The study chamber beneath Wallach IX was a vault of knowledge, its black stone walls lined with ancient tomes, flickering holographic displays, and star charts that shimmered in the dim amber glow of melange lamps.
The air was cool and heavy with the scent of spice—cinnamon-sweet with a sharp, metallic edge. A long table stretched across the room, its surface cluttered with scrolls and projectors, bathed in the soft light of a hovering spice lamp.
Lysara, twelve years old and already a commanding presence, stood at the head of the table. Her blue-within-blue eyes glowed faintly, a testament to the spice that coursed through her veins. Beside her were Mira and Thalia, the two Bene Gesserit initiates she had chosen as allies. Mira, tall and eager, adjusted a holo-display with quick, precise movements, while Thalia, shorter and more reserved, stood with her arms crossed, her gaze flickering between the equipment and the man seated before them.
Kaelion, the warrior reborn from Lysara's melding of spice and memory, sat with a stillness that masked the storm of questions within him. His new body—crafted by Lysara's hands—was lean and strong, a vessel for the essence of a man who had fought in the Butlerian Jihad. His single hazel eye, newly integrated, scanned the room with the intensity of a soldier assessing a battlefield.
Though only a day had passed since his awakening, he carried himself with the weight of his ancient past.
Lysara broke the silence, her voice clear and steady. "You've been brought back, Kaelion, into a world far removed from the one you knew. To understand your place—and to serve the Sisterhood—you must learn what has happened since your time."
Kaelion's gaze locked onto hers. "I fought the machines in the Butlerian Jihad. I gave my life to break their chains. How long has it been since then?"
Mira activated a holographic timeline, its glowing lines stretching across the table. "The Jihad ended over ten thousand years ago," she said, her voice tinged with excitement. "The current year is approximately 10,176 AG—After Guild."
Kaelion's eye widened, his breath catching. "Ten thousand years…" He leaned forward, studying the display as if it were a map of enemy territory. "That's impressive. And terrifying."
Thalia stepped closer, her tone measured. "The galaxy has reshaped itself in that time. After the Jihad, humanity fractured. The Great Houses rose, forming the Landsraad to balance their power. The Spacing Guild emerged, wielding interstellar travel through their mastery of spice."
"Spice?" Kaelion asked, his brow furrowing.
Lysara nodded, gesturing to a holo-image of a desert planet that shimmered into view—Arrakis, its dunes endless under a harsh sun.
"Melange. Found only on Arrakis, it's the most valuable substance in the universe. It extends life, sharpens the mind, and lets Guild Navigators fold space. The Imperium depends on it."
Kaelion stared at the image, his voice low. "One planet holds the galaxy's fate?"
"Yes," Mira replied. "The Great Houses fight for its control, overseen by the Padishah Emperor. House Atreides and House Harkonnen are locked in a feud over it now."
Kaelion's eye narrowed. "And the Bene Gesserit? I remember your kind—manipulators, pulling strings from the shadows."
Thalia's lips twitched faintly. "We still do. For millennia, we've shaped bloodlines and politics, guiding humanity toward the Kwisatz Haderach—a being to bridge past and future, male and female."
Kaelion leaned back, his expression hardening. "You play with lives like they're pieces on a board. How's that different from the machines I fought?"
Lysara's voice cut through, calm but firm. "The machines enslaved. We guide. The Kwisatz Haderach is our hope—but also a risk. That's why you're here, Kaelion—to help us face what's coming."
He studied her, then nodded slowly. "Tell me more. What's become of humanity since my time?"
Before Mira could continue, Kaelion turned from the holomap, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of ten thousand years had settled there. His voice was quieter now, rough and worn. "I remember the sound of the old machine-chants, still. I remember the burning fields of Derelax, where the sky turned black with the smoke of melting armor. I was just a foot soldier at first—barely more than a boy. My name wasn't Kaelion back then. I had another name, but it's gone now. Lost in the fire."
He sat slowly, as though the motion itself pulled memories from deep inside him. "They put a rifle in my hands and told me to fight the thinking machines. Told me we had no choice. And they were right. We didn't. We saw people plugged into systems, their minds stripped, their bodies used as shells. We burned them to save them. Gods help us, we believed that was mercy."
Lysara stood nearby, silent, her blue-within-blue eyes watching him closely.
"I died outside the ruins of Mars' last orbital city," Kaelion continued. "Died buying time for a retreat. Or maybe it was a trap. I don't remember the end. I remember fear. Rage. Then nothing."
His gaze lifted toward her. "And now I'm here. New body. New name. You called me back. But for what? To be another weapon for your Sisterhood?"
Lysara stepped forward slowly, her voice soft but unshakable. "You're not the only weapon in this room, Kaelion. I was made, too—crafted by hands I never chose. Shaped by bloodlines that go back hundreds of generations. I didn't ask for this power, and I didn't ask for the Sisterhood's purpose. But I carry it all the same."
