Sarah rested her hand on her stomach, wondering where she was. This is a dream, I never had se- no one ever… HOW AM I PREGNANT!


    Knuckles popped as she moved, joints crackling from stiff disuse. Sand shifted beneath her, moving as she tried to stand. Sand… why is there sand…? I was going to Johns Hopkins, there shouldn’t be any sand dunes in the city.


    Sarah struggled to her feet, feeling as though her body had been tenderized by a steamroller then reinflated with a bike pump up her rear. To say everything hurt, was to understate the nuclear fission that generated solar light. A world ending heat that brought sweat to her brow, adhering a veil to her forehead. Clothing covered her from head to ankle despite the desert, or maybe because of it.


    Sand dunes sprawled out in every direction as far as the eye could see, except for the way she had come. Her footsteps carving a neon sign back towards rocky outcrops and A city… her city… In the blink of an eye Sarah lived a second life, distantly removed from the life she knew as Sarah. This world worshiped a God of strength, Therun Taloc, this was the Kheresh wastes, a -white sand- desert of fine glass particles, and a caliphate loyal to King Aldric, as all humanity was united on this continent. Once upon a time Kheresh had been a seperate country, but after the cataclysm that slew half the population it fell into line under Eldarian rule. Or so her father said-


    -Her father…


    Images of two men appeared, one the disabled pig who took out all of his frustrations on Sarah, and one a gold crusted sheik —Emir Efendi— who gave his daughter -Sirin- everything she could ever want. A stable home, luxurious food, horses, servants, guards, and literal meowtains of cats. Soft persians not the wiry sabertoothed servals. Two men, both her fathers. Yet one embodied the word while the other rejected it entirely.


    Migrainous pain shot through Sarah’s brain, enough to bring an elephant to their knees, but not Sarah. Pain was a product of speaking aloud, of being weak. So she ignored it, bit down the pain and began heading back to the caliphate. Back to her father''s house. Sirin’s pregnancy was a product of a spoiled brat’s attention seeking.


    “Of course it backfired you dumb cunt, your father cared about you, gave you the world and you threw it away for some cheap poems. As if you could be forgiven. Dumb whore-”


    Her foot slid through white sand, cutting at Sirin’s bare foot. You can’t be serious, you didn’t bring shoes? To the desert… Sarah could not comprehend how sheltered Sirin was, completely oblivious to the world’s true nature. She wouldn''t even count her as a child.


    “You didn’t bring shoes to the glass desert!“ Shouted Sarah, voice strangely accented from the language that wasn’t English, or Spanish.


    She slapped both cheeks, trying to focus her migraine-plagued mind with physical pain. One hand landed on a bruised cheek, the only time Emir Effendi had ever struck her. She wasn''t welcome in his house any longer. A harsh custom, completely unnecessary for the second most powerful man in the Dukedom to obey. It was not as if a single infant would impact his wealth. No, twas the optics. An archbishop could not be seen as ignoring traditions. Ah, if only Thaddeus had been present. As a paladin captain he could have offered sanctuary to any. Such was the Fulminonimbus'' Privilege. Often their duty, as it allowed them to remove troublesome family members and magi without drawing the people''s ire.


    But Thaddeus wasn''t here when Sirin began to show. So she''d been thrown out, discarded into the desert.


    Get to shelter, she thought, walking forward as delicately as possible. Ultimately the mental pain faded, replaced by the pain of millions of glass shards embedded into her feet. Yet she pushed on, life wasn’t fair, and it was about time Sarah got the better end of that beating stick.


    Night fell before she reached town. Sirin''s body was weak, recovering from self inflicted dehydration and wounds of stupidity. Soon her bleeding feet drove her to a halt, coaxing her into a rocky ravine, and then under an overhang. Shade from the sun''s heat. Besides, she was a single woman, alone, in the dying city of Khereshetal. Now branded as a whore. Without an armed man she was in actual danger, micro-aggressions didn’t exist, but fornicaters were stoned by their own parents. Unattended women could be raped -to teach her a lesson- or murdered for the clothes on her back. Even sold into slavery. And no one would take in a pregnant girl out of their heart''s goodness.


    The Christian notion of Charity did not exist within the Fulminonimbus, making Sarah chuckle. This world wasn’t full of gullible fools like Liam, though she did miss his eyes, and how he stared at her like a cute lil puppy. So trusting… Sarah bit her tongue to clear her mind, mentally assessing her new body.


    Sirin knew her birthday, but not her age, a fact that made Sarah contemplate murdering the girl and taking everything from her, but a memory stopped her. Sirin was dead, unable to face her own shame of pregnancy she had walked into the desert, barefoot, without water, and with the heaviest garbage she could carry; thinking it would weigh her down.


