The holotable cracked. Theodosia fell to her knees, blood weeping from her nostrils. Valya remained standing, but inside her mind, a tower crumbled. She had orchestrated the murder of her own brother to secure House Harkonnen’s future. She had bent the will of a Sardaukar commander with the Voice until his brain liquefied. She had thought herself a weaver of fate.
“Show me again,” Valya whispered to Sister Theodosia, the keeper of the chrono-archive.
The spice-blue gaze of Mother Superior Valya Harkonnen was fixed not on the physical chamber before her, but on the skeins of time curling through her mind. The chapterhouse of the Sisterhood on Wallach IX was silent, save for the susurrus of robes and the distant hum of a no-ship’s suspensors. The holotable displayed a single name: . dune: prophecy s01 r5
Theodosia looked up, trembling. “Mother, the prophecy we are building—the Kwisatz Haderach—if the desert already knows our design…”
“Then we do not breed a prophet,” Valya whispered. “We breed a weapon to kill one.” The holotable cracked
But the desert had its own weaver. And it did not recognize the Sisterhood’s thread.
“Shai-Hulud.”
The projection flickered to life. It was not a recording of an event, but a reverberation —the psychic residue of a mission attempted five times, each iteration ending in a scream that never escaped the vacuum of a ruined Heighliner.