Chapter Text
“There is the unknown, the fear, and the fool. So rise above them and become a god. Feed into the delusion of men and let them become your weapons. Muad'Dib, we follow you even into death. Muad'Dib, we follow you. The world whispers your name. Muad’Dib, let your water run.” -unknown
Arrakeen, Arrakis-throne room.-10,199 AG
Padishah Emperor Paul Muad'Dib Atreides sits on his throne. He is the Kwisatz Haderach, Mahdi, Lisan al-Gaib, Duke of Arrakis, well, he was. It is hard to be those things when you get stabbed in the chest and die on your throne. How fitting this is for the way he goes. He was also an omega, but that was less important than this.
“I must say it hurt,” Paul said with a grin.
“I would worry if it did not, my lord,” the person who stabbed him said.
“It is done. It this is?” Paul asked; he felt a bit sad about dying but was also calm. To be honest, for all his fear, death is like an old friend. It had been too long, he should have dined with death earlier.
“It is done,” the person said with a shrug.
Paul just smiles and dies. Mortal, he is. In another life, he would be the father of Leto and Ghanima Atreides. He would have been blind and killed by his sister Alia, but not in this life. He doubted it would ever get to that life. That is fine. The thing about the future Paul learns is that it is whimsy and foolish. For all his sight, he does not see all, and fate will always like to throw a cruel hand at him. It is a dance that Paul only knows half the steps of; it is lost and blinding, far too fast and ever-changing. Then again, he was never good at dancing. Is this what they call a dead man talking? Paul Atreides just laughs before everything goes black.