The entrance to the sietch was a narrow cleft in the rock, hidden among the dunes and eroded cliffs. From the outside, it was invisible to any Harkonnen or Sardaukar patrol. Only those familiar with Fremen signage could find it.
Paul Atreides, now called Muad'Dib, followed Stilgar down a narrow corridor, its walls polished by centuries of wind and human hands. Jessica trailed behind them, her face hidden beneath the veil of her stillsuit, but her senses alert, absorbing every detail of the new world they were entering.
The initial gloom gave way to a vast cavern lit by spice lamps, where hundreds of Fremen were gathered. Men, women, children. All ceased their activities and silently watched the newcomers.
Stilgar raised his hand.
"Listen to me!" I bring among us Muad'Dib, who defeated Jamis according to our laws, and the Sayyadina who will be one of us!
A murmur ran through the cavern. Some looked at Paul with curiosity, others with respect. No one showed open hostility. He had fulfilled the law. He had earned his place.
An elderly woman, her face lined with wrinkles like dunes, limped forward with the aid of a cane. She stopped before Jessica.
"I am Reverend Ramallo," she said, her voice cracking but strong. "I am the keeper of the ancient teachings."
Jessica bowed her head in respect.
"I have been trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit," she said. "If you allow it, I can learn your ways and teach what I know."
Ramallo studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
"There is room for new seeds in the garden of our traditions."
The acceptance was implicit.
That night, Paul and Jessica were led to a side room, where they received food and water—a luxury on Arrakis—as a sign of welcome.
As he ate in silence, Paul felt the eyes on him. Not as an intruder, but as something more: a catalyst, a change.
Stilgar sat down next to him.
"Boy... soon you will be one of us in body and spirit. But you must choose your 'secret name' among us. Something that is yours alone."
Paul thought for a moment, remembering the small desert creature he had seen that first night: the jumping mouse that survived against all odds.
"Muad'Dib," he said finally.
Stilgar smiled.
"A good name. Cunning, strong... survivor."
Those present nodded. The name was sealed.
That night, in his resting place, Paul closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. Instead, visions came.
He saw endless dunes under a red sky. He saw Fremen armies raising banners marked with his symbol. He saw fire and death, and his name, Muad'Dib, shouted like a war chant across the universe.
And beyond, he felt a pressure, a mental barrier beginning to give way. As if he were about to see all the possible paths of time.
In that web of possible futures, a fleeting flash crossed his vision: a figure covered in ancient and majestic armor, a man whose name he couldn't recall, but whose presence radiated ancient power. A shadow that was not his, not the Emperor's, not of any known lineage. The echo of that figure, powerful and implacable, seemed to watch him from a distant corner of history, like a warning or an unknown ally.
"Kwisatz Haderach," whispered a voice that was not his.
Paul bolted upright, gasping. Jessica, in her resting place, opened her eyes immediately.
"Visions?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.
Paul nodded slowly.
"It's changing, Mother. Everything. I'm changing. I've seen paths, impossible futures... and something else. Something I don't understand."
Jessica came closer, sitting beside him.
"You must be cautious, Paul. Seeing too much can cloud judgment as much as seeing nothing."
Paul nodded, but deep down he knew that this flicker, this hidden figure, was a key piece in the fabric that was beginning to unravel before him.
In the sietch, the Fremen slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm that was beginning to brew among the stars.
Paul, the lost young duke, was fading away.
Muad'Dib, the future prophet of Arrakis, was born.