The chamber was dimly lit, the faint glow of spice lamps casting long shadows on the walls of the Bene Gesserit birthing chamber. The air was thick with the aroma of melange, a reminder of the Sisterhood's eternal quest for power and control. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam lay upon the birthing couch, her breaths shallow and rapid. Around her stood a circle of Bene Gesserit sisters, their faces hidden beneath shadowed hoods, their murmured prayers a low hum in the chamber.
One sister stepped forward; her voice steady but tinged with urgency. "Reverend Mother, the child comes swiftly. She... she feels unnatural, even in the womb."
Mohiam's sharp gaze silenced the sister. "Unnatural? No. She is necessary. Do not fear what you cannot understand. Attend me!"
The child's arrival was preceded by an eerie stillness. The air seemed to ripple, as if reality itself hesitated at the threshold of her birth. When the babe emerged, her cry did not echo like a newborn's wail; it resonated with an otherworldly power that sent a shiver through the room.
One sister leaned closer, her face pale. "Her eyes... they glow."
The infant's eyes, a luminous light blue, glared up at the gathered sisters with an intensity that seemed to pierce their very souls. Mohiam's lips parted, her expression a mixture of awe and grim satisfaction. "She has the sight... even now. She will be... useful."
The child suddenly turned her gaze to the sister nearest to her, and a strange, melodic voice emerged from her tiny mouth. "Be silent."
The sister, compelled by the Voice, fell silent instantly, her mouth frozen mid-syllable. She staggered back, clutching at her throat, her fear palpable.
"An abomination!" one sister whispered, recoiling.
Another sister hissed, "She is too powerful. A mistake—"
"Enough!" Mohiam snapped, her tone cutting through the growing panic. She pulled herself upright, though she was visibly weakened from the ordeal. The Reverend Mother reached for the child, cradling the glowing infant in her arms.
The babe's glowing eyes met Mohiam's, unblinking, as if challenging her. Mohiam smirked. "You are no mistake. You are a weapon. A tool. And like all tools, you will be wielded by those who understand your purpose."
"What shall we call her, Reverend Mother?" another sister asked, her voice trembling.
Mohiam studied the child, her mind racing with possibilities. This was no ordinary creation; this was something beyond the Sisterhood's most ambitious experiments. She was born of an unprecedented union, a culmination of genetic manipulation and the spice's influence. A name worthy of her destiny was required.
"Lysara," Mohiam said at last, the name rolling off her tongue like an invocation. "She will be called Lysara. She is a harbinger of change. She will shape the future... or destroy it."
The sisters exchanged uneasy glances, their silence filled with the weight of the moment. Lysara, the abomination, rested in her mother's arms, her glowing eyes watching, already aware, already dangerous.
Mohiam whispered, as much to herself as to the child, "You will be the blade that cuts through the fabric of destiny. And I will be the hand that wields you."
Years passed within the cloistered halls of Wallach IX, the Bene Gesserit homeworld. Lysara grew quickly, far beyond the development of an ordinary child. Her eyes never lost their unearthly glow, a constant reminder of her unique power. The sisters watched her with equal parts reverence and fear, keeping their distance unless ordered otherwise by Reverend Mother Mohiam.
Now, at the age of six, Lysara sat cross-legged in the center of a stark chamber. Mohiam loomed over her, her presence as sharp as a blade.
"You must learn control," Mohiam said, her voice hard and unyielding. She paced around the girl, her hands clasped behind her back. "Power without discipline is chaos, and chaos serves no one."
Lysara tilted her head, her luminous eyes fixed on Mohiam. "Why should I learn control?" she asked, her voice unnervingly mature for her age. "The power is mine, not yours."
Mohiam stopped, her piercing gaze narrowing. "Do not mistake possession for mastery. The Voice you wield, the prescience that flows through you—they are tools. If you cannot wield them with precision, they will consume you."
Lysara smiled faintly. "And if I do master them, will I consume you?"
Mohiam's lips tightened, but she did not answer. Instead, she knelt before the child, her tone turning softer but no less commanding. "Lysara, you are not invincible. You are powerful, yes, but power alone will not shield you from the forces that will rise against you. You are an abomination in the eyes of many, even within the Sisterhood. Learn from me, or you will fall."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Lysara closed her eyes, her glowing lids darkening the room. The air grew thick, vibrating with an unseen energy. Mohiam's instincts flared, and she stepped back.
