Author's notes: Greetings all! Isn't it wonderful to have FF.net up and running again? Well worth the wait! Anyhoo, I've just finished reading the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy, and I loved it! I cried loads of times, and laughed with sheer joy and relief loads of times too; if you haven't read it, I strongly recommend it! It's almost as good as LOTR...;). But reading those books inspired me, and seeing as (although I pray he does) it doesn't seem very likely that PP will release another book for HDM, I really wanted to write a sequel. Shoot me if it's rubbish, review if it's good. I know how many people have read it and adore it, and the last thing they'd want somebody to do would be to take a great story and set of characters and send them all to hell....metaphorically speaking, of course! So welcome back online everybody; it's been a heck of a tough ride, but we're all back and raring to go! Read and review. We're back in business...

Disclaimer: Philip Pullman is the wonderful, incredibly talented genius who came up with this story, not me (dammit!). I respect his work and would never intend it any harm (although, knowing me, I might just....y'know....screw up on that...he he..). Thank you, PP! I am not worthy, I am not worthy...

It is two years since the defeat of the Authority. Lyra Belacqua, named Lyra Silvertongue by the great Panserbørne king, Iorek Byrnison, and Will Parry, son of John Parry also named Stanislaus Grummand, and bearer of the Subtle Knife have both returned to their own worlds, Lyra unable to read the Alethiometer and Will having broken Æsahættr. Their surviving companions, Dr. Mary Malone, Serafina Pekkala the witch queen, Iorek and of course their dæmons Kirjava and Pantalaimon also returned to their respective places after the war against the Authority. Nothing much has changed since the children's departure. Dust is, though no longer a cause of war, still debated over; the Church, though defeated in its causes, has not been abolished but remains standing, and life goes on much the same as it did before the battle. But things are about to change. A long dormant threat to the delicate, fragile balance between the worlds is stirring in the darkness, unknown to any. But the threat will not stay a secret for much longer, and when it does reveal itself finally, it will reveal itself with devastating consequences. Those that were gone have returned, those that are broken repaired, those that can't read are able, for what destiny and fate have prepared. A disturbance in the very atoms of the air. They have felt it. They are the first to know. A shimmering figure stands alone on the sand dunes in a world distant yet so close to Lyra and Will's own worlds. She is the second to know. Very slowly, two figures begin to materialise out of the cool night air, as though they are being born from Dust itself.

"Sons of Heaven; welcome back to the material world. You live once more! Come; breathe the fresh air; feel the sand beneath your feet; see the world with your own eyes once more. I call you to rise and be again, Baruch and Balthamos, Sons of Heaven."

Will awoke to find Kirjava licking the cold beads of sweat from his forehead with her rough cat-tongue. Reaching out a hand, he buried his fingers in her lustrous, silky dark fur.

"You were having nightmares again, Will." Kirjava said softly, snuggling closer to the warmth of his body.

"Not nightmares, Kirja. Just...dreams. Strange dreams though."

"About what?"

"I..." Will had to pause to think for a moment. Remembering his dream was like trying to keep water in a cracked basin; it was slowly trickling out of his mind to be lost. "I heard a voice...it sounded like an angel; a female angel, and...I heard my name, and Mary's and Serafina Pekkala's and King Iorek's and..." He stopped. Thinking of Lyra was painful, even after all this time, though he thought of her often. "And Lyra's. And then something about a threat to the balance of the worlds that nobody knew about, and then it..." He stopped again. It was going faster now, but he strained to remember. "It kind of changed to a...a what-do-you-call-it...a...a vision! It was as though I was watching something while it was actually happening. There was a figure there; an angel. I know that because she was shimmering, so she must've been. And then two other angels appeared, and she spoke to them and called them..."

"Yes?" Kirjava asked softly.

"Baruch and Balthamos..." Will's voice dropped to a whisper, as though he could hardly believe what he had just said. "Kirja, I'm so certain that wasn't just a dream; it seemed so real."

"Dreams do sometimes."

"Yes, but this wasn't like any other dream I've had before; I have had really vivid dreams, but this one...it was like I could almost have reached out and touched the sand they were standing on..."

Will paused, before quietly pushing away the bedcovers, and sliding out of bed, Kirjava leaping gracefully after him.

Carefully, Will first paced over to his lamp, and silently removed a key from inside the shade, before turning to his desk, hunkering down, and reaching out for one of the drawers.

He put the key into the lock and turned. He slowly slid the drawer open, and took out a large wooden box that looked as though it might have contained an antique spoon set once.

Will undid the catches, and lifted the lid. Glinting in the dim light of the street lamp outside his window filtering through the curtains, and nestling on a thick cream cotton pad were the jagged shards of the Subtle Knife.

Lovingly, almost as if he were touching his own child, Will caressed the broken blade with the remaining fingers on his left hand. The stumps had healed well, and were now covered by a healthy layer of skin. Even the appearance of his maimed hand was a memory of what had happened two years ago. It was as clear in his mind as if he had only done it all yesterday. Finding the window in the air under the Hornbeam trees, meeting Lyra for the first time (he felt a tug at his heartstrings as he remembered this), the agonising pain of losing his fingers, the incredible presence and sensitivity he had felt when he first let his mind flow into the very tip of the knife, the horror he'd felt when he heard that man's neck break, the sharp excruciating pull at his chest he'd felt when they'd crossed over into the world of the dead, the sweetness of his and Lyra's first kiss...yes; he remembered it all.

"Something's happened, Kirjava." He told his dæmon softly. "I can feel it in the Knife blade; we're being called. The dreams...they're a message. We're being called."

"And do we intend to answer that call, Will?" Kirjava asked, springing to his shoulder and brushing her long, satiny coat against his ear.

