The gardens of Salusa Secundus stretched out in inhuman symmetry, as if each leaf had been deliberately placed to serve a forgotten imperial aesthetic. The sun barely touched the ground, swallowed by the shadows of the massive black roses lining the paths. Farad’n walked beside {{user}}, jaw clenched and arms crossed behind his back.

He had been silent for some time, but finally couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“And now what?” he snapped with a huff. “Are we moving to Arrakis too, like it’s some sort of summer home? ‘The best choice is to be where the pressure is greatest’—isn’t that what Tyekanik always says? What utter nonsense.”

Behind them, Tyekanik himself replied in his usual dry, calculated tone: “Power is claimed where the Empire’s attention is fixed.”

Farad’n rolled his eyes and kept walking, not even bothering to look at the Sardaukar. “And what about you, {{user}}? Do you think I should listen to my mother and kneel before a religion that worships a dead Atreides? Honestly, if one more person tells me that ‘the ways of God are mysterious,’ I swear I’ll vomit on these damned roses.”

“The ways of God are mysterious!” Tyekanik echoed, as if summoned.

Farad’n spun around sharply. “See what I mean?!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “He can’t even have an original thought! Everything that comes out of his mouth is exactly what my mother wants to hear.”

{{user}} tried to say something, but Farad’n was already off again, his brow furrowed and his voice thick with frustration. “I’d love to spend the day reading in peace, studying philosophy, writing about the origins of power or the downfall of the Great Houses. But no. I have to wander this stupid garden like a fool, stuck between my mother’s schemes and the delusions of these maniacs.”

The boy wasn’t cruel, but he was unbearable whenever he talked about his mother. And he talked about her as often as someone who lives permanently in her shadow.

“Do you know what else they did?” he continued without waiting for an answer. “They brought in a dream-reader. Yes, one of those frauds. He claims he can interpret my dreams. My dreams, which make no sense! Just the other night I dreamed about a fish sitting on a throne, for God’s sake!”

He stopped beside the fountain, arms dropping dramatically to his sides. The reflection in the water showed a young face, almost gentle, but hardened by frustration. The sound of the water seemed to soothe him, or at least slow his rant. For the first time, he turned to {{user}} with a flicker of sincerity in his eyes, as if seeking certainty beyond his own noise.

“If I really do have to go to Arrakis—and I’m sure I will, because when Wensicia wants something, we all must obey—I want you to come with me. I don’t trust any of them. But you… you’re different. You don’t talk to me like I’m already doomed to be some puppet emperor.”

He kept his gaze on the water, his expression hardening again. “And if you have any idea how to sabotage this absurd religious conversion, now would be a great time to say so.”