"Lysara, what are you doing?"
When Lysara opened her eyes, the glow was brighter, fiercer. Her small form radiated an energy that seemed to ripple through time itself.
"I am seeing," she said simply.
Suddenly, the chamber was filled with figures, their forms shimmering and ethereal. Men and women, their eyes glowing the same luminous blue as Lysara's, emerged from the air like ghosts. These were their shared ancestors, figures from the Bene Gesserit breeding program and beyond.
Mohiam gasped as the apparitions turned their gazes on her, their faces twisting with anger. One lunged forward, its hand slamming into her chest with an invisible force that sent her staggering. Another grabbed her arm, its grip cold and unyielding.
"Stop this, Lysara!" Mohiam barked, but the girl remained still, her eyes unblinking as she watched the scene unfold.
The apparitions pressed closer, their whispers a cacophony of ancient voices. "You bound us," one said. "You used us," said another.
Mohiam fell to her knees, her breath shallow as the weight of the apparitions crushed her. "Lysara! You must stop! You are not ready for this!"
Lysara tilted her head, her expression curious but detached. "They are angry with you, Mother. Should I listen to them?"
"NO!" Mohiam screamed, summoning the last reserves of her strength. She focused her gaze on the child, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Calm yourself! Control your power! NOW!"
The force of Mohiam's command shook the chamber. Lysara's glow dimmed, and the apparitions hesitated before dissolving into nothingness. The room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of Mohiam as she struggled to her feet.
Lysara watched her with an expression of mild curiosity. "You said I must learn control. I was testing."
Mohiam's eyes blazed with fury, but she swallowed her anger. "You nearly destroyed me—and yourself. That was not testing; that was recklessness."
Lysara smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
Mohiam stared at her for a long moment, then turned away. "Enough for today. Tomorrow, we begin again."
As she left the chamber, her thoughts churned. Lysara was more than an abomination. She was a force of nature. And Mohiam would have to find a way to harness her before it was too late.
The Bene Gesserit training chamber was a cold, austere room lined with shelves of ancient texts and spice-laden artifacts. At its center stood Reverend Mother Mohiam, her sharp eyes surveying her students. Around her, seated in a circle, were young initiates, their faces serious as they prepared to absorb the wisdom of their elder. Among them were Lady Jessica, poised and calm, and Lysara, her glowing blue eyes both disconcerting and mesmerizing.
"Today," Mohiam began, her voice cutting through the silence, "we delve into the threads of history, politics, and the limits of the human mind. These are the tools that will guide you. Fail to master them, and you will be nothing but pawns in a greater game."
She turned to the group, her gaze landing on Jessica first. "Jessica, tell me the significance of the Butlerian Jihad."
Jessica's voice was steady, her tone measured. "The Butlerian Jihad marked the destruction of thinking machines and the rise of human potential. It was a pivotal moment that led to the establishment of the Orange Catholic Bible and the foundation of the Great Schools."
Mohiam nodded approvingly. "And its relevance to the Bene Gesserit's mission?"
"To ensure that humanity remains in control of its own destiny," Jessica replied. "To hone the mind and body to perfection so that no machine could ever surpass us."
"Good." Mohiam turned her sharp gaze to Lysara. "And you, child. What is the greatest threat to humanity's survival?"
Lysara's luminous eyes met Mohiam's without hesitation. "Human weakness. Fear. Dependency. The inability to adapt to change. All these allow control to slip into the hands of those who wield power without understanding it."
A murmur rippled through the other sisters. Mohiam's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something—approval?—in her eyes.
"Very well," Mohiam said. "Now, politics. The Landsraad. Why does it exist?"
Jessica answered first. "The Landsraad maintains balance among the Great Houses. It is both a tool of power and a safeguard against chaos. Its existence ensures that no single House gains unchecked control."
"And its greatest weakness?" Mohiam pressed.
This time, Lysara spoke before Jessica. "The illusion of unity. The Houses pretend to cooperate, but their alliances are fragile. Greed and ambition always find a way to fracture the balance."
Mohiam's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Correct. And how might the Bene Gesserit exploit such weakness?"
