SANDSTORMS

002. Personal Fears.

CHAPITRE II:
PERSONAL FEARS.

"To attempt an understanding of Muad'Dib without understanding the premises of his relationship with the known Qalb Suhraa, is to attempt seeing Truth without knowing Falsehood. It is the attempt to see the Light without knowing Darkness. It can not be."

— from 'Collected Legends of Qalb Suhraa' by Emel Corrino

SWEAT CLUNG TO MADHAVI'S EVERY PORE, an unyielding testament to the fervor with which she pursued the training dummies. Her hair, damp and unruly, framed a face marked by zealous determination. In the rhythmic dance of combat, she found solace—the split air, the hiss of breath, and the internal fire that crackled in her gut, an orchestra of chaos led by her skill. In these moments, thought yielded to instinct, making her a formidable adversary, unpredictable and feared.

In the midst of her relentless training, a voice pierced through the symphony of battle. "Do you mind if I prac-"

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as Madhavi's blade materialized with alarming speed, poised mere millimeters from the speaker's throat. With unyielding focus, she met the startled gaze of the intruder, her hazel eyes ablaze with the reflection of her dagger's edge.

"The old man is supposed to be training you."

Paul Atreides, the interrupter, regarded her with wide-eyed incredulity, prompting a bemused quirk of her brow.  Couldn't he leave her to her solitude?

"Gurney told me to come to you, that you'd teach me a thing or two."

Her dagger remained steady, a silent barrier between trust and uncertainty. A smirk played at the corners of young Idaho's lips as she finally lowered her weapon. Paul, catching his breath, watched her with cautious curiosity.

"Are you going to pay me for my extra childcare hours?" she retorted, tossing a Holtzman shield in his direction, a challenge he effortlessly caught. His response carried a teasing undertone, leaving unspoken questions hanging in the air like lingering apparitions.

"I would advise you to wear one too," he countered, his tone infused with playful ambiguity.

He who laughs last laughs best, Madhavi mused as she regarded him, her body silently protesting against his presence like an unheeded warning. Like attempting to persuade an addict to forsake their vice, she relished the challenge of testing others, unfazed even by the persistent unease echoing in her mind.

"Attack." The command, propelled by an unseen force, compelled Paul forward, his eyes widening in realization as he lunged at Madhavi against his own will. The clash of blades was swift, a testament to the young Atreides gathering his wits amidst the tumult of involuntary movement. Each limb had betrayed him, responding to a power that transcended their autonomy.

"You used the Voice on me!" Paul exclaimed, still reeling from the shock. The force behind the command had shaken him to his core, leaving a haggard expression etched across his face. Madhavi reveled in the spectacle, a broad smile gracing her features. Before he could say more, she cut him off.

"Did I?" she mused before going back into fighting stance. "Stop talking and fight."

Paul tried to resist but the urge was far too strong. No matter what they said to reassure themselves, men were weak―as weak as the most fragile reed in the universe.