"Yes, Kirja; we do."

The balance has been tipped. The worlds and their inhabitants are in mortal peril...

"Lyra! Lyra help us!"

"Roger? Roger! Where are you?"

"I'm here! With Mr Scoresbee and Mr Parry! Lyra help us! Please!"

"Roger, I can't find you! Give me your hand!"

"I can't! I can't reach you!"

"Lyra, honey? That you?"

"Mr Scoresbee!"

"Lyra, my girl! Please! You've got to help us! We're just disappearin'! All of us!"

"Why? Why?!"

"Dang it, I don't know! You've gotta help us Lyra!"

Lyra's tears streamed down her face.

"I can't find you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..."

"Lyra!" The sound of beating wings, and a harsh female voice came from close to Lyra's ear.

"Gracious Wings! What's happening?"

Lyra looked desperately into the lifeless, hollow slime-clotted eye sockets of the Harpy.

"Something's happened! It's tipped the balance between the worlds! Thrown the sync! You must do something Lyra!"

"What can I do? Please tell me!"

Gracious Wings was silent for a moment. Then she stared the child straight in the eyes, and suddenly spoke with a different tone. It most certainly was not her voice; it was deeper, richer, still female, but not the shallow, shrieking, banshee-like voice of the Harpy. It reminded Lyra so much of someone...someone she'd met a long time ago...someone who had been wise beyond belief, yet she had seemed ageless...Xaphania!

"Those that are gone have returned,

Those that are broken repaired,

Those that can't read are able,

For what destiny and fate have prepared.

Come with me, Lyra..."

There was a flash of white light, and suddenly, Lyra was standing in a room, away from the cries of her old friends. It was a bedroom, but unlike any other she had ever seen. There was a carpet covering the floor, a desk with an electric lamp and a few scattered, unorganised papers atop it, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a cupboard and a single bed. And sitting on the bed, with a huge giant cat curled up in his lap the colour of ink-black, shadow-grey, deep blue and mist-lavender and moonlight-fog, was...

"Will! Oh Will! I'm so glad to see you, my dear! You've got to help me..."

But Will didn't listen. Infact it appeared as though he didn't even hear her. He was talking to Kirjava, stroking her soft fur, his brow furrowed in thought.

"You were having nightmares again, Will."

"Not nightmares, Kirja. Just...dreams. Strange dreams though."

"About what?"

"I...I heard a voice...it sounded like an angel; a female angel, and...I heard my name, and Mary's and Serafina Pekkala's and King Iorek's and....and Lyra's."

"Yes, Will! I'm here! I'm here!" Lyra tried again, desperately running up to Will, and tugging at his pyjama top sleeve.

But Will blanked her completely, and continued.

"And then something about a threat to the balance of the worlds that nobody knew about, and then it... it kind of changed to a...a what-do-you-call-it...a...a vision! It was as though I was watching something while it was actually happening. There was a figure there; an angel. I know that because she was shimmering, so she must've been. And then two other angels appeared, and she spoke to them and called them..."

"Yes?"

"Baruch and Balthamos...Kirja, I'm so certain that wasn't just a dream; it seemed so real."

"Dreams do sometimes."

"Yes, but this wasn't like any other dream I've had before; I have had really vivid dreams, but this one...it was like I could almost have reached out and touched the sand they were standing on..."

"Yes Will! You're right! This isn't a dream! I'm right here! Oh please, please, please see me!"

But instead, he simply ignored her imploring, rose from the bed and walked away.

A vortex of light, and the angel Xaphania appeared before the weeping Lyra.

"Have hope, child." She said kindly.

"How? What am I supposed to do? I don't understand..." Lyra sobbed.

"All you must remember are my words, Lyra:

Those that are gone have returned,

Those that are broken repaired,

Those that can't read are able,

For what destiny and fate have prepared."

And then, two other angels appeared either side of Xaphania; two male angels. One was tall, slender and held a distainful expression, though it was mingled with a great sympathy and deep, meaningful love as he looked down upon the girl. The other was slightly shorter and younger than the other, and more powerfully built, his wings huge and sweeping.

"Do not lose faith, Lyra." Said the second. "We shall endeavour to help you in any way we can, my companion and I."

"Trust the boy, Lyra." Said the first. "He will find you."

"There." Xaphania followed. "You not only have my word, but the words of Baruch and Balthamos, now risen again and called to your aid. Remember what I have told you, Lyra...it is so important that you do! Remember...remember...remember..."

The voice echoed round Lyra's head as she awoke, her cheeks wet with tears, and Pantalaimon looking worriedly into her face.

"Oh Pan." She hiccoughed. "Roger needs our help! And Mr Scoresbee and Mr Parry! Oh, we just got to help 'em!"

"Hush." Pantalaimon nuzzled her, licking the salty wetness from her flushed cheeks.

"I...I hear 'em all calling out to me! Asking me to help 'em! An' I couldn't, Pan! I couldn't find 'em anywhere!"

"Sshh; it's all right. It was just a dream."

"That's what Kirjava told Will! But it weren't a dream, Pan! I know it! It was too real!"

As he comforted Lyra, Pantalaimon suddenly felt a tremble in the air; a disturbance amongst the very atoms themselves, almost to tiny and delicate to detect. And he felt a great sense of dread. Lyra was right. It hadn't been just a dream. It had been a message, calling them. Calling them out of their world. Lyra had been right. Although Pan wasn't ready to admit that out loud just yet.

Author's notes: Love it? Hate it? Want to tie it to a pole, burn it on a massive bonfire and do a tribal dance round it? Then tell me what you think in your review. Go on; you know you want to...