CHAPITRE I:
VEILED ECHOES.

"A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. This every sister of the Bene Gesserit knows. To begin your study of the life of Muad'Dib, then, take care that you first place him in his time: born in the 57th year of the Padishah Emperor, Shaddam IV. And take the most special care that you locate Muad'Dib in his place: the planet Arrakis. Do not be deceived by the fact that he was born in Caladan and lived his first fifteen years there.

Arrakis, the planet known as Dune, is forever his place.

— from 'Manual of Muad'Dib' by the Princess Irulan

DREAMS ARE THE MESSAGES OF THE DEEP.

How deep one could go?

A few could try to answer, but no one truly knows.

Even the Bene Gesserit who consider themselves omniscient, have no answer to this question.

Dreams are so complex and subtle that even Morpheus does not venture on this path of knowledge. Visions of another world, of another self, manifest in the fragile hours of unconsciousness, in the raw vulnerability that haunts the edges of our waking reality.

Don't dreams hold sway over us, their enigmatic tendrils eluding our grasp, defying explanation, and mocking any attempt to weave them into a tapestry of meaning that might satisfy our waking minds?

Is this not another sign of our human impotence?

The girl, Madhavi, liked to revel in the mystery, to dwell in the spaces untouched by the Bene Gesserit's calculated wisdom. The extent of the world, she mused, is not within the reach of anyone, not even the Emperor himself. Men, with their grand illusions of dominion over nature, have always sought to persuade themselves that the wild forces of the universe bend to their will—that they are masters of nature.

Yet, Mother Nature has never bothered to engage in this illusion. She stands in the shadows, an indifferent observer, watching as humanity, in its self-absorbed arrogance, fashions its own demise.

Sitting in the darkness, where the feeble light of the sun cast only timid rays, Madhavi contemplated the void. The dark circles under her eyes, like ancient runes, bore witness to the tumultuous night she had endured. She had been awake for what felt like an eternity, her mind a battlefield where dreams and reality clashed like titans, each vying for dominance. Her vision, a spectral dance, played before her eyes, teasing her like a phantom prey in the face of a predator entrapped.

The air around her seemed heavy with unspoken truths, and Madhavi sensed the weight of undiscovered worlds pressing upon her. The whispers of dreams echoed in the recesses of her consciousness, beckoning her to traverse the uncharted realms of the mind. The Bene Gesserit may claim omniscience, but Madhavi harbored a quiet rebellion against such claims. There, in the silence and shadows, she sought to unravel the mysteries that eluded even the most revered sisterhood.

As the world slept, Madhavi dared to venture beyond the veil of ordinary perception, where the boundaries between dream and reality blurred into an indistinct tapestry of the sublime and the surreal. In that twilight realm, she yearned to decipher the cryptic language of dreams, to fathom the messages of the deep that eluded even the wisest minds.

For in the crucible of the night, amidst the whispers of the unseen, Madhavi glimpsed the profound truth that dreams, like untamed spirits, held the power to shape destinies and unveil the enigma of existence itself.

. . .

BLOOD. More and more blood, an endless river of crimson that flowed like a malevolent tide. Madhavi's hands, once delicate and unblemished, were now smeared in the grotesque palette of violence. The blood-stained fingers grasped desperately at the crumbling surface of ancient stones, the very foundation upon which her harrowing reality unfolded. She lays amidst the macabre aftermath, a sacrificial offering in a pool of red, surrounded by the lifeless forms of those whose existence had been violently extinguished in the chaos of battle.

The unforgiving desert, a witness to the ceaseless cycle of vengeance, had exacted its toll. But like its oppressors, the desert had become a ravenous entity, insatiable in its quest for retribution.

The paternal gaze that once hovered protectively over Madhavi's every waking moment had transformed into a shadowy abyss, as impenetrable as the heavy curtains that shroud one's future. In this nightmarish landscape, nothing stirred with life. The air itself carried the weight of despair.

Nothing lived anymore.

