Sidra powered the Force to her knees. With her face covered by her stillsuit's mask, the Jedi jumped high into the air. Her target was in the process of raising his weapon with his domed helmet staring back at her.

As Sidra made her landing beside the Harkonnen, her Crysknife sliced through flesh. A strained yelp sounded through the transmitter before the charged stun gun dropped to the sand. The Harkonnen collapsed to his knees with a fatal gash stretching from his shoulder to his adjacent hip.

A blast whizzed by the Jedi's ear. Swivelling her foot through the sand, Sidra turned to the next Harkonnen that attempted to shoot her down. The soldier made his way towards her while firing and charging his weapon in rhythmic timing.

In a zig-zag pattern, the young woman sprinted while the solider tried to follow her with his barrel. Each blast missed as she side-stepped before they could seize her. The Force moved with the wielder as she grabbed the gun's barrel and ripped it from the Harkonnen's hands.

Before she could use her blade to rip through the armour's chest plate, Sidra sensed a disturbance in the Force. The twinge in it's field made her pause, and it gave the Harkonnen time to throw a large fist her way.

A blinding pain exploded through Sidra's jaw. The punch sent her head to the side, but it wasn't the first time that she had been hit in battle. The Jedi was able to use the momentum of her surprise and twisted around to attack from behind.

It took less than a second for Sidra to be out of view and a second more for the faceless man to realise. Her Crysknife ripped through his shoulder blade and dragged through his heart, leaving his lifeless body to crumble afterward.

With adrenaline pumping, Sidra turned to face the next Harkonnen in sight. But the only ones left had made their way onto the harvester that was being lifted from the desert.

While in battle, Sidra had neglected the loud hum of the dropship that hovered overhead. Its latches had clutched at the harvester's roof and signalled for the ground soldiers to retreat on-board. They clutched at the bared ladders that ran along the harvester's walls and were flown to safety.

Lowering her blade, Sidra watched as the dropship carried the harvester into the distance. She wondered if it was returning to Arrakeen, where Master Obi-wan should be in negotiations with the baron.

When the desert returned to its ambience of light breezes and shifting sand, Sidra turned around. She squinted at the battlefield where dead Harkonnen lay and her Fremen group gathered in a circle.

Chani was couched in the middle with her mask hanging from her face. She rushed to pull the wraps that covered the face of the person laying beneath her. With her eyebrows pulled together in worry, Chani called out words of encouragement to trying ease the twitching limbs and rolling eyes.

'You're okay, you're okay. It'll pass,' her Chakobsa was said through heaves of panic.

Rushing to the group of concerned Fremen, Sidra stood on her toes to look over shoulders. She assumed that the commotion was the origin of Force's unease. But as Sidra's eyes skimmed through the group of worried Fremen, she prayed that Chani wasn't tending to the one that was yet to catch Sidra's sweep.

'What's going on?'

With a relieved sigh, Sidra looked to Paul who stopped beside her. The Force was still buzzing with the ripples of the event, but it put her at great ease to see Paul's hazel eyes through beige wraps.

'Stun blast,' she said while turning back to the victim. It was then that she saw a seizing Toki, the one who always seemed to have a thumper and set of maker hooks on her.

'It'll only last a minute or two, but it's still painful.'

Paul pried his attention away from Chani and Toki, whose convulsions were ceasing to a light tremor. With his goggles around his neck, Paul could see that Sidra's right cheek was a growing shade of purple. Her soft skin was beginning to swell and he rushed to stroke his thumb against the side of her face.

'You're bruising. Did you get hit?'

'Only because I was distracted. I sensed something in the Force and lost my concentration. It must have been Toki.'

'You can sense that?'

Sidra hummed distantly, before she let out a faint gasp. In a moment of realisation, her gloved hands reached up to her face. Her fingers grazed against Paul's, which lingered on her cheek. Just like she had felt his touch, Sidra felt her own against her face and caught sight of her mask hanging against her chest.

'My mask is off! The Harkonnen would have seen my face!' Sidra looked up to Paul in worry. 'What if they tell Master Obi-wan they saw me killing their men?'

'Let them. Your Master would support you regardless, right?'

If only it were that simple, Sidra thought to herself.

Not only did she fear her Master's disappointment, but she feared jeopardising the negotiations. The baron wouldn't be happy to hear that a Jedi Padawan had been seen fighting with the Fremen and killing his men. If the Council heard, Sidra could be blamed for the failure of the Spice conflict resolution.

'Hey, Quat al'Shaeb, stop worrying about it,' Paul almost whispered, making her shift her distant gaze back up to him. 'It all means nothing out here. All that matters is that the Harkonnen don't get their Spice, and we're here to give the Fremen hope.'

Sidra's air thinned when Paul's hands cupped the sides of her face. From what she could see through his wraps, Paul's eyes looked at nothing but her as he held her attention with his touch. His fingers were long and slender as they curved around her cheekbones. Unlike hers, his fingerpads were soft and absent of calluses.

She never folded from someone's touch, yet Paul's squeezed her lungs, making her breathless every time. Even when covered with his face covered, Paul was so enchanting and handsome with his presence. Sidra fell into his pointed stare, unable to shy away or remember the Jedi code.

'That's not all that matters...' Sidra said, letting her emotions take hold of her tongue. Paul's thumb caressed her early bruise and she could barely feel its light ache.

'You matter to me, Sid. More than you know.'

---

Weeks turned into months. With each sunrise and sunset, Sidra almost lost count of how long she had spent on Arrakis. The only way that she could tell how many months had passed, was by the blue that tinted her eyes.

Her dark irises were now a royal blue and the whites of her eyes tinted to an icy hue. The Spice's effect was evident in her tan skin, and in her excess energy in her veins. Sidra no longer tired under the sun and was notably better in her combat training. Between ingesting the Spice in the Fremen's food and from being in the desert, Sidra was looking less and less off-world by the day.