She lowered her voice, a little more human, more vulnerable. "They fear me, you know. Even Mohiam. I have visions… memories not meant to be mine. Powers I still can't fully control. I see the threads of time, but I can't always follow them. I speak in the Voice, but sometimes it frightens even me. I feel the spice burn through me like fire, and some days I wonder if I'm burning out."
Kaelion raised an eyebrow, studying her now with something like understanding. "You? Afraid?"
Lysara gave a half-smile, tired and knowing. "Yes. But not of death. I'm afraid of being alone in this. Afraid of what I might become if I don't have people beside me who still remember what it means to fight for something real. Not just plans or breeding charts or prophecy... but people. Lives. Meaning."
She stepped closer, her tone intensifying. "You were a warrior who chose freedom over fear. That's why I brought you back. Not to serve blindly. But to stand beside me when this galaxy tips into chaos. Paul Atreides... he's not the end of the story. He's a beginning. And beginnings are dangerous."
Kaelion exhaled, long and slow. His expression hardened, but the anger had drained out of it. What remained was tired clarity. "You speak like a girl too young to carry the galaxy. And yet... I see something in your eyes. Fire. Same as I saw in my brothers before the charge. Maybe you are a weapon. Maybe I am, too. But weapons can be aimed. Sharpened."
Lysara met his gaze fully. "Exactly. And I don't want to aim alone. The Kwisatz Haderach will change everything. He might destroy us. Or free us. Or worse—bend us into something inhuman. If we want a future worth living in, we'll have to shape it ourselves. Together."
Kaelion gave a bitter chuckle. "You're twelve years old."
Lysara smirked. "And you're ten thousand years out of date. So I guess we're even."
A pause lingered. Then Kaelion gave a tired nod. "Alright. I'm with you. Not for the Sisterhood. For the fight. For whatever comes next."
Lysara extended her hand, not as a commander—but as a comrade. "Then let's start preparing. There's more at stake than you know. The storm is coming. And I want us both ready when it breaks."
Mira, who had been quietly observing, cleared her throat, bringing the room's focus back to the lesson. "There's more to cover—recent history, politics, technology." She traced the galaxy's history with enthusiasm, speaking of the Corrino dynasty's rise, the formation of CHOAM to govern wealth, and the uneasy alliance between the Emperor, Landsraad, and Guild. Thalia added details of the Bene Gesserit's work—planting myths through the Missionaria Protectiva, training advisors for the powerful, steering events from behind the scenes.
Kaelion's questions grew pointed. "What of war? Do men still fight with blades?"
Thalia's tone darkened. "War's evolved. The Great Convention bans atomics, but kanly, assassination, and proxy battles persist. Lasguns and shields dominate, though knives remain an art."
Kaelion's hand flexed, as if recalling a weapon's weight. "Some things endure."
The lesson shifted to recent events—the rivalry between House Atreides and House Harkonnen, the Emperor's unease with Duke Leto, and the nearing birth of Paul Atreides, a child tied to the Bene Gesserit's plans.
"Paul Atreides," Kaelion repeated. "This Kwisatz Haderach?"
Lysara's gaze grew distant. "The spice shows me glimpses. He'll walk Arrakis, lead armies, shake the stars. But whether he saves or dooms us… I don't know."
Kaelion's jaw tightened. "And if he turns against you?"
"Then we'll need you," Lysara said. "Your strength, your knowledge of war—it's why I brought you back."
Silence fell. Kaelion rose, pacing as he processed ten millennia of change. He stopped, facing Lysara. "You've given me life again. But I'm no puppet. I need to know the game."
Lysara met his stare. "You will. Soon, you'll leave these halls. You can't stay hidden forever. I'll craft an identity for you—something to let you move among the powerful, within their structures, yet still serve the Bene Gesserit."
Mira nodded. "Perhaps a scholar, or a distant noble kin. We could place you near Duke Leto—close to Paul when he's born."
Kaelion considered this. "My role?"
"To watch," Lysara said. "To learn. And, if needed, to act. Paul's path is uncertain. You'll be our eyes—and, if it comes to it, our blade."
"I fought for freedom once," Kaelion said. "If this boy threatens that, I'll act. But I won't be a pawn."
"You're no pawn," Lysara replied. "You're a warrior, reborn for a purpose. Trust me—we both want humanity to endure."
He nodded. "I'll learn. I'll adapt."
Thalia softened. "There's more—customs, tech, politics. But rest now. Your body's still adjusting."
As Mira and Thalia left, Lysara lingered. Kaelion stood by a window, staring at Wallach IX's bleak expanse. She approached quietly.
"It's a lot," she said.
"I'm a man out of time," he murmured. "But I'll face it. I always have."
Lysara smiled faintly. "That's why you're here."
He turned to her, resolute. "Whatever storm comes, I'll meet it."
She nodded, a silent pact forming. Outside, the winds howled, but within, a new strength took root, ready for the battles ahead.