➢𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗬➢

『 Choose your battles, babe
Then you'll win the war
Stop digging your own grave
When there's so much to live for 』
―𝘒𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴

⟶𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 4: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓⟵

〖 . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 . . .  〗

-𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝟹𝟷𝚂𝚃, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟾-

𝚆 𝙰 𝙺 𝙰 𝙽𝙳 𝙰, 𝙰𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙰

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙴𝙽 𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈

There is one who has yet to emerge.

Has yet to appear. Reveal herself.

It is after receiving the news and witnessing Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—former Winter Soldier—receive a new vibranium arm, that Wakanda is officially in its preparations to open its doors to a bunch of outsiders.

Ones that the King has ties with, Avengers, in need of assistance, and Princess Ania Udaku was ready to give that in any way she could. 

Whether that meant letting them in, helping Sister Shuri in developing a plan, or most probable—stepping out onto the battlefield. 

For the first time ever, possibly being her last, if something were to go wrong.

Ania's passion is fueled by her ambition, the Princess wants to fight for her country—but she is inexperienced.

An inexperienced warrior. That is who she is.

So her trainer and mentor Izitena tries to talk her out of it.

It is the wee hours of the morning as the White Cat prepares, sliding on a pair of uniformed brown pants and a jacket, and slicking her wildly curly hair perfectly into a low bun—the White Tiger leans up against the doorway of her quarters.

"You should be packing to run away."

"And you should certainly know me better."

Izitena leans her head back, brows contorting, and she looks at the back of the girl's head as she rummages through her things—insisting wholeheartedly, "I do."

"I do know you, Ania. Very well. And that is why you must leave."

The Princess wets her lips, continuing to resist making eye contact, "Just because of my heritage, because of Monica, does not decrease the love I have for my country. My people."

"I want to . . . I want to fight for Wakanda, for I must protect it."

The White Tiger sharpens her with a dose of reality, "There may not be a Wakanda to protect after this."

"This . . . This is something else, Ania. It's dangerous."

She emphasizes the last part, "You're not ready."

Straightforward in logistical terms, though it was incredibly true.

For somebody like Ania, having grown up sheltered and relatively untouched her entire life, in a beautiful country with a blood-related father who loved her and never left her—she has yet to experience the pain of a loss. Of mourning. It isn't good to have that happen in a scenario like so. 

On the battlefield, as an optimistic teenager. A naive one.

The sixteen-year-old hides the urge to scoff, it being disrespectful she knows, and instead decides to present facts with downright evidence, "That is not what you thought during the Battle of Mount Bashenga, Izi. At all."

"That was very different, Ania. You had no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"Exactly!" Izitena's voice booms up, and she bites her lip before bringing it back down, still intense, "Which is why, sthandwa, you need to be smart about this. You never aren't." my love.

Ania halts in her movements, turning around with a stoic expression, and she lets the woman talk.

"There is no guarantee of survival in war, Ania." She breathes out, truthfully, and with ease due to a natural hard nature, is confident in being real with the young Princess.

Who's strength inherited from her mother refuses to give in, even to a mad Space Titan . . . 

Ania affirms after a deep and steady breath, "I am ready."

And Izitena disagrees, "You are not."

The Princesses jaw clenches, though she does not act irrationally on this anger and emotion.

Not unless she couldn't control it.

The White Tiger takes the hint based on the lack of response from the Cat, that it's a cue to leave her be, and she does, simultaneously passing the girl's father on the way out.

The Black Panther enters his daughter's room with much carefulness and collected thoughts, fully mindful of her heightened emotions. 

Ania notices his tall muscular figure and how it leans up against her doorway in a very authoritative type of way, fatherly.

She does not look at him while asking, "Are you here to lecture me as well?"

"Not exactly," The deep voice of T'Challa replies though in short, audibly smiles, "Can you give me a break, though? I am your father, it's my job to have concerns."

His inflection in that phrase is enough to break Ania's rough features, in fact, she giggles ringingly before turning serious as she literally rotates around to meet him.

She queries, "Any updates?"

T'Challa knows what she is referring to, and roughly he begins to explain, "A man . . . Eh," he corrects, "A being . . . He needs our help."

"Shuri's help."

Ania demonstrates intrigue, "Does this run the risk of us getting involved?"

"We already are." The King of Wakanda wanders into the sixteen year old's room, though does not show any repercussions of weariness as he's been under this title for a few years now. 

Two. A King.

He is confident, "Though we knew that going into it, and will fight on the ground our ancestors built because that is what we stand for now. Not hiding in the shadows."

Ania curls the inside of her lip, "I, too, wish to no longer hide in the shadows, Baba."

T'Challa smiles softly at her ambitious pledge, not in the least surprised by it, "I know, my love."

He gently takes hold of one of the hands belonging to his daughter, and Ania overcompensates the action as an invitation to hug him tightly—she tucks her head underneath his chest, listening to his heart that skips just a little upon hearing her last declaration. That there was no way she was running away from the fight.

And while as a warrior that is very noble, as a father—that scares T'Challa a bit. He knows better than anyone, maybe even Ania herself in an experienced situation like so, that she has limits. Inexperienced, naive, the man worries for her well-being as a result of this fight. 

Is a bit fixated on it along with all the other preparations needed as ruler of Wakanda, and that is purely once again due to the lifelong job he holds—never didn't, as Ania's father.

He leans down and kisses her tamed hair lightly, closing his brown eyes as whisper-voice claims, "Just know, wam Ingelosi, that if you are ever terror-stricken, you are entitled to retreating away." my Angel.

The Princesses' expression winces upon hearing the strong front in her father's voice, though in reality sensing the normal fear present, and that threatens to rattle Ania a bit. 

She doesn't let it, however, the hope still freshly carried within her, not tattered or broken in any way, and her ambitious spirit inherited entirely from the mother who gave birth to her—establishes the White Cat's standpoint in this fight.

Ania believes they can win, that they can save the world, and so she uses the hands wrapped around her father's waist to squeeze him tighter, and admits, "I know."

"Thank you, Father, I love you."

T'Challa relaxes instantly, only temporarily however as he simply continues hugging his child back—and assures the young teen, "I love you, too, my angel, to the moon and back."

They set off to finish preparing for the arrival of a few friends. Allies mostly, who had fought in Germany two years ago, but also, a girl . . . One who Ania had met before, and cared about dearly—she hoped she was okay.

The other is not.