It wasn't just Sidra that had changed, but Paul had, as well.

His hazel eyes now dawned the Fremen blue, and from their sparring sessions, Sidra noticed a difference in his combat style.

She had swapped out her lightsaber for her Crysknife, and was learning more than just defending herself. Sidra and Paul would practice their combat with Chani occasionally watching from the sidelines.

Where Paul once slowed or hesitated, he was quick and preempting of the next step. This was also seen in Sidra, who used to panic when a weapon inched too close. Sidra now changed her grip on her Crysknife and went for a loose limb.

Of course, Paul and Sidra were never hurt in their spars, as they had a sense to stop before their blades touched each other. Sidra believed that this was from the Force; keeping them from injuries by accident.

As for Master Obi-wan and the team, Sidra heard nothing. She thought that they would turn up in the desert and beg another audience with Stilgar for negotiations. But with the darkening of Sidra's eyes, came the loosing of hope.

Perhaps the Harkonnen were being stubborn. Maybe they were consulting with the Jedi Council. Maybe the negotiations had been abandoned altogether, and Master Obi-wan and Master Anakin were trying to find Sidra and get them off Arrakis.

Whatever it was, Sidra wasn't as upset as she thought she would be. The Fremen were providing a home and they called Sidra Quat al'Shaeb and Paul Muad'Dib. She felt welcome and everyday was exciting.

More than that, Sidra hated the idea of leaving Paul. Spending everyday with him had made her almost obsessed.

When they were in the desert, they walked side by side. When they ate meals, they would sit cross-legged together. When the Fremen travelled by worm, Paul would let Sidra hold his hand to keep her balance (and perhaps for other reasons).

Sidra knew that her infatuation with Paul was wrong. The Jedi were not supposed to have attachments, but in the desert, Sidra's feelings were valid. She saw how the Fremen loved freely and no sign of the dark side tainted their Force signature.

All Sidra knew was that if Master Obi-wan turned up at the sietch and said they were to return to Coruscant, Sidra wasn't sure if she would go.

As for Paul, he bid his mother goodbye.

The Sayyadina was going to the south of Arrakis. From what he had heard from Chani, the southern Fremen believed strongly in the ancient prophecy. It was Stilgar's home sietch, which explained his constant prayers and infatuation with signs of the Fremen's liberation.

While a sandworm was being summoned, Lady Jessica was dressed in her drapes of beads and orange robes. The writing drawn down her face was yet to fade and her eyes still bore their sapphire blue. Her stomach swelled with Paul's baby sister, and as her son waited with her, the Sayyadina listened to the whispers of her unborn daughter.

'Come with me, Paul. They have The Water of Life, and you will see what I have been telling you,' his mother begged.

'I can't go to the south, Mum. I see only destruction and death if I do.'

Paul's gift of sight had continued to plague his dreams. Besides the beautiful premonitions of Sidra, which were coming to life as time went on, Paul had seen what would happen if he went to the south sietchs.

Millions dead. The biggest slaughter the universe has ever seen would take place. Paul would come out victorious, hungry for power, and a monster of what he once was.

Paul saw what power did to people. His father was one of the few men that didn't fall to its greed. But then again, Leto Atreides only held the Spice trade for a matter of days. He could have turned into what Paul despised; like the Harkonnen.

'Do you not think I also feel the weight of the prophecy?' the Sayyadina decided to ask.

'It's not a prophecy. It's a story that you keep telling,' Paul looked to the Fremen. 'But it's not their story, its yours. They deserve to be led by one of their own.'

Lady Jessica looked to her son, seeing the conflict on his face. As he looked at the people that seemed to abide by his mother's every word, Paul continued in a hushed voice,

'What your people did to this world is heart breaking-'

'We gave them something to hope for.'

'That's not hope!'

Paul found his anger taking over without his consent. It silenced his mother without the need of the Voice. But as his chest calmed from the heat within, Paul sighed, wishing that he could have a moment of clarity of the mess of his mind.

'What about Quat al'Shaeb?' his mother tried again, glancing to where her tent was being lifted by a team of Fremen. 'She plays a large part in all this.'

'I won't subject her to it. I'm sure her faith won't let her, either.'

Paul saw his mother's shoulders sag underneath her orange robes. She had been constantly hassling him to follow her path in drinking The Water of Life. She claimed it opened her mind beyond anything the Bene Gesserit could ever do.

He had done his best to steer Sidra away from the Sayyadina because of this. He didn't want her to feel pressured just because his mother wished it. Paul was done being told what to do, and as soon as Lady Jessica used the Voice on Sidra, Paul had been hesitant to listen to anything she had to say.

'Well, now that you can ride Shai-Hulud, perhaps you both can come when you realise how much you're needed.'

With that, the Sayyadina turned to where the Fremen tamed a sandworm. Paul clenched his jaw to stop himself from calling after his mother. Instead, he watched a man help her onto the back of her transport, before she disappeared inside the tent.

Paul was conflicted. He knew that the Bene Gesserit had power; he had seen them use it. His own mother taught him how to use the Voice, so he believed in their influence and ability. It didn't seem any different to the Sayyadina of the Fremen. But the idea of drinking The Water of Life, the liquid so poisonous that no man had ever survived its ingestion, scared Paul Atreides. 

With the combination of his dreams that showed him the death caused by his reign, Paul feared what it would mean if he, in fact, was Lisan al-Gaib.

As the maker hooks of the rider pulled on the worm's skin, and the ground shook with its departure, Paul turned to head back into the sietch. 

Maybe it was a good thing that his mother was going to the south. Maybe he would finally have some peace.