A/N: It's been awhile since I've done anything in the Charmed verse, hasn't it? I was going back through some of the DVD's (it's been awhile) when I wanted to take a break from some of my other ongoing stories and write a quick dose of my three favorite witches. This is sort of set up like a regular episode, and it's most likely not going to be too long, but I'm not going to promise it won't be too long because anytime I promise that, it ends up being forty chapters, and I don't want to jinx myself.

I've wanted to both write a Charmed story as well as write a Phoebe/Cole story for a while now, so I'm compromising and doing one of the two now, as I love Phoebe/Cole and Cole himself far too much to do a regular story – when I do a Cole-centric story it's going to be long and complicated and I don't want to commit myself to that just now.

Historian's Note: This story takes place during the second season of Charmed, when the Power of Three consisted of Prue, Piper and Phoebe. It takes place some time after "Pardon My Past" and some time before "Give Me a Sign," so expect spoilers through to that episode – any mistakes in what has and has not happened up to "Pardon My Past" are entirely mine and feel free to correct me in a review/comment if I'm wrong.

Charmed

Phoenix Song

Prologue: The Vision

Phoebe was standing on a platform, high above the earth. The scorched air of the desert hung around her, the scent of fire and of sand hung heavy in the air around her. Her hair swirled gently in a hot breeze, smelling of rain, perhaps a storm. A mighty river swam in the distance, and she wasn't altogether surprised when she turned around and saw a pyramid in the distance.

Egypt, she thought, but there was no joy in the thought – or any feeling. Phoebe looked down at her hands and saw that she wasn't Phoebe Halliwell anymore. Her skin was a rich, luxurious brown, her hair ebony black and down nearly to her waist, strung through with gold filigree. She was dressed in a light white dress with a gold cord tied around her waist, uncomfortable sandals on her feet, and a small gold pendant around her neck.

Her feet were very uncomfortable, in fact; Phoebe had a vague sense that whoever she was in this dream (no, vision, this was far too real to be a dream) had climbed to the top of this stone structure overlooking a rich city teeming with life, and for a purpose, an important purpose. She was a witch, Phoebe sensed – the body her dreaming self was inhabiting had strong magic thrumming through her veins, almost as strong as what Phoebe herself felt. But was this Egypt of today? There were no cars, certainly, but she knew from magazine articles and geography lectures at college that there were parts of Egypt where only ten rich people owned cars and the rest of the crowds just walked.

No, this was ancient Egypt, the Egyptian empire romanticized in legend and folklore and history classes through the ages. Phoebe heard a shuffling from behind her and turned, her heart in her throat. There was a spell on her lips that she was unfamiliar with, a dangerous, offensive curse, but when an older man struggled over the lip of the rooftop that she was standing on, her body relaxed. The man took a swig out of a wineskin on his hip and composed himself for a moment as she waited politely.

"A magnificent city, is it not?" he asked after a short time.

"Yes, it is. From all of the gold reflecting the light of Ra I understand now why the call Heliopolis the City of the Sun," Phoebe responded, her voice a deep, almost manly yet sensual husk.

"And you understand the importance of the task the High Priestess has laid upon your shoulders, girl?" the man asked, regarding her seriously. "Our enemies are at their strongest after their hellish ritual, may the jackals of Anubis rip them to shreds. Should anything go wrong, this world will be plunged into five hundred years of darkness."

"Yes, I understand, milord," she said quickly. "Lady Senephet was successful in passing her powers onto me before they attacked last night."

"So, the stories are true, then, and Senephet has fallen." Phoebe nodded, shot through with the phantom grief that the witch's body she was inhabiting felt. Whoever Lady Senephet had been, she had been well-loved. The older man bowed his head for a moment. "They have grown bold and they have grown powerful to have spilled the blood of the High Priestess of Isis upon the sand. They are desperate to stop us."

"I will not allow her death to be in vain," Phoebe vowed angrily. The old man glared at her fiercely.

"You do not do this for petty human reasons such as grief!" He chastised her with rage in his voice and Phoebe shrunk back from it. "You have been entrusted with a sacred trust from the very Powers that created this world! You do this for them, not for your murdered teacher, for if you let the weakness of vengeance into your soul your enemies will exploit it and destroy you, and in so doing destroy us all!"

He took a step toward her, then made a strange, choked, gurgling noise, before he slumped forward, a glowing athame deep in his back. Phoebe jerked back, horrified, as the dagger burned into the man's skin. Acting on instinct, Phoebe threw herself off the edge of the temple as the man's body exploded, the cursed athame completing its spell. Blood showered on her from above as she whispered an incantation that slowed her fall, letting her land gently on the steps of the sacred temple of Bast, sacred no more.

People on the street who had been showered with gore stared at her in horror. She had to get out of there before they disregarded her priestly garments and turned on her as well! Phoebe looked up at the temple in time to see a sensuously handsome warlock pull a cloak over his face before he vanished in the blink of an eye. She had no allies left that she could think of, the Cult was too strong and it would hunt her down to the end of her days. She sprinted from the crowds, feeling tears on her face and trying to stop crying before she realized that she wasn't crying, she was merely feeling the priest's blood trickle from her forehead down to her chin.

"Phoebe! Phoebe, wake up!"

Phoebe jerked up in bed to see her sister, Prue, staring at her in concern. Piper stood in the doorway, shocked. "You were screaming, Phoebe," Prue said, starting to look genuinely worried. "Was it that bad of a nightmare?"

"It wasn't a nightmare, Prue," Phoebe said, shuddering as she tried to collect herself. Her bed was soaked in sweat, and she could feel the grime of it on her skin. The warmth of the liquid reminded her of the blood of her dream and she swallowed down a gag. "It was a vision, an incredibly powerful one. I couldn't stop it, and...I've been having flashes, the last week or so, but I thought they were just dreams because they were little things here and there, always about Egypt. But this time I was there, I was another witch."

"Do you think it could be a past life, like when you saw visions of yourself back when you were a warlock?" Piper asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"No, this didn't feel like that – there was no familiarity. The last time, when I was seeing those visions, I knew that I was seeing myself, you know?" Phoebe struggled to put it into words. "This time, it was like...like I was an outsider, a watcher or a ghost who just sort of faintly was in the same body as the witch from the past."

"So what does that mean? Your visions of the past have always been connected to an object you've touched," Prue reminded her. "Did I bring something from Egypt home from Buckland's? Because the last archeological showing we had that was from Egypt was that cursed jar that your friend Clay stole last year; I don't know what it could be."

"All I know was that this was a bad one, Prue," Phoebe said. She didn't know where her sense of certainty was coming from, but she trusted it. "This witch, whoever she was, she was incredibly powerful, part of a heritage of protectors of a force of good magic. I'm not sure what, or why, but from what I could gather she had to do or protect something, because if she didn't, five hundred years of darkness would follow, like the scales would tip toward evil instead of good."

"So if you're having these visions now," Piper said slowly, "then maybe it's five hundred years all over again?"

"I think so," Phoebe said. "Something's coming – something bad, something we haven't faced before. And if we don't stop it..." She didn't finish the sentence; she didn't have to. The sisters knew the consequences of not following one of Phoebe's visions – innocents would die. It was her gift as well as her curse. Piper sighed. Here we go again.

A/N: Not the longest, I know, but at this stage I'm not planning this story to be any longer than ten chapters, so let's cross our fingers and hope that it stays that way, damn it! In any case, this is the first multi-chapter Charmed story that I've attempted, and also the first that has its own plot that deviates from cannon in any way, so drop me a line and tell me what you think!