The diplomatic hall was warm with incense and subtle tension. Delegates from the Black Panther tribe had arrived earlier that morning, cloaked in their signature black and gold attire. Among them was Sahira, a tall woman with obsidian skin and sharp eyes that didn't miss a single flicker of weakness. Her voice, when she spoke, was sharp as a blade.
She was here to make things right. The things that Leon let fester and worsen. He ruined the trade relations with the Black Panther clan and his mother had been taking care of the mess. He was now forced to make things right.
Leon reclined in his seat, posture loose, expression bored. He hadn't taken the meeting seriously, believing the matter of tariffs could be handled quickly. But Sahira had other ideas.
