The glass-walled office of the High Chancellor of the Earth Federation sat like a crown atop the Federation Tower, surveying Geneva with an almost judicial calm. Below, Lake Geneva reflected the city's lights in soft, fractured patterns, as if the world itself were uncertain how to interpret its own reflection. The room was quiet in the way only places of true authority ever were—no excess sound, no wasted motion, only the subtle presence of power waiting to be exercised.
Behind the massive desk of polished obsidian sat the man the world knew simply as The Leader.
To the public, he was a symbol—perhaps the last symbol—of stability in an age that had nearly collapsed under the weight of its own secrets. His speeches had steadied markets, calmed borders, and given frightened nations something resembling hope after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the exposure of Hydra's cancerous reach into every level of government. He was composed, articulate, and reassuring.
A soft chime echoed through the office.
"Sir," the aide said, her voice filtered through the discreet speakers hidden in the walls, "the delegation from the proposed… The Illuminati Council has arrived."
The Leader rose slowly from his chair. He adjusted the high-collared charcoal uniform he wore for symbolism. This was not a meeting of corporations or diplomats. This was history asking permission to move forward.
"Show them in."
The doors slid open with a hiss of pressurized air, and the temperature of the room seemed to change perceptually. Power had entered.
They entered as a formation, a deliberate phalanx, each individual aware of their place by understanding.
Aryan walked at the center, hands relaxed at his sides, posture easy, expression warm. He looked less like the most dangerous man in the room and more like someone who had wandered into the wrong meeting by accident—which, of course, was precisely the point.
To his right stood Tony Stark and Wanda Maximoff. Tony's usual restless energy was restrained, contained behind sharp eyes and folded hands. Wanda moved with quiet assurance, her presence subtle but undeniable, like pressure building behind glass.
To Aryan's left were T'Challa and Namor—land and sea given human shape. T'Challa carried himself with regal stillness, every movement deliberate. Namor radiated something heavier, like a predator that had learned patience over centuries rather than years.
Behind them followed the enforcers of this new era.
Sharon Carter walked with professional precision, eyes scanning without appearing to. Pietro Maximoff leaned back slightly, as if bored, though his attention missed nothing. James Buchanan Barnes said nothing at all, his presence like a shadow that did not belong to the light yet refused to leave it.
The Leader stepped forward from behind his desk.
"It is rare," he said, "to see so much potential gathered in one room without it becoming a battlefield. Welcome."
The doors slid shut behind them, sealing the outside world away.
The Leader gestured toward the circular obsidian table at the center of the room, and the group moved to take their seats.
Once seated, the Leader interlaced his fingers and waited.
Aryan leaned back, utterly at ease. "I'll start," he said lightly. "Aryan. Founder and CEO of Umbrella Corporation."
Wanda inclined her head politely. "Wanda Maximoff. Executive Secretary to Mr. Aryan."
Tony tapped the table once with his finger. "Tony Stark. CEO of Stark Industries."
"Sharon Carter," Sharon said, voice even. "Liaison for Umbrella's Global Security Division."
"T'Challa," came the measured reply. "Representing the Kingdom of Wakanda."
Namor's dark eyes did not leave the Leader. "Namor. Representing the interests of Talokan."
"Pietro Maximoff," Pietro added, smirking faintly. "Security consultant for Umbrella HQ."
Finally, Barnes spoke. "James Barnes. Attaché to the Illuminati Council."
The Leader nodded slowly, eyes sweeping over them.
"Thank you," he said. "Now that introductions are complete, we can discuss the matter of the Illuminati Council you've proposed."
T'Challa rose before anyone else could speak.
"Before we discuss councils," he said calmly, "we must speak of truth."
The word settled heavily in the room.
"For four centuries," T'Challa continued, "Wakanda has been hidden from the world. Not because we feared humanity's strength—but because we understood its weakness."
The Leader's brow furrowed slightly. He did not interrupt.
"We watched empires rise and fall," T'Challa said. "We watched ideologies devour their own people. We watched noble movements rot into tyrannies. And when we looked closer—when we traced the threads—we found Hydra."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the room.
"Hydra was not merely an organization," T'Challa said. "It was a philosophy. One that believed humanity required control rather than guidance. Over time, that philosophy infected governments, intelligence agencies, and financial systems. You ask why Wakanda did nothing."
He met the Leader's gaze directly.
"Where were we to complain? To whom? The courts were compromised. The councils were infiltrated. The very institutions meant to protect justice were shaped by the same hand that strangled it."
He paused, letting the implication sink in.
"Wakanda hid out of responsibility. We chose to survive intact rather than be slowly consumed. We preserved our culture, our people, our future—while the world burned itself pretending it could not smell the smoke."
"And yet," T'Challa continued, "we did not abandon the world. We observed. We learned. We waited. When Hydra fell, because of individuals willing to burn the rot out with their own hands—that was when Wakanda understood that the age of isolation had ended."
He straightened, "Wakanda will no longer hide its existence, its voice, or its responsibility."
He inclined his head slightly, "We will join the Earth Federation."
Before the Leader could respond, Namor rose.
"You speak of shadows on land," Namor said, voice smooth and cold. "Allow me to speak of what lurks beneath."
He paced slowly behind his chair, wings twitching faintly.
"For centuries, humanity has told stories of Atlantis," Namor continued. "A myth. A fantasy. A cautionary tale of hubris."
His eyes hardened.
"We call ourselves Talokan. An underwater civilization older than many surface nations combined. We hid because humanity has never learned to see without wanting to take."
"We watched your ships poison the oceans. Your wars stain the seas red. Your corporations strip-mine the depths without knowing—or caring—what they destroyed."
Namor leaned forward slightly.
"Greed is not a flaw of humanity. It is a feature. And until recently, it was unchecked."
He straightened.
"Like Wakanda, we saw Hydra. We saw your governments compromised. We saw treaties written with one hand while the other reached for knives."
He gestured toward the table.
"So we stayed beneath your notice."
The Leader cleared his throat softly. "And yet you are here."
"Yes," Namor said simply. "Because the world has changed."
His gaze flicked briefly to Aryan—then away.
"The oceans cannot remain isolated when the surface finally begins to acknowledge its own corruption. Talokan will join the Earth Federation but as a sovereign power."
Silence followed.
The Leader leaned back, absorbing what had just been offered—and what had not.
"You are asking," he said carefully, "for the world to accept two civilizations that have existed beyond its knowledge… and to trust that you will now act openly."
"Yes," T'Challa said.
"And no," Namor added.
The Leader raised an eyebrow.
"We will be transparent in governance," T'Challa clarified. "Not vulnerable to survival."
The Leader studied them for a long moment, then nodded.
"The Earth Federation was formed to prevent the mistakes of the past," he said. "If Wakanda and Talokan are willing to stand as founding pillars…"
He paused, then extended his hand across the table.
"…then history will remember this moment as a correction."
Aryan smiled faintly.
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