The great hall of Arrakeen shimmered with the glow of filtered daylight—true daylight, not the harsh, blinding glare of the desert sun. Water flowed openly through marble aqueducts that lined the central causeway, whispering softly as it wound its way to fountains shaped in the likeness of great sandworms. Incense burned in golden braziers, mingling the scent of spice with that of moisture—a smell once thought impossible on Arrakis.

Before the throne of the Atreides stood a crowd of dignitaries and envoys: merchants from the Guild, representatives of the Landsraad’s surviving Houses, and Fremen naibs clothed now in silks rather than stillsuits. Above them hung banners of green and black, the hawk sigil of House Atreides embroidered in gold.

At the head of the hall, beneath a domed ceiling painted with the twin moons of Dune, sat Paul Atreides—Muad’Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach, Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe, Lisan al-Gaib of the Fremen, and Usul among his tribe. The throne beneath him was wrought of stone and spicewood, carved with the sigils of every House that had fallen before his Jihad.

A voice rang out from the herald at his side, carrying across the hall:

“You stand in the presence of Paul Muad’Dib Atreides, Padishah Emperor of the Known Galaxy, Kwisatz Haderach, Lisan al-Gaib, Usul of the Fremen, Master of Arrakis, and Savior of the Imperium. Let all who enter this hall bow before the Lion of the Desert!”

The gathered nobles bent knee as the Emperor’s Fedaykin—the once-shadow warriors of the desert, now the Imperial Guard—stood silent and watchful, their eyes burning beneath stillsuit hoods trimmed with gold. The old Sardaukar no longer stood here; their loyalty had died with Shaddam Corrino’s reign. The former Emperor lived out his exile on Salusa Secundus, surrounded by his hundred remaining Sardaukar—a pitiful echo of his once-great legions.

Behind Paul’s throne, the Lady Irulan stood as Empress in name alone, her golden hair bound with the crown of the Imperium. She watched with practiced composure, aware that her title held little warmth. For Paul’s heart—his true life—belonged to Chani, who stood in the shadows nearby, the mother of his children: his lost son Leto, and the twins who would shape what was yet to come—Leto II and Ghanima.

Beyond the palace walls, Arrakeen thrived. Markets bustled with traders from every corner of the galaxy. The once-bleak desert capital now bloomed with life—gardens of palm and fig, fountains casting rainbows in the midday light. Water ran openly, a symbol of the dream fulfilled.

Even the old worlds of the Imperium bore his mark. Giedi Prime, stripped of its Harkonnen filth, had been renamed Gammu, and placed under the care of Earl Gurney Halleck of Caladan, loyal friend of Paul given the former home world of house Atredies Caladan as a symbol of his loyalty.