Planet: Harkonnen V — Four Months Before Selariin-Vex's Breakdown
Harkonnen V was considered impenetrable.
Mental firewalls. Union-grade neural mesh.
Species-wide synchrony rituals every solstice.
No species dreamed as cleanly as the Vexians.
And still—
The Envoy got in.
Origin Point: Dying Ship, Uncharted Debris Ring, Sector 7-R
A distress beacon was picked up by Harkonnen’s orbital defense net.
Vexian protocol dictated they respond to all calls, no matter the origin. Mercy was a pillar of their creed.
So a shuttle was dispatched. Six Vexian paramedics boarded the drifting vessel.
Inside, they found no crew.
No logs.
No power source.
Just one figure.
Genderless. Cloaked. Still breathing.
Eyes sewn shut.
Mouth whispering without breath.
“I dream of mirrors and I see you clearly.”
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The paramedics reported no danger.
They called it a “survivor.”
They brought it back.
Week One: The Assimilation
The being didn’t eat.
Didn’t speak in daylight.
But it smiled.
Neural scans showed nothing.
Security logs showed everything was fine.
Citizens who saw the envoy couldn’t describe it afterward. Just…
“I think they were lovely. Or maybe…sad.”
Dream statistics began to shift.
Nothing dramatic.
Just… more people forgetting their dreams.
More waking up with tears they couldn’t explain.
Week Two: Seed Bloom
Children began drawing fractured faces in mirror frames.
Artists started painting with shades that didn’t exist in their spectrum.
One poet was arrested after screaming during a performance:
“WE WERE NEVER THE FIRST DREAMERS!”
His audience applauded. Thought it was theater.
He died in his cell.
His brain: empty of neural data.
Just white noise and two words looping:
“Mirror here.”
Week Three: Systemic Bleed
The planet's dream-synchrony failed.
The first time in Vexian history.
Half the species began waking up at random hours, shaking, convulsing, unsure who they were.
Hospitals overflowed.
And in every report, across every profession, one shared symptom emerged:
They dreamed of eyes.
Not their own.
Backstage: The Envoy Moves
It walked through restricted corridors with no ID.
It stood in the council chamber and wasn’t seen.
It whispered to statues and they listened.
In the archives, it left one message written in forbidden tongues:
“The Vexian Dream was flawless.
We left a hairline crack.
And now, we flood in.”
Present Time — Four Days After Selariin-Vex’s Disappearance
Across Harkonnen V, citizens begin referring to reflections in plural.
“Them” when speaking of mirrors.
“No, that’s not me, that’s the other one.”
And one by one—
They begin smiling like the envoy.
Elsewhere — Lys, aboard the Valkyrion
She jolts awake mid-flight.
Sweat. Pulse racing.
A voice, not hers, not Kael’s, whispers in the dark:
“They were never immune. Just…next.”