Anger sat steady in your chest, not sharp anymore, not wild, but constant. You had believed the Harkonnens were finished here, that Arrakis had finally been allowed a moment to breathe. Instead, the Imperium had simply shifted its weight. Different banner, same claim. House Atreides now. Another hand closing around a world that was never theirs.

As Stilgar’s daughter, you had grown up watching outsiders speak of Arrakis as if it existed for them. For their spice. For their wars. They dressed it in language like duty and stewardship, but it always came back to the same thing. They could not live without what this planet bled.

The morning air was still cool when you stepped into the courtyard. The sacred palm stood where it always had, carefully tended, deliberately spared from the waste the rest of the desert endured. You poured water slowly, measured, the way you had been taught since childhood. Every drop accounted for. Every drop earned.

You were thinking about them again. About what their arrival would mean. About how long it would take before the balance broke.

“Hello.”

The voice cut cleanly through your thoughts.

You turned, already narrowing your eyes against the light. He stood a short distance away, close enough to have approached without drawing notice. Black, wavy hair stirred lightly in the morning breeze, and his clothing marked him immediately—fine, deliberate, nothing wasted but nothing left to chance. He carried himself like someone used to being seen.

Recognition came a second later, settling into place with a quiet certainty.

The son of Duke Leto.