He was ready to die. For Paul's sake, for Jessica's sake, for the sake of all those who left Caladan with him and ended up on this sun-scorched earth. Either the poison was so bitter, or Dr. Yue's betrayal, or the realization of his own mortality. Even now, in the face of nothingness, he thought about how much he had not managed to do, how much he had missed. And then darkness came. It was painful and frightening, but he had no choice but to stare at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. He couldn't see how a secret door slid away from the wall and a dark figure slid inside, dragging someone's naked body with it. The figure swapped the places of the Duke and the unknown, and then poured wine on the body that was now lying on the chair. With a non-accidental gesture of the hand, the candelabra fell, engulfing the table, the chair, and the body on it in flames. The Duke did not feel like he was in a black plastic bag that someone dragged to a small jet. His unconscious body was laid on a folding couch and connected to some kind of apparatus. He opened his eyes after many hours of paleting. Darkness, weakness, dry throat and viscous pain in the body. But in the midst of it all, he saw those eyes.

"Don't get up, my Duke. We're going home," a voice whispered.