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Paul Atreides had another vision.
He was a creature that could see through every thread woven into the universe, experience all of mankind with a single thump of a heartbeat, feel the blood of billions of souls running through his veins—and yet, this vision didn’t belong to any of them.
It was a strange vision. A hazy figure of a young girl across the space of his mind, staring straight at him with wide brown eyes.
She had a round face, still adorned by the blessings of youth. An innocent gaze, yet with a shudder, Paul could feel another entity beneath her eyes.
He knew that she wasn’t supposed to be here at all. She was out of place. Wearing a white, strapless gown, prancing and laughing in his vision, whispering in a language that he did not yet understand.
But he could see hints clouding his mind. Words that were begone of meaning in this timeline, but everything in another.
The Wired. Another child Goddess, an abomination. A world in a trance someplace else, not here, not anywhere. Its universe was collapsing. Her universe.
She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere. She was something that was supposed to be gone. And here she was, a fleeting child passing across the universe, touching every one of his nerves—somehow, Paul could feel her.
They were similar one way or another. Perhaps she was a martyr? Another strange thing the same as Alia was?
So Paul confided to Alia, his dearest sister about this recurring vision.
Paul’s coffee service was set on the table, his sister in front of him as well. She came straight after feeding the people her performance of a goddess, still dressed in flowing white robes.
“I feel her too, brother,” Alia said. “She is coming soon, I can sense it.” Her words came out with an ambiguous finality, if this girl were to come soon, will it bring prosperity or death?
“It is harrowing to me that I do not even understand my own vision,” Paul clenched his jaw.
“Some things aren’t meant to be understood. When she arrives, you’ll finally get it after all,” Alia sighed.
She seemed agitated about the matter, from the way her fingers knit together. It was very unlike her. Her mouth pursed in concentration.
They were engulfed in a horribly still atmosphere, a faint, ugly smell lingering in his nose. Evil smells were a bad sign, according to Fremen superstition. Paul subconsciously took it to heart.
Alia shook her head. “I do not understand either.”
“If she is another danger added to the circus, I’ll sooner kill her.”
“Then so be it.”
—
Inside the throne room, with high ceilings and glow globes illuminating each corner—were quick footsteps echoing through the heavy silence. Alia stood beside him, face governed with a purpose.
Stilgar hastily bowed.
“Usul, there have been reports of a child wandering the citadel,” Stilgar said from next to Paul, hands folded behind him.
Paul closed his eyes. So it has come sooner than he expected. “Find her, and bring her to me.”
“Of course, Usul,” Stilgar nodded, and with a quick wave of Paul’s hand he went on.
Alia’s head turned to watch him with a precise look, she knew each and every bit of his thoughts right now, Bene Gesserit scanning flitted through her glance.
“Well, she’s a quick one,” Alia said.
For this event, she chose to wear red. A blood crimson that was terrifyingly vibrant. It contrasted against the paleness of her pallor, bronze hair peeking through her hood.
Paul rested his elbows on the arms of his throne. Time stretched alarmingly slowly. It was rare for him to wait for time, usually, time waited for him. A mere child is given space to arrive by the Emperor himself. How peculiar.
She wasn’t hiding. She had meant to be found anyway.
—
The girl child arrived like the fall of a moon, a figure shadowing over the air, standing upon him with all the naïvety of a lamb.
She was in core with his visions. An unnoticeable frame, mousy dark hair, adorned with a decorative clip on a thick strand. Her eyes were wide, blinking and rich with an enigmatic force.
The place stretched for miles and miles, an endless haven fit for the Emperor. A symphony of light riveted down the walls, iridescent. This child stood in front of Paul Atreides, his form looming over her.
“Who are you, child?” Paul questioned, voice rising in Bene Gesserit fashion, powerful, but not yet overwhelming.
A pause.
“I am Lain,” was her hesitant answer. This Lain spoke weirdly, in syllables that reached to someone’s ears words of nonsense, but Paul understood her perfectly.
When that name tumbled out of her tongue, Paul could feel its substance viscerally. It was as vivid as a dream, how she was given that name, nearly walking to the entrance of her origins, but not quite.
She was Lain. As simple as that.
Alia stared at the girl with an intensity that could pierce through one’s soul. She then walked over to the girl, shoes clicking against the floors, each step echoed like a threat.
She circled Lain in a serpentine manner, elusive, utterly frightening. Alia took note of the girl’s out of place dressing, the way her shoulders stiffened.
“Where do you come from, Lain?” Alia asked, voice clear, tone wrapped in a sickly sweet velvet.
Lain tilted her head slightly, watching Alia with plain curiosity. “The Wired.”
The Wired. Paul searched in his consciousness where that word belonged in the crevices of his cerebrum, through dictionaries and indexes and groups and organizations—but none came up. This had no place in Arrakis, nor this universe at all.
Alia’s movements faltered, brows exposing a slight twitch of confusion.
The girl clasped her hands together, stepping forward with a courage lying in her chest that wasn’t there before.
Paul could sense the thump of her heartbeat beneath her thin flesh, insidious and calculated. In place of a child was an abomination, an essence that glitched itself into reality.
Lain was a mere girl, but there were more masks that slipped and the chime of a distant mechanical tool in her brain that exposed itself to Paul. Did she possess the forbidden? A tool that was the cause of an ancient war, shedding blood in its horrific reign thousands of years ago?
“I come from anywhere, somewhere, and nowhere at all. The Wired was my womb, but I chose to erase myself,” Lain spoke, her voice was monotonous, that small hum weighing itself in the air.
“And what is your purpose for coming here?” Paul asked calmly. All he knew was that she had no classification here, an unknown, something awaiting to become a threat. Or maybe not. It's been a while since Paul had been undecided of things.
She shrugged childishly, lips almost curling into a tiny smile.
“Where else could I go?”