    In light of this revelation Sarah laughed, her voice husky from being forcibly regenerated. The man in chains… wasn’t a man, he matched the descriptions of this world’s God perfectly. And I tried to ignore him bloody heaven below… Wait, bloody heaven? Why did I say- oh, Sirin’s voice is my voice, her speech patterns and ticks are mine. Crap. I’ve become a vapid valley girl. Thought Sarah, contemplating escape via death once more.


    It wouldn’t be the first time she forced a regression, but no. She needed to work through the verbal tics, learn the local customs for herself, and then she could better herself. Patience was a virtue, and one Sarah had in spades. Though she was curious what would happen if Sirin died, would she start over with a golden spoon, or reset to her worst moment, lying face down in glass sand?


    Her hand found Sirin’s pocket, and what was found there sent her heart somersaulting through her chest. Gold coins filled every pocket, pouch, and seam of Sirin’s dress. ‘Heavy garbage’ indeed. The dolt had bumbled her way into usefulness, with this treasure Sarah had options. An unscrupulous man could easily be bribed with gold. One tool she knew exactly how to employ. He might try to rob her, so a cache was necessary, somewhere to hide the gold. Easy enough, there were plenty of abandoned homes in the dying heart of Khereshetal.


    Better yet, Sirin carried a jeweled sheath. The whole thing was solid gold, so soft it flexed under her index finger. Sarah swallowed. Anxious, wondering if Sirin could possibly find a way to screw this up. Unable to wait a second longer she yanked on the blade, pulling steel out of gold.


    She had a blade. In a world without forensics or cameras. Life just got so much easier. Rust spots marred the dull edge, but it was preferable to fistfighting in an unfamiliar and pregnant body. A little sand polished the blade returning it''s lost luster while she waited for night. The ritual calmed her mind. For the world was a safer place with a knife in hand, allowing her to slip into a meditative slumber. Heartbeat slowed, pulse dropped, and to the world Sirin appeared to die for a second time.


    ...


    Twilight brought the desert to life. miniscule creatures emerged from holes too small to see, mice, spiders, and the occasional serpent. all passing by Sirin unmolested. Neither party stood to gain so an armistice emerged naturally. Small hunters began to appear with the night''s deepening darkness, a desert fox, then an hour later a sabertoothed serval, lanky like a cheetah, with teeth protruding below it''s mandible. A predator that seemed to have a skeleton too large for its skin. Silent paws padded across the sand, thinking to scavenge a few toes from Sirin''s corpse.


    "Scram. Or I''ll skin you alive." Whispered Sarah, reflecting a sliver of moonlight into the cat''s eyes.


    Quick as lightning the cat vanished into the night, knowing it was no match for this djinn. A sentiment Sarah began to share. She crawled out from under the overhang, following the ravine towards the city. This was starting from zero, but with a pregnancy to take care of. If a clinic existed she would remove the parasite immediately, but they did not. A critical flaw to any imagined future. She couldn''t take care of herself, a second life would only end up like her worst regressions, with mom abandoning her-


    "-ouch! Something just bit me!" Grumbled a voice not five feet above Sirin''s head.


    Light flashed, fire hit a rabbit causing it to scream in a deathrattle. Metal ssshhhnnnnggged sand, ending the wail.


    "Idiot!" Hissed a second voice, feminine this time. "Shut up, or I''ll kill you myself."


    "Ah, who cares about the whore. Why don''t you and I slip off to the oasis. A swim would be mightily refreshing."


    "I''m going to cut off your dick if you ask me one more time. Find her! Remember, the babe must be retrieved alive. Or our lives are forfeit." Snapped the woman.


    "Yes ma''am." Said the man.


    Footsteps. Armor clinked. Two feet above Sirin''s head. She flattened herself against the rocky wall, dagger in hand. These two had come into the desert. Seeking someone. A woman they needed to kill. It was obvious, no one lived out here so it would be someone recently seen walking into the glass wastes.


    They had come for her.


    Why would anyone want to kill Sirin? She lived like a bird in a golden cage, aloof, removed from the world at large. Her only contact with the outside world was the swarthy man who knocked her up. Some rare human wind mage. With dark skin and bulging muscles despite his thin frame. Sarah felt her body respond to the thought and bit it off. Now was not the time! Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "Search the ravine." Whispered the woman above her.


    Sirin smiled, pleased at the sudden confrontation. When it came to knife fights the blade that struck first always won. Bide your time then strike.


    Her hand moved across her stomach, meaning to tuck in her loose shirt. An old habit, meant to keep her gi tight. Now it found a baby. If she ambushed them she might stand a chance, but not like this! Sarah needed time to prepare. A trap, distractions. Anything at all! Which is when she recalled Sirin possessed magic. The nobility''s power. God''s power in her aetheric core! She mentally repeated the chant, pressing herself deeper into the wall, only to have a message appear in her mind.


