They say where one goes, the other follows.
In the sprawling expanse of the cosmos, Paul Atreides and Seraphina Sylvane are bound together by an unbreakable tether. Despite the light years and planetary divides throughout the Known Universe, their...
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"Imperial Diary. Year 10,191. Third comment."
A woman's voice rang out across her opulent office, where the golden light of the sun filtered gently through the tall, arched windows. Princess Irulan leaned back in her intricately carved chair, her eyes distant, reflecting the weight of her contemplations. The room, filled with the scent of exotic blooms and lined with the wisdom of countless books, stood as a sanctuary for her thoughts.
Creating diaries of her thoughts had become a solace, a practice inherited from her father, Shaddam IV. He often spoke of the similarities they shared with her grandfather, who meticulously recorded his thoughts in the shadows of his own office. Those journals, relics of a past emperor, were now lost and never to be found, but Shaddam IV remembered them vividly. He often mused about how those pages likely contained the harsh judgment of a father who deemed his son a failure. Irulan could still recall the bitterness in her father's voice, his words laced with contempt and distaste for the late emperor.
Even now, Irulan could see the lingering hatred in her father's eyes, a loathing that had not faded with the passage of years.
"The battle for Arrakis took everyone by surprise. There were no witnesses," Irulan continued, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the arm of her chair. Her gaze drifted to the open window, where the soft light of the sun cast a warm glow, a stark contrast to the dark nature of her thoughts. "The Harkonnen operation was perpetrated overnight, without warning or declaration of war."
"By morning, the Atreides were no more. Even the ever-faithful stag, the Atreides heir's betrothed, the sole heir of House Sylvane. Gone. Dead. All died in the dark."
She took a deep breath, the memory of a morning spent with her father in the garden surfacing. They had played chess, a game of strategy that mirrored the political machinations of the empire. As days passed, she had observed her father becoming increasingly lost in thought, his paranoia rising with the encroaching shadows of night. "And the Emperor said... nothing."
"Since that night, my father has not been the same. Nor have I," she spoke softly, her mind picturing her father now, likely sitting alone in the garden once more. "And it went worse the moment he finished his final move against the Marquis."
"Rumors have spread just as my father planned." Irulan's gaze shifted to her cup, filled with water that she imagined as red wine—Nyxshade. "A Marquis filled with anguish and loss ended himself by his office, alone in his Castle of the planet Verdantia, the moment he heard the news of his Concubine and his beloved daughter dead on Arrakis along with the Atreides."
"But I am not fooled by the rumors, for I was there that night. I saw a final glimpse of the man before he chose his end," Irulan continued, recalling the night she had escorted her father to Verdantia. "A cowardly end, some may say, but the Marquis chose it to protect his planet and his people. It is a question of who will take over House Sylvane and the planet Verdantia now that their bloodline has ended."
