Wakanda was a beautiful place, filled with forests, great wild planes, blue, calm rivers, shimmering lakes, and majestic mountains with snow-capped peaks.
The people of Wakanda had called this land their home for longer than their recorded history, Wakanda was their home, and they were the children of Wakanda.
The people there was as diverse as the land they all called home. The tribes didn't always get along, and long ago they had all warred with one another. However, it was the god Bast that had brought and end to the wars.
It had led a young warrior of one of the tribes towards a special flower, and upon consuming the herb which had the shape of a heart, the warrior was reborn, blessed by Bast he was forever known as the Black panther.
The first of his kind, he brought an end to the fighting and united the tribes under one banner, forming the great nation of Wakanda. From that moment on, the Black Panther became the protector of Wakanda, the symbol of their unity, strength, and connection to their land and ancestors.
Every Black Panther that followed the first warrior would carry on this sacred mantle, protecting the nation with the blessings of Bast and the power of the heart-shaped herb.
Wakanda grew into a utopia, hidden from the outside world. Its people, who had once warred with each other, now thrived in peace, utilizing the incredible resource that lay beneath their feet—vibranium.
The mysterious metal, stronger than anything known to the outside world, allowed Wakanda to develop technology far beyond any other nation on Earth. They became a powerful, secretive kingdom, cut off from the rest of the world by choice, and protected by their technological advancements.
Yet even as the people of Wakanda united around the Vibranium, the tribes retained their own unique cultures, the Royal family, the golden tribe worshipped the Panther God Bast, while the other tribes of Wakanda maintained their distinct traditions and deities.
The Jabari tribe, high in the mountains, revered Hanuman, the great gorilla god, and lived in isolation, preferring the old ways and rejecting the technological advancements that shaped the rest of Wakanda. The River Tribe, the Mining Tribe, and the Merchant Tribe all contributed to the nation's prosperity, each bringing their own resources and traditions to the table.
While their cultures and even beliefs had their differences, they all shared common traits as well. The people of Wakanda were one, yet many. Still, something strange had happened within their secret kingdom, something none of them had even noticed.
On one mountain peak, there was no snow; instead, smoke steadily rose from it. The peak was a mostly flat area on which a small village sat.
None of the people of Wakanda batted an eye at this village, they had no idea that there was something strange about it at all.
This was due to the strange reality warping that happened when an SCP entered the world. The world slightly changed to make it look like the SCP had always been there, changing history itself if need be.
This small village, perched on the mountain's edge, seemed like it had always been a part of Wakanda. The villagers went about their daily routines, living simple lives, seemingly untouched by the advancements of vibranium technology or the complex politics of the kingdom below.
The very fact that it wasn't touched by Vibranium, the fact that not a single bit of it could be found in the village, was more than strange.
Then there was the fact that while all the other tribes worshipped some animal gods, this village didn't.
Given enough time, it was possible that the people of Wakanda would have noticed something that was very strange about this place. But since they had recently been looking out on the world due to the boy they found, they had completely missed this place.
Had they paid attention, they might have noticed the strangeness of the place, the strange ritual performed up there.
This village was the home of SCP-499, old man Sun, and his family, the people of the tiny village.
In another universe, they had all been killed by the Foundation by accident, and the Foundation had then spent billions trying to bring just one of them back from the dead.
For this place, and the strange ritual that took place every day, it was important, so important that the Foundation tried everything to see if they could continue it without old man sun.
Even the Foundation knew little about the people here, but they had come to understand their importance, which stretched far beyond the understanding of even the most advanced minds. No science could explain what happened here, but that didn't make it any less true or important.
And today, just like every day, the people of the village went about their lives, which was mostly centred around carrying out the sacred duty, their ritual.
The ritual which was carried out every day, and which had been carried out by these people for as long as they remembered was simple and yet impossible all at once.
It centered around a large metallic sphere measuring around one meter in diameter. The surface was engraved with mysterious designs, the sphere was immensely dense and weighed almost six tons.
At sunrise every day, the sphere, which the SCP Foundation called SCP-499-2, would emit a bright light and heat up to over one hundred degrees.
The sphere wasn't pleasant to be around during this time, yet in every generation of this small village, someone would push the sphere all day, every day.
For now, that duty fell on an old man, he was building by the light of the sphere, his body covered in burns and scars, his lungs and throat damaged by heat and spoke, his ears too had been damaged, leaving the man blind, deaf and mute.
Yet he continued to perform the ritual every day, the reason for this was due to how important the ritual was.
Someone had to perform it, so if not him, the duty and burden would fall on his son, and he wished to spare him the pain for as long as he could.
Only the people of this village, only the old man's family, could move the sphere; none but them could move it, and it had to be moved.
For the sphere represented the sun itself! It was the old man pushing the sphere that moved the sun in the sky.
Without them, there would be no day or night. The sun would be frozen in the sky, unmoving, leaving one part of the world to its mercy and the other half in total and utter darkness.
This was why the Foundation wished to find this SCP object, because they knew how important it was, how important it was to ensure that nothing happened to them, that nothing stopped them from carrying out their ritual.
One of the primary reasons for the entire invasion of Wakanda was because it was suspected that SCP-499 might be within the hidden nation.
And now that they had confirmation, they moved out in vast numbers to ensure that this small village was spared from the horrors of war.
Napoleon didn't just send Tau-5 to ensure the safety of the old man and his family; he moved a full tenth of his army to ensure that nothing could go wrong.
A full ten thousand men, including fighter jets, all broke off towards the given coordinates. While this would make the fighting somewhat more difficult, it wasn't much.
After all the Foundation held back very little when they put this force together, with the trained men of O5-2 and the equipment of O5-1, there was barely any force in this world they couldn't crush with ease.
And while Wakanda might have the tech to match even the Foundation, they were caught unprepared and was lacking in numbers. And with Napoleon himself leading the attack, there was no question about the end result.
However, the path could still change depending on factors outside of the Foundation's control.
As the ten thousand Foundation soldiers broke off from the main invasion force, Napoleon's orders were clear—ensure the safety of SCP-499 at all costs. Tau-5, the immortal cyborgs of Samsara, led the charge, their augmented senses constantly scanning for any potential threats. Alongside them flew sleek fighter jets, and drones that cast a dark shadow over the mountains as they sped toward the village.
The village that housed SCP-499 remained oblivious to the world beyond their sacred duty. The old man, frail but determined, continued to push the burning sphere along its designated path, the familiar heat searing his skin, the weight of the sun resting upon his shoulders. The villagers watched from the shadows, eyes cast down in reverence for the ancient ritual.
His closest family is standing close by, just outside the range of the searing heat, not fully looking up, afraid to hurt their eyes, yet they cast fleeting glances out of the corner of their eyes, watching the man.
They were worried for him, worried that he would work himself to an early death, yet none moved to stop him, none tried to talk him out of it.
He wasn't the first who had continued his duty until his broken body failed him, and he wouldn't be the last either, such was their nature.