    [ERROR]


    aetheric core missing


    [yeah, sorry about this, but I need to borrow your core. You won''t be getting it back. Bye.]


    [oh, don''t die for at least three years. I won''t have another body prepared until then.]


    Sarah starred at the message, baffled by the dumbest, most poorly timed excuse she''s ever heard.


    What the actual, fuck.


    A shadow landed in front of her, boots grinding against the glass sand. Above them a woman lept, giving the pair a clear view up her skirt. Totally enthralling the man. While Sarah found the sight a bit too hairy for her taste. No one shaved here. Not legs, nor arms, nor bikini wax, not even unibrows. Beards were sheared short rather than cleanly shaven. Modern materials made exceptionally sharp blades commonplace, but here a shaving edge would need to be sharpened after each shave severely limiting who had the time to indulge in shaving. Barbers existed, and the wealthier nobility could spend time shaving, but the common folk had beards... and bushes.


    "Thank you my Lady." Whispered the man, mouth hanging open in a smile.


    No response came from the woman. She was an expert, already jogging deeper into the desert. Sarah knew she would only get one chance. The man set off, slowly advancing through the ravine, heading away from Khereshetal. Sarah shadowed the man, matching her steps to his. Twenty paces. Plenty of time to distance the assassins. Darting forward she pressed her bossum into the man''s back, careful to keep hips away to withdraw the damn belly bump. One hand inserted the golden sheath into the man''s mouth, not violently, but firmly. a sort of implied gag, an invitation from one unshaven barbarian woman.


    Sarah kept her voice low, husky, "Take off your pants." She whispered.


    He snorted, biting down on the sheath. With an enormous grin. Hands found his belt, quickly unfolding the strap. Conveniently trapping his legs. It was the last thing he ever did of his own free will, for in the next second steel severed his C1 cervical vertebra. A precise thrust. Practiced over Sarah''s hundred lives.


    Gold sheath was forced deeper into the throat, choking any attempts at noise. Not that a totally paralyzed man could do anything other than piss and shit himself. A byproduct of the severed brainstem when smooth muscle sphincters failed to receive any commands. The blade slid free. Sarah punched it sideways into the neck, severing both jugular veins. Job complete, she fully leaned into the man pressing herself against him. All so she could kiss his ear with a few choice words.


    "This is how my father died. Thank you for the reminder."


    Sirin''s feeble arms were far stronger than Sarah''s at eight years old. So this half starved peasant''s weight was easy to let down, he wasn''t the ugly fatman who haunted her nightmares. Silent as death Sarah stripped the man, stealing his boots, a dagger, and his coin purse. One eye always on the ravine''s lip, where the exhi-bitch-ionist had disappeared.


    Thirty seconds from death, Sarah turned and padded the other way, praying she could escape into the city unfollowed. Stolen boots were an important part of that, bloody tracks would lead her pursuer right to her. It would take time, but with slow steps and careful shifting of weight there would be no trail. A mistake she could not afford. Her nose itched.


    Sarah froze, seeing four glowing eyes in front. Her nose tingled, smelling-


    -cats.


    Two sabertoothed servals emerged out of the darkness. Detectable only by the glow of their eyes. One of them a rare three eyed example of the breed, so rare it was supposedly extinct! The third eye gleamed in the dark. Eyelid closed to contain its mana. That pineal eye was a locus of power, something a mage could use to store and wield power. Capable of firing paralyzing spells. Whether or not the serval was alive. An irresistible attraction for most. But not for Sarah. No, she was allergic. Smart kitty or not, these desert felines were making her skin crawl. Worse, they were quieter than she was. It just wasn''t fair!


    She saw only way to avoid paralysis and death at the small cat''s paws. She sidestepped, opened one hand to the cats and swept it towards the man''s body. Free hand lingered on her lips in a shush. Then to place the cherry, she winked. They were supposedly intelligent enough to understand human speech, so this was her best gamble at avoiding a fight.


    They looked at her like she was batshit insane. Which she was, considering she was trying to negotiate with wild felines. Taxonomy was very different in Eldarion, and while these creatures were called servals, sabertoothed cheetahs would be more accurate, or teenaged lions.


    You really screwed this pooch Sarah. just walk by them without looking back.


    One foot raised rising to fall seconds later. Curiously, the action was mirrored by both servals. The trio mimed each other''s actions, advancing in tune to the other''s steps. Sarah could imagine their mocking laughter, but continued to play their game. Pride was a hinderance she had long overcome.


    Damnable lil furballs. Go eat a dick. She thought, fading into the ravine.