Jessica hesitated, glancing briefly at Lysara. The younger girl's voice cut through the silence. "By sowing discord where it benefits us, aligning with those who serve our goals, and manipulating events to maintain equilibrium in a way that appears impartial."
Mohiam folded her hands, addressing the room. "Lysara's answer is sharp, but remember: even the Bene Gesserit must tread carefully. Overreach, and the web you weave can strangle you."
The Reverend Mother stepped forward, her tone shifting. "Now, the Voice. Show me your progress."
Jessica sat up straighter, her posture flawless. "Command me, Reverend Mother," she said.
Mohiam's Voice resonated, low and commanding. "Stand."
Jessica rose instantly, her movements fluid and precise.
"Sit."
Jessica obeyed without hesitation, her control evident.
Mohiam turned to Lysara. "And you, child?"
Lysara's glowing eyes locked on Mohiam. "Command me, if you dare," she said softly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Mohiam raised an eyebrow but complied. Her Voice became a blade. "Silence."
Lysara tilted her head, her smile widening. "Your Voice cannot bind me, Mother. You taught me too well."
A ripple of shock went through the room. Jessica's gaze darted between the two, her expression unreadable.
Mohiam exhaled sharply, her voice calm but firm. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, Lysara. Remember, the most dangerous tool is the one that cannot be controlled."
"And yet," Lysara said, her voice steady, "you continue to try."
The tension in the room was palpable as Mohiam straightened, addressing the group. "Class is dismissed. Jessica, remain for a moment."
The sisters filed out, whispers trailing behind them. As Lysara passed Mohiam, she paused. "You're afraid of me," she said quietly.
Mohiam's gaze hardened. "I fear nothing, child. Least of all you."
Lysara smiled faintly and left, her luminous eyes leaving an unsettling afterimage.
Once the door closed, Mohiam turned to Jessica. "Do you see now what you are up against?"
Jessica nodded, her voice soft. "She's... extraordinary."
"She's a threat," Mohiam corrected. "And she will either be the Bene Gesserit's greatest triumph—or its undoing."
Mohiam's piercing gaze turned to Jessica, sharp as a knife. She expected the usual deference, but Jessica's voice cut through the silence with uncharacteristic force.
"Why?" Jessica demanded, her composure momentarily slipping. "Why did you allow her to exist? You knew what she was—what she would become. You've spent your entire life preaching control and balance, yet you've created something that defies both."
Mohiam's expression darkened, but she did not immediately reply. She paced the room, the rustle of her robes the only sound. Finally, she stopped, her back to Jessica.
"Do you think I wanted this, child?" Mohiam said, her tone low and cold. "Do you think I didn't understand the danger she poses? Lysara was not created out of ambition or folly. She was created because she must exist."
Jessica stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "And why must she exist? What could possibly justify the creation of an abomination?"
Mohiam turned to face her, her eyes blazing with a rare intensity. "Because the universe is teetering on the edge of chaos. The Bene Gesserit have spent millennia weaving our threads into the fabric of power—guiding, influencing, controlling. But the web is fraying. The Kwisatz Haderach will come, and he will either unite the strands or burn them to ash. We needed a contingency. A balance to his power."
Jessica froze, her mind racing. "You mean to pit her against him? To use her as a weapon against the Kwisatz Haderach?"
Mohiam's lips curved into a grim smile. "Precisely. Lysara is the counterweight, the force that can oppose him if he strays from the path. Her power is beyond anything the Sisterhood has ever seen. If the Kwisatz Haderach proves uncontrollable, she will be the knife at his throat."
Jessica's voice dropped, filled with quiet fury. "And what if you can't control her? What if Lysara turns on us all?"
"That," Mohiam said, her voice unyielding, "is a risk we must take. Without her, we are powerless against what is coming. With her, we have a chance to survive."
Jessica's jaw tightened. "You speak of survival, but all I see is hubris. You've created a being you cannot control, a force you cannot predict. If Lysara destroys us, it will be on your hands."
Mohiam stepped closer, her presence oppressive. "Do not presume to lecture me, Jessica. You are a tool of the Sisterhood, just as she is. If you cannot accept the necessity of her existence, you have no place among us."
The air between them crackled with tension, but Mohiam said nothing more. She turned and swept from the room, leaving Jessica alone with her thoughts.