Atheia was a beautiful city.

It was like a jewel among common stones; a gem to behold amongst its brethren cities. And even its rival cities. By day it towered over all with its sun-baked brick walls, stained white with a stony wash. Some, but a rare few, were etched from solid rock, to the point where one could never quite be sure what was hewn by man and what was not. It was a marvel of its time in the Valley; a true capital of commerce and trade to be sure. People of various sorts came from far and wide; from every corner of the Valley, to buy, sell, and haggle for goods. Days were hot and dusty; clouds of dry, tan dirt kicked up by travelling wagons of hay or vegetables gave everything it landed on a pale, worn look. The noise was unequaled in any region. The raised voices of vendors; the cheering of drunken warriors; the laughter of children; all these things were staple sounds of the Valley's greatest city. The Valley's safest point.

A safehaven for all.

But it was at night that it showed its true beauty. At night, when it was far too dark to see the dry gray and tan of dust; at night when the crowds had died down to the simple barking of mutts in the streets, far in the distance; that was when the true Atheia began to glimmer. It shimmered with the warm glow of countless torches, one outside each resident's home like some sort of path for weary travelers to follow. The light flickered off of every wall, filling the city with a blanket of descending peace and safety. Stars, more than any man, woman, or child could ever count, dazzled the black sky, lined on the horizon by mellow dunes of aging sand. It gave a sense of security. A sense of true reflection and ease of mind.

Except tonight.

On the balcony of the city's great palace, a figure, clothed in flowing folds of silk and veils, stood rigid and alert. The wind ruffled her garments, and what little hair showed from beneath her shawl riggled against her forehead. What was most visible was her eyes. They seemed to glint with a fire all their own, a glimmering beauty like the stars above. Blue orbs, wide in concentration; scanning the land as though searching for something. Something she feared, for her hands, braced against the wall, shook with an ever waning tremble. Like a child when a nightmare has passed but is still so very real in memory. The glow of the full moon glinted off of those eyes; pools of calm, smooth concern; and yet they were indeed edged with fear of an almost panicked kind.

Thorn refused to blink. Even though she could feel the exhaustion from the day pulling at her eyelids, she refused to let it win. She was tired, but she had been tired before and had dealt with it. It would not control her. A blink would send her to sleep; she was certain. All it would take would be a meeting of her lids and all would be over. And she could not sleep tonight. Why, she did not know; only that it was crucial. She could feel it in her soul; feel it in her heart. And those were things she always followed.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

A disturbance in the Dreaming, of that she was most assured. She could feel it deep within her, and most strongly when she lay on the warm mattress of her bed. A sort of softly growing threat, still so small that it would be so easy to mock. But Thorn knew better. She could almost feel it watching her; waiting for her to let down her guard. Waiting with hateful eyes full of vengeance and loathing; stronger than anything she had ever felt before but hidden in a pitiful lump. It was trying to decieve her. Thorn could almost see a face in her thoughts; a vague outline of the evil she could sense, crouching.

Waiting to strike.

It made her shiver, pulling the robes of her garment against her body, though not for warmth.

"Thorn?!"

The Queen of Atheia gave a startle, jarring herself away from the thoughts that had been closing in around her. The moment was shattered. The threat had fled; she could sense that too. Like a wary beast, it had rehidden itself. But somewhere, it lurked. She was certain.

Turning to the open doorway behind her, Thorn winced at the sudden presence of a torch in her bedroom. It cast light all about the room, as well as long, pitch black shadows. Thorn raised a hand to shield her eyes, giving a sigh, whether of relief or frustration she couldn't tell, when her eyes lighted on a familiar figure.

"Gran'ma?" she inquired, seeing the concern on the elderly woman's wrinkled face. "Is...Is something wrong?" But she knew something was wrong. She had simply hoped that it was only she who had sensed it.

Rose Harvester, better known by the name Gran'ma Ben, stood in the stone archway, chest heaving and eyes wild in a way that had become increasingly rare. For a moment, she looked as if she were terrified for her life; but that couldn't be right. Gran'ma was more than capable of taking care of herself, herstrength outlasting and outdoing even the strongest of men. And she feared very little, having faced more dangers in a lifetime tham most might in a hundredlifetimes. The only thing that could scare her this much was...if Thorn herself were in danger.

Gran'ma didn't waste any time with pleasantries. She moved swiftly and silently across the floor, her eyes sweeping the room carefully before lighting on her grandaughter's face. She stopped, and they were so close Thorn could feel the old woman's breath ruffling her veil. "You felt it; didn't you?" Her voice held a desperation that vastly clashed with the calmness of the room and the city below them. When Thorn only stared back, Gran'ma gave her an insistant shake. Not hard, but certainly forceful. "Thorn, please, do not try to protect me by keeping silent! You know full well how that worked out for you and I before!" Still, her voice was little more than a harsh whisper, as though she didn't want anyone to hear.

Thorn winced, remembering all the years of silence that had nearly torn apart her relationship with her only living relative. Only now that she was Queen herself, like her grandmother once was before her, did she fully understand why Gran'ma had done what she had. There were just some times when silence was less painful, and less dangerous, to others. There were times when the truth would do more harm than good.

And this was not one of those times.

Realizing that this was far more serious than she had first thought, Thorn reached forward, taking her grandmother by the elbow and leading her swiftly out onto the balcony. Time as the city's Queen, as well as the hardships she had endured to get there, had made Thorn far more mature than her age might suggest. With a calm and dignity she always seemed to possess, even though she didn't always feel it, Thorn took the torch from Gran'ma Ben and set it into a place in the wall. "Yes," she said hurriedly; already knowing what her grandmother meant. "Yes. I felt it."

That dreadful feeling of rising evil. Yes; she recognized it.

Gran'ma nodded, seeming to get a hold of herself to some degree. Her eyes scanned the horizen, like an eagle she searched for something they both knew was too well hidden to be found. "I don't know what it is. It is strong; very strong. I felt it in my sleep; felt it in the Dreaming."

Thorn nodded, giving her grandmother's arm a series of comforting pats. If Gran'ma had felt it, it must have been very strong indeed. Thorn had believed that only she, as a Veni-Yan-Cari, had felt the presence in the darkness. For Gran'ma to feel it, nearly as strongly as she did herself, was a very bad sign.

Taking a steadying breath, Thorn swallowed down a rare sense of panic that threatened to come through her facade of control. She hated being the one in control. She hated being the one everyone looked up to, despite the fact that everyone told her how well she filled that position. She hated having the lives of so many held in the palm of her hand, and was constantly afraid of dropping them. Of breaking them.

"From where, Gran'ma? From where did it come?" She had an idea, a sense, but she really didn't want to consider it. She really didn't want it to be what an inkling inside her so persistantly urged her understand. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to even entertain the possibility. Maybe Gran'ma could allay her fears; strike them down before they consumed her...But she was sadly mistaken.

Gran'ma Ben stepped further out onto the balcony, illuminated in blue, misty moonlight. It would have been pretty, if not for her words. Four words that cut Thorn deep, right to the heart, causing the breathe to freeze in her throat.

"From across the desert..."

Hello! I'm Zeragii!

I've written a few Bone shorts here on fanfiction in the past, and enjoyed it very much; so now I'm back with a full-blown sequel to the original Bone comics. Now, naturally, I do not own, nor claim to own anything pertaining to Bone in any way. I am simply a fan having an immense amount of fun. I do not write for profit. I write only for my own enjoyment, and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others.

This is just a prologue to get me started. Much longer chapters to be expected in the future...