Chani kneels on the desert floor, her fremen stillsuit blending seamlessly with the dunes. Her braided hair flows behind her, and her face is marked with dust and determination. She holds a crysknife poised for defense, her spice-blue eyes locked on the horizon. Behind her, the faint outline of Sietch Tabr is carved into the rocks, hidden from view. The sky glows orange, the promise of a storm building in the distance.
