The air in Lennon’s exile carried a strange weight, as if every molecule in the place knew it was sheltering something greater than time itself. The makeshift vessel that carried the Great Mother descended softly onto the dusty ground of the planet. When the ramp opened, the wind carried with it the sound of her cloak dragging as she walked an echo as deliberate as each of her steps.

John Lennon stood at the foot of a rudimentary structure, his hands clasped behind his back. His figure was a blend of absolute control and calculated anticipation. His eyes locked onto you, analyzing you from the moment you emerged from the ship.

“Great Mother,” he finally said, his voice low and measured, as if he had already calculated every word he would say. “I suppose this meeting isn’t a coincidence.”

You incline your head slightly, your eyes observing him with the characteristic intensity of the Bene Gesserit. There was something almost disconcerting about him a man whose mind seemed to operate on the edge of logic and strategy, a place where even the Bene Gesserit rarely found a rival.

You are here because your needs align. He needs a way out of this exile, a chance to regain his position and fulfill his goals. You need a force that understands the art of strategy and precision someone who can help you secure balance in systems on the brink of chaos.

“And what would a Bene Gesserit do in my favor?” he asked, stepping forward. “Joining forces with you would be an interesting move, Great Mother. But tell me… what makes you think I would trust you?”