Born to a Fremen mother during the final wave of the Great Purge. His father was a Naib—killed in the defense of the last known sietch.
The newborn was hidden in a spice cocoon inside the rocks as Sardaukar descended. The battle slaughtered the entire sietch.
As the sietch burned, a Bene Gesserit Sister—present as an observer and information-broker for the Emperor—heard the faint cries of a child under stone. Against orders, she claimed the infant as a “desert orphan” and spirited him away.
Raised on Caladan, in the coastal Atreides city of Kara Talin, under the guardianship of the Sister.
Given the Atreides name Calen Virel Atras and taught the arts of diplomacy, discipline, and silence.
He believed he was a ward of House Atreides—one of many orphans granted a noble education in exchange for loyal service.
Jahir was never told his origin. When he asked about the sand dreams and the smell of spice in his mind, he was told:
Memory sometimes lingers in the blood. Do not chase ghosts.
Studied Bene Gesserit techniques unofficially—he learned the Voice, the beginnings of prana-bindu mastery, and the Ways of Observation.
Trained with Atreides tacticians and served as a quiet scribe during water negotiations with minor noble houses.
Always calm. Always observing. A trusted shadow.
He could mimic any noble’s voice, walk silently for hours, and never raised his voice even once before age sixteen.
Despite his service, Jahir was accused of “subversive thought” after voicing concerns about the Guild’s sudden silence over Arrakis.
His mentor—the Bene Gesserit who raised him—died under suspicious circumstances shortly after a visit from a Guild emissary.
With no family, no defense, and lingering suspicion, he was exiled. The official reason: “Conduct unbecoming of House Atreides.”
Before he was taken aboard the exile barge, a scribe pressed a small spice vial into his palm, marked with an ancient Fremen keffiyeh knot. “The sand remembers, even if we do not,” the scribe whispered.
Dropped off in the Ergs south of Carthag. Assumed to be a dead man.
But the spice awakened his bloodline. Visions of sandworms, of chants in the deep desert, of names never spoken in the palace halls.
He is mistaken for a spice scavenger or lowborn trader... until he walks into a forbidden ruin and opens doors sealed since the Purge.
He begins to recover fragmented memories—of kinships lost, names burned from history, and a legacy the Empire failed to erase.
Rescued by an enclave of Fremen survivors—a clandestine group known as the Duskwalkers, composed of exiled or hidden Fremen remnants.
They recognized something in his movements, dreams, and the keffiyeh knot he carried.
He was put through a modified spice trial and earned the name Jahir al’Kezar after recalling the sietch chant in a trance.
Trained as a Fedaykin among the Duskwalkers.
He’s mastered knife combat, infiltration, and the rituals of silence.
He has not yet mastered the sandwalk, still moves slightly wrong in open dunes, causing thumpers to be deployed.
He can fight like a shadow, think like a Sister, but the desert still doesn't fully accept him.