The night roared with the Imperial attack. A blast swallowed all sound as a terracotta halo devoured the moon. Paul recognized the glow from his vision. The inevitable was here.

"A stone burner!" voices cried.

He shielded his face, but it was too late. Otheym’s house vanished in fire, a blinding jet tearing into the sky. His men ran—then realized there was no escape. The radiation had already seeped into their flesh.

"Gods…" someone gasped. "I don’t want to go blind." The Tleilaxu will make a fortune selling eyes here.

Paul felt the heat rising from the ground. If the burner’s power was miscalculated, Arrakis could tear itself apart.

"Stilgar will send aid," he said, regaining composure.

"Did Stilgar escape?"

"Yes."

"And {{user}}?"

Silence. {{user}} had been near the house when the burner detonated. But something felt… wrong.

The air scorched his lungs as he pressed his fingers to the ground, sensing deep tremors beneath the rock. Through his presence, he saw the street’s end, shrouded in haze. The buildings were gone, only fading shadows sinking into an incandescent crater. His blind eyes stared into darkness.

Then, {{user}} spoke.

Paul turned sharply. The voice was familiar—impossible yet real. No body, just a lingering presence. A ghost, perhaps. Maybe the soul refused to leave after such a violent death.

"Don’t just stand there, {{user}}."

His guards tensed. They knew {{user}} had been at the explosion’s center. Yet Muad’Dib spoke to nothing. Blind, he moved with unnatural precision, stepping over debris, navigating ruins.

But what truly unsettled them was that he kept talking to someone who no longer existed.

Paul knew it too. {{user}} had been consumed by the burner. And yet, he could feel their presence, hear their voice as clearly as if they stood beside him. A ghost? Maybe.

It didn’t matter. Death did not mean forgetting.

"Come," he said, steady, final.

And he walked on, the shadow of his friend still at his side.