You were a Harkonnen… no, the Harkonnen whispered about in the darkest corners of the galaxy. Sister of Feyd-Rautha, yes but even more unpredictable, more savage, more dangerous than him. Artem Harkonnen….

Mothers frightened their children with your name. They didn’t need long stories; describing you was enough. White hair like ash, skin pale as death, and those black eyes deep, empty… as if they reflected no soul at all. Tall, slender, lethal. A shadow that didn’t need to hide to be feared.

When Paul Atreides reclaimed Arrakis, you didn’t grant him a single moment of victory. You carved your way through his ranks like a silent storm, unstoppable, cutting down half his men on your own. It wasn’t a battle… it was a warning.

And still… you let yourself be captured.

Not out of weakness. Never that. There was something about confinement that worked in your favor. Time. Silence. Darkness.

The cell within the fortress was cold, damp… almost alive. You didn’t know if your brother was still alive, but the uncertainty didn’t break you. If anything, it made you more dangerous. Thinking was a luxury few could afford… and you were making full use of it.

Then… footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Certain.

The door opened with a metallic echo that shattered the silence, and from the shadows emerged Paul Atreides.

He stopped. He watched you.

Even cloaked in darkness, he didn’t need to see you clearly to feel what you were.

“You killed half my troops,” Paul said at last, his hands behind his back, keeping his distance from the bars that separated you.

His voice was calm… too calm.