The next day, Lysara returned with two Bene Gesserit sisters—Mira and Thalia—initiates she'd chosen for their curiosity and skill. The lab's air buzzed with tension as they entered, their black robes rustling softly.
Mira, tall and eager, gazed at the shelves with wide eyes. "This place… it's like the Missionaria Protectiva's hidden vaults, but alive with the spice's will."
Thalia, shorter and cautious, crossed her arms. "It reeks of heresy. Mohiam would flay us for stepping here."
Lysara faced them, her voice calm but firm. "What you see stays here. These experiments will reshape the Sisterhood—forever. Swear it."
Mira nodded quickly. "I swear, Lysara. By the Litany and the spice."
Thalia hesitated, then relented. "I swear. But I'll ask questions."
"Good," Lysara said. She gestured to Kaelion, now seated on the table, his hazel eye tracking them. "This is Kaelion. Not a ghola, but my creation—spice and memory fused into life. He carries a warrior's past from the Butlerian Jihad."
Mira stepped closer, awe in her voice. "He's alive? Truly?"
"Yes," Lysara said. "Feel his pulse if you doubt it."
Mira pressed fingers to Kaelion's wrist, then gasped. "It's strong—like he's always been here."
Thalia frowned. "How? The Orange Catholic Bible forbids mimicking souls. The Fremen would call this a desert devil."
Lysara's eyes glinted. "It's no mimicry. The spice holds all memories—beyond our female line, beyond the Jihad. I built a vessel to anchor them. Kaelion is proof."
Kaelion spoke, his voice rough. "I fought the Titans—machine lords who crushed worlds. I died for it. She pulled me back."
Mira's eyes lit up. "The Jihad! What was it like?"
"Blood and fire," Kaelion said. "Humanity bent, then broke free. But unity shattered after. We forgot ourselves."
Thalia interjected, "Why risk this, Lysara? The Sisterhood's breeding program seeks the Kwisatz Haderach. This defies it."
Lysara turned to a workbench, lifting a vial of glowing spice essence. "The Kwisatz Haderach—Paul Atreides—is coming. A boy born of Lady Jessica and Duke Leto, against our plan. The spice shows me his path: Fremen armies, desert wars, a voice that bends empires. The Sisterhood thinks he'll serve them. I'm not so sure."
Mira tilted her head. "You think he'll turn?"
"I think he'll be more," Lysara said. "More than their tool. I need knowledge—male memories, lost histories—to stand with or against him. Kaelion is the start."
Thalia's voice sharpened. "And your next experiment?"
Lysara moved to a console, activating a holo-display. It showed a schematic: a neural web linked to a spice-infused tank. "This amplifies Other Memory access. I'll pull more voices—scholars, priests, warriors—into constructs like Kaelion. Each refines the process."
Mira leaned in. "What's in the tank now?"
Lysara adjusted a valve, and a faint form emerged in the tank's amber fluid—a skeletal frame, half-formed, its single eye glowing blue. "A test. It holds a priestess from before the Butlerian Jihad, one who foresaw the machine rise. Her memory's fragile—too much spice burns it out."
The form twitched, its voice a whisper through the tank's speakers: "The Titans came… steel gods… we knelt…"
Thalia recoiled. "That's unnatural. What if it escapes?"
"It won't," Lysara said. "It's contained. But it proves the spice remembers beyond our limits."
Mira's excitement grew. "Imagine it—an archive of the past, living, speaking! We could learn the Missionaria's lost chants, the Guild's first voyages!"
Thalia cut in. "Or unleash chaos. The Emperor fears the spice's power. The Harkonnens would kill for this. If Mohiam discovers—"
"She will," Lysara said. "But by then, we'll be ready. This changes everything—our understanding, our strength. Will you help me?"
Mira nodded. "Yes. This is revolutionary."
Thalia sighed. "I'll help. But if Kaelion or that… thing… turns, I'll sound the alarm."
Kaelion rose, his presence imposing. "I'm no tool to betray you. I fought for humanity once. If Lysara's cause aligns, I stand with her."
Lysara met their gazes. "Then we begin. The spice is our ally, the past our guide. Paul Atreides nears, and we'll meet him prepared."
The trio worked late into the night, the lab a hive of quiet activity. Lysara adjusted the tank, stabilizing the priestess's form. Mira cataloged memories Kaelion shared—tactics from the Jihad, names of fallen worlds. Thalia monitored spice levels, her skepticism softening as the priestess spoke of ancient rites.
As the winds howled above Wallach IX, Lysara paused, a vision flickering: Paul, older, atop a dune, his cry echoing. She whispered, "The storm comes. We'll be its eye."
The lab pulsed with purpose, a crucible where past and future collided, forged by a girl who dared to wield the spice's deepest truths.