by tears, her pale cheeks flushed red, her perfect lips wobbling. I lean down and kiss her tenderly, tasting the salt of her tears and mine. She brings her other hand up to cup my cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that's snaking down my jaw. I pull away from her when I feel someone else hold onto my other hand. I turn my head to find Jo next to me, her fingers curling around mine, tears falling down her own cheeks. Stevie and Lee have come as well, with Stevie gripping onto his sister's hand tightly and holding onto Lee's with his other. We now stand as a connected chain, an unbreakable bond, like the one we have always shared. I need the strength of that bond as the Dora Milaje pick up Baba's coffin and carry it towards his tomb, where his body will rest forever.

"May you roam the ancestral plain forever, Baba. Praise the ancestors." I say, trying to project my voice, but it doesn't carry very far, it breaks. The people of Wakanda repeat it back regardless, crossing their arms over their chests, bowing their heads. I know I should be doing the same, but I don't, I can't. I keep my hands wrapped around Livy and Jo's, keep the chain of the musketeers intact. It's the only thing that's keeping me upright, keeping me from crumbling right now. They're keeping me whole, as they always do. As they will continue to do today, and for all days.