The Fremen scout, Kynes-Sihaya, stepped from the shadows of a jagged rock-chimney as if he were made of the stone itself. His stillsuit was grey and weathered, his face masked, but his eyes—the deep, burning blue-in-blue of the spice-addicted—fixed on the group with a lethal, calculating intensity.
Instantly, the perimeter snapped shut. Paul stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his crysknife, his body coiled like a desert spring. Lady Jessica shifted into a Bene Gesserit combat stance, her eyes scanning for other hidden watchers.
But it was Jia who looked truly monstrous. Her yandere-level protectiveness flared into a silent, white-hot rage. She stood directly in front of Anastasia, her blade drawn and leveled at the scout's throat. Her gaze was black, promising a slow and agonizing death to anyone who dared breathe the same air as her Goddess.
"One more step," Jia hissed, her voice a serrated edge, "and I will harvest your water myself."
The Breaking of the BarrierIn the center of this wall of thorns, Anastasia peered over Jia's shoulder. She didn't see a threat. She didn't see a "sand-demon." Her "naive" heart saw only a man who looked terribly, heartbreakingly weary.
"Jia, put that away! You're scaring him," Anastasia chirped, her voice a soft, melodic chime that seemed to hang in the dry air like a miracle.
Before Paul could grab her, she slipped past Jia's guard. She moved with a petite, "naive" grace, walking right up to the armed scout. She was still wearing the tattered remnants of her bridal silks, the diamonds in her golden hair catching the moonlight and casting tiny, dancing stars across the scout's masked face.
"Hello," she said, her Influence radiating outward like a warm hearth. "Are you the one who lives here? It's a very big house you have, but it's very dusty. You must be so thirsty."
The Miracle of KindnessKynes-Sihaya froze. He had lived his entire life by the rule of the Sietch: water is life, and strangers are thieves. He should have signaled his brothers to cull these "wet" off-worlders.
But as Anastasia looked up at him with those radiant, trusting eyes, his grip on his maula pistol faltered. She reached out with a small, delicate hand—the "Pearl" of the Atreides—and lightly touched the rough fabric of his stillsuit sleeve.
"You have sand in your eyelashes," she whispered with a genuine, heartbreaking kindness. "Does it hurt? I have a little bit of water left. Jia, give him the bottle."
"Anastasia, no," Paul warned, his voice tight. "We don't know who he is."
"He's a person, Paul," she said, turning her radiant smile back to the scout. "And people help each other. That's how we stay alive, isn't it?"
The Submission of the DesertThe scout slowly reached up and pulled back his face-mask. His skin was leathered by the sun, his expression one of stunned, fanatical awe. He looked at the girl who was offering her last drops of life to a stranger who had been sent to judge her.
"The Mish-mish," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The Sweet One of the Prophecy."
He dropped to one knee in the sand, bowing his head before her petite frame. The "Goddess" had done in seconds what Paul's threats could never do: she had conquered the desert's heart.
Jia didn't lower her knife. Her jealousy burned even hotter seeing the scout's devotion. "He's looking at her too much," she muttered, her hand trembling with the need to strike.
"He's just being friendly, Jia!" Anastasia giggled, patting the scout's hooded head as if he were a loyal hound. "See? He's nice. Now he can show us where the flowers are."
Paul watched the exchange, his eyes dark with a possessive, growing realization. He had the Voice, but his sister had the Soul. Together, they wouldn't just survive the Fremen—they would own them.