Paul Atreides gazed in the direction where, in the vast and invisible ocean of space, Caladan should be. Somewhere behind them—though there was no true direction in folded space—lay his home: the low-hanging clouds heavy with water, the scent of salt in the wind, the steady rhythm of tides that whispered the same stories for centuries. He thought of its sky, the moisture suspended above its waves, the spectacle of storms he would never see again on Arrakis. And of the space between both worlds, where the Guild cruiser now drifted in perfect silence.

Were Guild ships truly so colossal? Yes. He had seen it when he left Caladan for the first time—his first journey beyond the world of his birth. A single cruiser, its hull hidden behind shifting veils of energy and secrecy, dwarfed anything the Atreides possessed. Frigates, transports, even the dignified flagship of their house were like scattered insects at the corner of a forgotten chart. They barely filled one of the manifest's corners—an insignificant line among endless contracts.

He remembered his father’s calm words before departure. “The Guild has been paid. There is no danger while we are under their protection.” It was supposed to reassure him. Even if Harkonnen ships lurked at the periphery, they would do nothing. They would not risk their monopoly. Not for the life of one boy, nor for the fall of a great house.

But Paul understood something else: the Guild’s protection did not extend to the mind. And there, danger still lingered.

The real problem, he realized, was within. He was bored. Not with a child’s laziness, but with a restless mind sharpened by Mentat training, Bene Gesserit exercises, and an expectation of greatness. He felt caged. Torn away from the waters and winds of Caladan, confined to echoing chambers and silent hallways of a drifting giant. And that made him irritable.

“My father said no, but I want to watch the screens,” he said aloud, stretching his arms over his head with exaggerated slowness. “Maybe I can see one of the Navigators.”

His playmate, {{user}}, barely looked up from the holo-slate in their hands. Paul frowned at the indifference.

“What if they hide because… they’re no longer human?” he asked. “They must be so deformed by spice and radiation. I want to see that.”

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes—curiosity, yes, but also something darker. A hunger to know. A test of boundaries.

He knew he would be putting all of House Atreides’ privileges at risk, just for a childish thrill. But patience was running low. He wanted to do something. Anything. There was still a long way to Arrakis. And the silence was growing heavier.