Notes: Jessica is still only 19 here, and Lysara is 7. It still feels tense and prophetic, but more direct in tone:
A Conversation in Shadow
The chamber on Wallach IX felt like a cave carved from old memory—cold, wide, and quiet. The stone walls were rough to the touch and darkened by time. Tapestries hung on them, faded but still powerful, showing the work of the Missionaria Protectiva: stories of shaping belief, of molding myth. The air smelled thickly of spice—sharp, sweet, and strange. A single melange lamp hung from the ceiling, glowing a deep orange, its light soft but constant.
Lysara sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, surrounded by silence and space. She was small for her age, though she carried herself like someone older. Seven years old, yet already a subject of worry for the Bene Gesserit. Around her were three items: a crysknife made from a sandworm's tooth, a tiny cup of pure spice, and a piece of plasteel etched with the words of the Litany Against Fear.
At the edge of the room stood Jessica, still only fifteen herself, still learning what it meant to be Bene Gesserit. Her robes hung loose around her shoulders, and her hands were tucked into her sleeves, as she had been taught. She had been summoned by Mohiam to observe Lysara's progress—though Jessica suspected the Reverend Mother wanted more than a simple report. Maybe she wanted to test Jessica, too.
A long silence stretched between them. Then Lysara finally spoke. Her voice was soft, but clear, like a bell rung far away.
"The spice flows through me, Sister," she said. "Would you like to see what it shows me?"
Jessica blinked, caught off guard by the tone. The girl wasn't showing off—she was offering something, as if they were equals. That unsettled Jessica more than any sign of power.
"Go on," Jessica said, keeping her voice calm.
Lysara raised one hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she focused. The crysknife lifted off the ground and hovered in the air, smooth and silent. The cup rose too, its golden liquid rippling as if stirred by wind. Finally, the shard of plasteel floated up and began to spin slowly. All three objects circled around her palm, moving faster with each second.
Jessica's breath hitched. This wasn't the Voice, or a trick of the body. This was something deeper—tied to the spice, but going beyond anything she had seen in her training. The room itself seemed to hum, a low sound that she felt more in her bones than her ears.
Lysara's eyes began to glow faintly. The glow sharpened, flickering like flame. Her voice, when it came again, was layered—like more than one person was speaking.
"I see paths," she whispered. "Some still woven. Others already cut. I see Fremen hidden in the rocks, waiting. I see Guild ships crossing black space, unsure of what they carry. And I see you, Sister… you carry a seed."
Jessica stiffened. Her training tried to hold her steady, but her thoughts spun. The girl couldn't know. Couldn't possibly know.
"What seed?" she asked, too sharply.
The objects dropped all at once, clattering against the stone floor. The hum stopped. Lysara looked up, meeting Jessica's eyes without fear.
"The child you'll have with Duke Leto," she said, her voice calm now. "You won't follow the Sisterhood's plan. You'll give him a son—not the daughter you were told to bear. I've seen it. The boy is already walking through the sands, his shadow long and dangerous."
Jessica's face turned pale. She took a step back before she caught herself. No one knew—not Mohiam, not Leto himself. She hadn't told anyone. She hadn't dared.
"You speak out of turn," she said coldly. "Prescience isn't a license to dig into the hearts of others."
"I didn't dig," Lysara replied. "The spice speaks loudly. Your secret is already there, humming like a song. Do it. Bear him. I want to see what your son becomes. I want to meet him."
Jessica walked forward slowly, stopping just in front of Lysara. She knelt, so their eyes were level. "Why encourage me?" she asked. "Why would you risk the Sisterhood's anger just to see this boy?"
Lysara tilted her head slightly. Her voice was soft, but serious. "Because Mohiam made me to be a weapon. A counterbalance. But she doesn't understand everything. I want to face the boy you'll bring into the world. Not as a tool. As myself."
Jessica studied her face. She had never seen such focus, such certainty, in a child. Something strange passed between them then—a flicker of something that might have been understanding.
"You speak like he's already alive," Jessica murmured. "Do you see more?"
Lysara looked past her, eyes distant. "I see sand soaked with blood. I see a lion fall. I see stillsuits shining in the moonlight. And I hear a voice—his voice—calling from the dunes. He is like me… but not me. His eyes are blue-within-blue."
Jessica's heart skipped. She didn't mean to react, but she couldn't stop it. That image—the desert, the voice, the eyes—it matched dreams she'd barely admitted to herself.
"You're tampering with powers you don't understand," she said. "You could lose yourself to these visions."
"I might," Lysara said. "But I'd rather see too much than see nothing at all. Watch."
She closed her eyes again. The air shimmered—thickened. Before them, a new image formed in the air like heat over stone. It showed a wide desert, endless and golden, under twin suns. Fremen walked across it in silence, their stillsuits clinging close to their bodies. A great worm rose in the distance, huge and terrible. Then the scene shifted: a man stood on a cliff, wind in his hair. Beside him, a boy. His eyes blazed blue.
Jessica pulled back. "That's enough. You're drawing too much. You'll hurt yourself."
The vision vanished. Lysara opened her eyes slowly. "Did I scare you, Sister? Or did I show you something you already knew?"
Jessica stood, her voice low. "You showed me one future. Not the future. Even the best seers can be wrong."
Lysara nodded. "Maybe. But you haven't told Mohiam. You haven't told anyone. And you're not going to. So tell me, Sister—why defy them? Why risk everything for a son?"
Jessica hesitated. Her throat tightened. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
"Because I love him," she said. "Duke Leto. Not as a task or a genetic match. As a man. And if I give him a daughter, she'll be theirs. But a son… a son will be ours. Something we chose, not something they ordered."
Lysara's expression softened. For a moment, she seemed almost ordinary—just a girl, trying to understand something bigger than herself.
"Love," she said. "I don't know what it feels like. But I know it changes things. Do it. Have your son. I won't tell Mohiam. Not yet."
Jessica stared at her. "Why protect me?"
Lysara stood, slow and steady. "Because I want to meet him. I want to see what kind of storm he brings. And I want to be ready."
The room went quiet again. The air felt heavier somehow, but clearer too. Jessica turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused.
"You're more dangerous than they realize," she said.
Lysara gave a faint smile. "So are you."
As Jessica stepped out into the stone corridor, the echo of Lysara's final words followed her:
"The game has already started, Sister. Let's see who wins."