The opaque glass windows of the Imperial War Room on Kaitain were closed, but the echo of the storm lingered in the air. Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV paced back and forth, arms clasped behind his back, while projectors displayed fragmented data on the operations on Arrakis. Beside him, Reverend Mother Mohiam remained tensely silent.
The door opened gently, and a slender, resolute figure entered unannounced. Princess Irulan, with a stern look, crossed the threshold as if she were wearing the crown.
"Father, you have been locked here for three days, and rumors are multiplying like rats. Speak to me directly. What worries you so much? Wild Fremen in the dunes, or that name whispered even by the high nobles: Muad'Dib?"
Shaddam stopped. He turned slowly toward his daughter, his face marked by a shadow he rarely showed to anyone.
"There are names that, when they resurface, should chill the blood. Muad'Dib is one of them. But he's not the only one."
Irulan narrowed her eyes at him. "Is Paul Atreides alive? That's no longer a secret."
"Yes. But there's another name that hasn't been spoken in years. One you, too, forgot."
Irulan inclined his head slightly. "Kael."
The word fell like a pebble into a still lake. Mohiam barely raised an eyebrow.
Irulan continued coldly:
"My betrothed. Duke Leto's eldest son. The one you said was 'eliminated for the good of the Empire.' Cast into the void. Does his ghost haunt you now?"
Shaddam took a sharp breath, and without responding, activated an ancient holovisor. The image of a young Atreides appeared: tall, regal, with a gaze that radiated a mixture of precocious wisdom and quiet danger. His presence filled the room even from a sealed archive.
"Kael Atreides was no ordinary child. He was an anomaly. A threat. A weapon without a master."
Irulan stepped forward. "Tell me. Tell me why you now fear his life."
The Emperor nodded slowly. He walked to the window, but spoke with his gaze fixed on the past.
"When Kael was four, he already understood Salusa Secundus's strategies. At seven, he hacked into an Imperial network to send a false evacuation order to a Sardaukar detachment. And not out of mischief. Out of strategy. To see if he could do it."
Mohiam chimed in with his dry tone:
"The reports were clear. His intelligence was beyond any known scale. But so were his reactions." Once, during a psychological evaluation, he killed a domesticated predator with his bare hands. He didn't scream. He didn't hesitate. He just did it.
Irulan listened, his eyes never leaving the frozen image.
Shaddam spoke, his voice heavy with pity and fear.
"Kael wasn't afraid. He had vision. He dreamed of structures, reorganizations of the Landsraad, orders of battle. When the time came to seal your union, his answer was clear: 'If I marry, it's not for alliance. It's because I wish to rewrite the Empire.'"
Irulan felt a chill. "And that's why you banished him."
Mohiam nodded. "You gave us the order. We simulated a genetic error. A spiritual threat. We delivered him to a directionless pod, and cast him beyond the maps."
"Not to kill him," Shaddam snarled, "but because I feared that if he died... he would come back even stronger."
Irulan pursed her lips.
"And now, Paul has risen again. And you fear the other will as well."
Shaddam nodded, sinking into his throne. For a moment, he looked old, broken by the weight of time and guilt.
"Two Atreides. One with the faith of the Fremen. The other... if he lives, will be a force of reason and destruction. Myth and judgment. And I... I am caught between them."
Irulan turned slowly, leaving silently.
Inside her, a memory of Kael assaulted her. She had been only eleven when he had said, looking into her eyes, "An empire is not inherited. It is taken."
And now, perhaps, Kael Atreides was preparing to claim what he had never been allowed to touch.
The Emperor closed his eyes.
And the throne no longer seemed like a seat. But a silent scaffold.