The atmosphere above Arrakis had grown thick, charged with the tension before a collapse. The dunes seemed to hold the breath of the entire planet as the Fremen, now trained and ruthless soldiers, moved silently through the secret passages of the desert.
Paul Muad'Dib had built more than an army: he had forged a faith. And the Emperor had finally understood.
From his ship, in low orbit above Arrakis, Emperor Shaddam IV surveyed the planet with a mixture of fear and resolve. Beside him, Princess Irulan maintained an impassive expression, though her hands were tense on her golden skirt. Also present were Reverend Mother Mohiam, a handful of Sardaukar commanders, and two high-ranking Mentats.
"Your Majesty," said one of the Mentats, a man with ashen skin and hollow eyes, "the latest signs indicate that Fremen forces have taken over all sentry positions south of the planetary shield." They've left no survivors.
The Emperor closed his eyes briefly. He knew what that meant. The final battle was about to begin, and he could delay it no longer.
"Prepare for descent," he ordered. "Take me to the planet."
The officers looked at each other. No one dared question it aloud, but all knew that the soil of Arrakis no longer belonged to the Empire.
The Imperial dropship landed on the outskirts of the capital, in a field where the air was thick with spice and dust. The Sardaukar troops formed a protective circle as the Emperor descended through the flashing sunlight.
Atop a nearby dune, Paul Muad'Dib watched.
"He has arrived," he said, his voice calm and steady.
Beside him, Stilgar narrowed his eyes.
"Many Sardaukar. Too many for a meeting of words."
Paul nodded.
"This won't just be a parley. It will be a verdict."
Beside them, Chani placed a hand on Paul's arm. "And if the verdict is war..."
"Then the desert will judge."
Paul descended the dune alongside a Fremen retinue. They were dressed in their ceremonial stillsuits, carrying banners marked with the symbol of the desert mouse. As they approached Sardaukar's circle, an unnatural silence fell over the field.
Paul and the Emperor finally met face to face, without walls, without intermediaries.
"Shaddam Corrino IV," Paul said. "You are a powerful man. A throne cannot stand without strength. But even strength has its limits."
The Emperor stood erect, his cloak billowing behind him. "And you are the son of a dead duke. A usurper. A fanatic."
Paul smiled slightly. "I am no fanatic. I am the consequence."
A murmur ran through those present. Paul took a step forward.
"You accuse me of rebellion. But it was your betrayal that started this war. Your alliance with the Harkonnens. Your fear of the Atreides name."
Mohiam intervened.
"And what do you propose now, Muad'Dib? The throne?!"
Paul turned his head toward her.
"No. I propose that the throne be reformed. That the crown listen to the planet that keeps the Empire alive. I propose a new order. One where the spice is not in the hands of those who only use it to extend their dominion."
Shaddam laughed humorlessly.
"You speak like an emperor!"
"Perhaps because I am one. But not by blood. By will."
Irulan, who had watched silently, finally spoke.
"And if I offered you my hand? An alliance with House Corrino?"
Everyone turned to her. Paul studied her for a moment, seeing in her expression something more than strategy: a hint of resignation.
"If you were to become my wife, you would unite the old dynasty with the new faith. But you would be nothing more than a symbol."
"I accept," Irulan said.
The Emperor took a step forward, furious.
"You will not decide the fate of the throne!"
Paul raised his hand. Behind him, the Fremen revealed a prisoner: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, defeated and humiliated.
"This was your ally. A murderer. A monster. The Empire has been ruled by fear and betrayal. My proposal is clear: abdicate. Yield the throne and you will live. Resist... and this planet will become your tomb."
Mohiam spoke quietly to the Emperor.
"Paul sees the future. He has fulfilled the prophecies." If you do not yield, a holy war will ravage the known worlds.
Shaddam looked at Paul. Then at the desert surrounding him. And finally... he lowered his head.
"Very well! Let peace be signed! But remember, Muad'Dib... thrones do not last forever."
Paul closed his eyes for a moment.
"Nor do the stars."
On the horizon, the wind began to blow. Judgment was over. The Empire had a new face.
And the desert, once again, had spoken.