The dust of the narrow passage was thick – almost choking. Feyd had evidently chosen the so called “sanctuary” for more than the name professed. The evident disuse and stratified build-up of dust made for a place that was as close to private as the Harkonnen Citadel could be. The lack of disturbance of the grey dusty expanse reminded Thea of fresh snow. And she now found herself on the run in this delicate and abandoned corridor. She craved for a solid hand and a shrill voice telling her what to do; but there was nothing. Calum only breathed silently behind her. She kept stepping forward, mind unsure yet aware stopping was not an option. She knew her control of the situation was almost gone, and now fording forth into a cavern of dust was all she had to work with. Slowly in the din a white X came into focus. Was that graffiti? A Saltire! Stark in the path. Thea felt her hand come to her mouth slowly in an action that felt empty. Calum mirrored her frozen posture behind her. Calum reached his long and stocky arm forward, extending over her shoulder and into the void space before them. He never made contact, as if it were taboo. A series of sharp clacks were made on the floor. Focusing past the saltire in their path she could see the spider – seemingly waiting impatiently for them. Pressing her lips together she bent and stepped through the arms of the X. The feeling of her clothing brushing against the massive relic felt utterly wrong. She wanted to recoil. Calum brushed through behind her, surely leaving dust disturbed. The spider resumed its course ahead of them, reaching a split. It paused, then darted left. Pausing expectantly with it’s many eyes looking back at them again. A door creaked open, one out of sight. “Laika you know you cannot be here”. The spider jolted and vanished down the passage. In its wake, the silence turned viscous and a shape emerged from the right. Thea felt her pulse beat painfully in the crux between her neck and jaw. She ached for respite. Black robes and a bald head stepped into view. They moved with purpose and no fear. The subtlety of this person’s energy unnerved her. A flash of adrenaline sparked through her painfully as the figure spoke, raising a pale hand in a diffusive gesture. “Lady Harkonnen” “The Baron summons you” Thea felt her body go heavy, suppressed only by habit. Calum always loyal pressed his chest to her back to keep her upright. He could sense her rebellious nervous system. The figure w

Chapter 1: Submersion of the Self

The air in the Drowning Chamber was so thick with the smell of wet stone and decay that Thea felt she was breathing in liquid. Water dripped from stalactites overhead, each plink echoing in the cavernous space. The only light came from a single lantern swinging from a rusted hook, casting frantic shadows that danced across walls slick with algae. The floor was a nightmare of slippery, uneven stones and shallow, black pools that reflected the flickering light like broken mirrors.

“This is a shit way to make an point,” Thea muttered, her voice swallowed by the damp.

Behind her, Calum shifted his weight. He didn’t speak. He never needed to. His presence was a solid, stocky wall at her back, a silent promise. She could feel his eyes cataloging every shadow, every potential threat in the gloom. She forged ahead, her boots skidding on a slime-covered rock. She caught herself, her palm scraping against the rough wall. A cold trickle of water ran down her wrist.

A series of frantic, clicking sounds echoed from the darkness ahead. Thea froze.

“Laika?” she called out, her voice softer now.

From a crevice high in the wall, a shape detached itself from the shadows. Laika was massive, her eight legs moving with a delicate, fearful grace as she picked her way down the wet rock. Her multifaceted eyes caught the lantern light, gleaming for a moment before she shyly dipped her head.

Afraid, the thought formed in Thea’s mind, a whisper that wasn’t her own. So afraid. They are waiting.

“I know they are,” Thea said aloud, reaching a hand out, then letting it drop when Laika flinched back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to come any further.”

Want to help. Thea… bad water. Bad memories in the water. Laika’s clicks were a staccato of anxiety. She scuttled backwards, merging once more with the darkness, her clicks fading into the relentless drip-drip-drip of the chamber.

Thea swallowed hard, pushing down the cold knot of fear in her stomach. She took another step forward, into a wider part of the cavern. Here, the floor was strangely flat, a sheet of dark, polished stone that reflected the ceiling above. It looked like a pool of still, black oil.

“Almost through,” she said, more to herself than to Calum.

She took one more step onto the mirrored surface.

And it gave way.

There was no crack, no warning shatter. The solid floor simply vanished from beneath her feet as if it had never been there at all. She dropped into absolute blackness, a void of shocking cold.

The impact drove the air from her lungs. Icy water, thick and heavy, flooded her mouth and nose. She flailed, disoriented, the world a roaring, silent pressure in her ears. Panic was a live wire in her veins.

Then, it wasn't just water.

It was her sister Mary’s laughter, bright and bubbling, filling her head as the water filled her lungs. The sound was so clear, so painfully real, it was a sharper agony than the lack of air.

“Thea, catch me!”

Another memory surged forward, unbidden, a wave of sensation that had weight and taste. Her mother’s voice, thin and frayed, the words she’d fought to say pressed into Thea’s palm along with a small, cold key. “Don’t let him… don’t let him have it.”

The memories were a riptide, pulling her under. She was drowning in them, the past as tangible and suffocating as the black water. Her thrashing slowed. The burning in her chest began to fade into a numb acceptance. This was how it ended. Not in a fight, but in a flood of everything she’d tried to outrun.

A shadow blotted out the faint light far above. A face, distorted by the water and the glassy surface she’d fallen through. Calum. His mouth was open in a scream she couldn’t hear, his hand pressed flat against the barrier as if he could break it by will alone.

His silhouette was fading, the world turning to a soft, welcoming grey.

Then his voice punched through the water, not a sound but a command etched directly onto her soul.

Breathe through the pain!

The instruction was insane. To breathe was to die. But the sheer, brutal force of his will reached her. It was an anchor line thrown into the storm.

She stopped fighting the water. She stopped fighting the memories. She let them flow into her, a torrent of ice and fire and sound. She opened her mouth.

And she breathed in.