Alone in this desolation, Madhavi found herself in the eerie company of a mysterious figure, standing amidst the gruesome tableau of the bloody bath. Faceless, soundless, motionless, it reached out a hand toward her, a silent call resonating in the air. Yet, Madhavi, molded by lessons of survival, hesitated. The world had taught her to beware the outstretched hands of men, for they were often tainted by the venom of cruelty.

As she stood at the precipice of uncertainty, a visage began to materialize on the enigmatic figure—an austere and alluring countenance that beckoned her to partake in a holy crusade stained with the very blood that now surrounded her.

"Do not resist, Qalb Suhraa," echoed an ethereal voice, its words carried by an unseen wind. "This is your fate." 

. . .

THE SUN ASCENDED LANGUIDLY OVER CALADAN, casting a gentle glow upon the sprawling landscape. Madhavi craved mornings like these. Just her, the sun and her visions. The stillness of the castle offered some kind of peace, a stark contrast to the way she would wake up.

She had time to think about her life here, in Arrakis, her mom. It's been eleven years since her feet grazed the burning sand of Rakis. Eleven years of sorrow, of pain, of saudade. A little smile fell on Madhavi's lips upon remembering this word. It was one of those terms used in those poetical books of the Old Earth, some unexplainable melancholy. It matched well with what she was feeling right now, some indolent dreaming wistfulness that stained her heart since she left.

Another faint smile appeared on her face at the sound of the birds singing near her opened window. Madhavi wasn't used to hearing them back home, and despite some people's aversion for them, she found their chirping soothing. It also reminded her of the things that came to make Caladan her second home despite everything.

The disruptive sound of an approaching thopter pulled her out of her reverie, reminding her why she was awake as such hours (though it wasn't uncommon for her to wake up this early). Her father's return. The smiling face of the swordmaster abruptly turned into the macabre visions she had earlier, making her frown slightly as she continued to stare at the sky.

Arrakis seemed like a land of despair when thinking thoroughly about it. Her mother died there, a piece of herself too, and now the depths of her psyche was digging her father's grave there too. Madhavi craved for the day the land would be free, when she would be able to go back and live some sort of a peaceful life. Prophet or messiah, she didn't care who did it, Arrakis would be free. It was her mother's dream, it was also hers alongside all the Fremen — her dreams never failed, if not to save her.

Nonchalantly rising from the ground, a casual grace that belied the turmoil within, the young woman took the initiative to hang around a bit. Her drenched curls clung to her, and her shirt, askew and half-buttoned, bore witness to a night marked by unrest. She stared blankly at her reflection for a while, trying to see something she knew was there but couldn't decipher before simply sighing.

Unfazed by now by the huge portraits and vases in the hallways, Madhavi ventured into the recesses of the Atreides' house. The journey from her room to the apron isn't necessarily long, but she always makes sure to take detours as to not meet the path of the Atreides heir.

He creeped her out.

Don't get it wrong, Madhavi is not afraid of him. She just feels uncomfortable around him, especially of the way he looks at her. The girl liked attention, she can't deny it, but strictly regarding her combat abilities, nothing more. She relishes in the way people would praise her fighting, the way she would think (or not think) before attacking. But his attention doesn't stop there, it makes her want to cower out of uneasiness.

It didn't start like that. They were some kind of friends at the beginning, friends of circumstance. Paul Atreides was shielded by his mother and didn't have friends his age, until she arrived. The four-year-old girl was like an erratic beast in cage when her father brought her straight back from Arrakis where they escaped. She remembers the long days she spent crying, seeing night after night the same images over and over again. Madhavi eventually calmed down, to just end up in some mutism.

He was there, observing from half closed doors when Duncan Idaho would struggle to comfort his daughter. He was also there when she began to come out of her room to spend time in the gardens, spending time looking up at trees as she has never seen that much vegetation in Arrakis. She remembers his laugh when she hurt herself trying to follow a butterfly and fell flat on the floor. She also remembers the sheer horror on his face when she walked up to him, eyebrows furrowed.

Madhavi snickered at the memory as some servants greeted her on their way.

But they ended up spending time together, he was the one doing the talking and she was just sitting next to him listening to his stories. He would read her books about the stories of the Old Earth and she would feign to understand by nodding her head (she didn't even completely understand what everyone was saying around her).

