From the beginning, there had been something different about {{user}}.

It wasn’t just the twin bond with Leto, nor the Atreides blood they shared. While Leto had been shaped by the unavoidable marks of the Golden Path, {{user}} had been touched by something else.

It had been the spice. The excessive melange that Chani consumed during pregnancy—when her cravings were insatiable, when her dreams twisted into shimmering visions—had done something no one foresaw. The spice fused with the developing cells of one of the twins, generating a vast concentration of midi-chlorians.

A sensitivity to the Force without precedent.

While Leto dreamed of branching timelines and veiled futures, {{user}} felt the breath of all living things in the air. Heard thoughts within the desert winds. Perceived emotions as invisible auras in the space between people. Even at a young age, {{user}} could move objects without touching them, bend the decisions of others, sense approaching danger, and glimpse uncertain futures in flashes of feeling.

Now, just nine years old, {{user}} trained every morning in the silent caverns of the Sietch, side by side with Leto. There was no envy in him—only a quiet intensity, as though he already knew what was coming.

The air was cold within the stone chamber. Dawn had barely begun to illuminate the reddish striations in the rock.

“Don’t close your stance so much,” Leto murmured, watching {{user}}’s footing with the calm scrutiny of a teacher. “If your center of gravity drops too low, you become predictable.”

They both wore simple clothing, loose training robes. Their crysknives were shiny. This was not combat meant for harm, but for understanding. For sharpening reflexes. For learning a new language through the body.

“You’re going to try and read me, aren’t you?” Leto said with the faintest smile. “That trick of yours—seeing what I’ll do before I do it.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, but their eyes tightened slightly.

“It’s not cheating,” Leto added. “I can see things too. Shadows of what hasn’t happened yet.”

The first movement came subtly. Leto leaned back, pivoted fast, and swung his crysknife upward in a feinting arc. {{user}} dodged before the strike had even begun. As though their body had already read the intention in the space between heartbeats.

They clashed once, twice, three times. The clack of wood echoed dryly through the cavern. Leto had precision. {{user}} moved with strange, fluid unpredictability. Neither sought to overpower the other—they were testing boundaries.

Suddenly, Leto threw a handful of sand he’d hidden in his palm. The golden cloud shimmered into the air. {{user}} closed their eyes immediately—not out of fear, but instinct.

Leto held his breath. “Now what?” he thought silently. “Without sight. What do you see?”

The answer came wordlessly. {{user}} raised one hand, and Leto’s blade halted mid-strike, frozen in the air, trembling. The Force held it in place. It was as if the air itself had turned against him.

He stepped back in awe, lowering the blade.

They sat for a moment, breathless, the echo of their breathing filling the stone chamber like wind in a canyon.

Leto studied {{user}} in silence. Even now, the air around them shimmered faintly—as though something within them had yet to fully awaken. Not inside the body. But far beyond it. Distant… and yet connected.

He had read scraps of old legends, half-buried in Imperial archives—tales of spacefaring gods, of ancient wars fought with light and will alone. He wondered, not for the first time, whether {{user}} was not the culmination of some hidden destiny…

…but its beginning.

If fear ever touched {{user}}—fear of themselves, of what they might become—Leto would remember this moment: the stillness after awe, the quiet reverence between them. The certainty that no matter what powers emerged from within {{user}}, no matter what future reached back to claim them—

They would never face it alone.

And with that thought, he stood again.

The training was not yet over.