And it all stopped one day. She grew distant when her dreams appeared and consumed the remnants of joy she had. Madhavi didn't want to be mean so she just avoided him while he was trying to get ahold of her. It was better like that, she'll have to leave Caladan one day anyway.

Upon seeing the apron right in front of her, the shadow of the boy that was once her friend made her abruptly enter the kitchen.

Dark walls whispering tales of countless meals, and a symphony of aromas, each more tantalizing than the last, teased her senses. Madhavi inhaled a little bit before poking her head out into the corridor, closing the door once again as she saw Paul still outside.

As if he's doing it on purpose, she thought before rolling her eyes.

Enjoying the opportunity, the young girl sampled bits here and there as she ambled along, partaking in the unspoken rituals of the morning kitchen. This was also the reason why she would always wake up early—fresh food.

The familiar sound of ornithopters' wings made her remember the reason why she was there in the first place, making her way to the apron not without saying goodbye to the staff.

In haste, she approached, her heart quickening as her father's imposing figure emerged.

      "Dad!"

The embrace was fervent, an outpouring of love that elicited laughter from the sword master. Duncan's arms enveloped his daughter, as he graced her forehead with a kiss.

When Arrakis couldn't be waited any longer, her father's arms were the closest she could feel to home. Madhavi would remember when he would hug them both, her and her mother. Memories of a time that seems forbidden right now as it is so hard for her to remember some parts of it.

Not far from them approached the Atreides heir, no less elated to welcome back one of his mentors. He stared at Madhavi's turned back for a moment, not knowing what to do as it is the closest he's been to her in some years.

Paul gulped slightly as he clasped his hands behind his back, smiling slightly at Duncan who beckoned him closer.

      "What happened to your famous 'no public displays of affection' rule?" he teased his daughter as she rolled her eyes, gently punching him on the shoulder.

The unique bond between Madhavi and Duncan was evident to all. They mirrored each other in beauty, boldness, and courage, a tandem that symbolized an unbreakable connection. She was his all, all that he had left from her.

Through her smile, we could nearly see the dread in the girl's eyes. The visions haunting her nights were stirring doubt in her, a shadow cast over the certainty of the future.

      "All things happen for a reason," she thought, her gaze momentarily clouded as it met Paul Atreides' eyes. There had always been a conscious avoidance of him, an intuition that proximity might unravel something ominous. She ignored it at the time, she was still a child and clueless about everything — until her dreams regained control over her lost cautiousness.

Something about him intrigued her but also repelled her―the change.

The weapon master's daughter felt that getting too close to the young Atreides would only bring bad things, and change was something she avoided like the plague.

Change led Arrakis to downfall. Change killed her mom. Change had taken her away from her home.

She couldn't let it have control over her again.

Madhavi's gaze, normally composed, faltered when it noticed Paul's troubled eyes. An unsettling recognition danced between them—an allure that bordered on perilous. She had seen again, in the space of an instant, this figure who was holding out her hand to her in the middle of a desert that had turned into a bloody hell. The young man's equally troubled look made her frown.

Could he, too, have glimpsed the visions that haunted her sleep?

The young girl gave a reassuring smile to her father, who had followed the non-verbal exchange in silence, his eyes narrowed. He always thought that the semblance of tension existing between them was due to the fact that the Atreides boy liked his daughter a little more than just a friend. Duncan never told her that, he knows that she has trouble dealing with emotions since what happened, and respects the fact that she doesn't always want to talk about it. He just knows that anything bound to happen will happen, no matter how long it takes.

She had always avoided telling him about her visions, in the hope that he would be much safer if he did not know about them. He already knew about the young Atreides' ones, she had no particular desire to compound the problem.

He suffered enough with her mother.

       "If you're looking for me," she began as she stepped away from the two men, "I'll be in the sparring room."

      "If Lady Jessica sees you in that get-up, she'll rip your head off!" her father shouted as all answer. A slight laugh escaped her reddened lips.  Lady Jessica's attempts to mold her into societal expectations were futile, for a leopard, true to its spots, resisted transformation.

IZIA'S NOTE

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