    An hour later the ravine hooked sharply giving Sarah a straight shot into Khereshetal. Safe from the prying eyes of guards or assassins. Still, she found a crevice and stuffed herself into the hole, then waited a half hour, remaining motionless. Mice crawled over her hands and feet, never understanding what they stood upon. For Sarah was so silent that she was one with the stone. Another hour passed and a rattlesnake warmed itself against her calf, thinking she was nothing more than a warm rock. Scales rubbed leg hairs the wrong way, making her want to swat the serpent away. But she knew better. It -as with all things- would pass. After ten minutes of the snake resting on her leg it began to coil, scrunching it''s body in preparation to strike. Tail immobile. It lunged. Exposed fangs darting between her legs-


    -and into a waiting mouse.


    Intoxicated, the mouse bounded away, bouncing into stone walls and the occasional rock. Soon the serpent pursued it. A welcome absence. Freed of her snake-lock, Sarah took that moment to enter Khereshetal.


    Sarah slipped off the streets, hiding in an alley between two walled homes. Adobe walls hemmed her in, protecting the occupants with solid wood doors or stone walls that towered above her. The message was clear as heads mounted on spears, ‘unwelcome guests, are unwelcome. STAY OUT’. Consequently Sirin shrugged, no one would take a single woman in, so the solution was simple, she needn’t ask. This wasn’t the her first attempt at squatting. The assassin concerned her, but with an infant growing inside her she was already overtaxed. Shelter, then water, then food. After those three things she could treat her bleeding feet.


    Darkness guarded her life, alerting her of wandering guards with glowing lamps and pointing Sarah to unoccupied homes. She sought the darkest houses, walking through town for hours til she built a mental map. There were an unusual amount of silent doorways, but they stood beside vigilant neighbors whose watchmen and guard dogs warded away Sarah’s midnight mischiefs.


    Dogs… Now there was an idea, loyal beasts would protect Sarah, pregnant or not. And would keep people from asking questions, vagrants wouldn’t keep guard dogs in someone else’s home, it was too unreasonable. She could pretend to be house sitting and rob absent occupants blind.


    Midnight was long past when Sarah entered the first home, a walled affair that some thoughtless owner had left unlocked. She stealthed across the courtyard, testing the door. Finding it wouldn’t budge. Most likely barred on the inside. Her path forward blocked, she crept beneath the windows, listening for the telltale sound of breathing. Five minutes passed without a breath. She heaved herself through the window. Methodical in her search. The home was silent, and unfortunately barren, with only a few sacks of grain present.


    Effectively inedible in its current form, but not without value. Sarah moved on, she could come back to loot the grain once she found a proper home.


    She found other homes, trying each door until she found one that was unlocked. Humans were naturally trusting people, fools who were practically begging Sarah to steal from them.


    The next home was similar, with the wall’s gate unlocked and the inner door barred, but this time she hit the jackpot. Barrels of dried fruit filled the room she climbed into, a feast of fiber that Sarah greedily enjoyed. They tasted like a mix between an orange and a plum, bitterly sweet and acidic. Munching happily on her bounty she slipped further into the home. Surreptitiously searching for a basket or satchel, something to conceal her stolen goods.


    A stairwell rose from the darkness, mirrored by stairs ascending to the next floor, discerning this building as a three story—


    ‘Breathing.’


    Sarah froze, holding her breath.


    Fabric swished, something was coming. Memories of a captured grain thief flashed before Sarah’s eyes, a child, no more than twelve had been found with stolen grain. Emir Efendi had sentenced him to a week in the stocks, only to set him free three days in. By cutting off his hands and head with an executioner’s sword.


    Grain thieves were killed. That was the law, especially for pregnant women who had already fornicated.


    Sarah was dead.


    If they caught her. She padded backwards, matching the approaching man’s heavier footsteps. His concealed hers, a pounding hammer to her taps. He reached the stairs as she reached the room of dried fruit.


    A door swung open, creaking open as three dogs ran into the yard. They sniffed the air, running to the unlocked gate. Won’t catch me that way. Thought Sarah.


    She was no amateur who left doors open, that’s how cops found you. But dogs did not rely on sight alone. Two followed her trail, lingering near the drips of blood from her needled feet. Highlighting a crucial error. Just because there was no concept of DNA in this era didn’t mean blood wouldn’t condemn her.


    They had her scent…


    You bloody bitches.


    She scanned the room, finding a crusty sack as the only makeshift weapon. Worthless against the blonde dogs or their master. One of the bitches raised her head, ears aiming forward, right at Sarah.


    Who hit it with a fruit, nailing the pup right in the nose. Or she meant to hit it, at the last second the dog caught the fruit, eagerly chowing down. That caught the man’s attention, luring him into the front yard. Exactly where Sarah wanted him. She turned and walked through the house, acting as if it were her own, then exited the back door. With a house between them, she escaped unnoticed.


    The dogs never barked, nor did their master ever suspect he had been robbed, but that was Sarah’s first night in the Kheresh Caliphate, marking the first of many nightwalks. For that night alone, she returned to the first house, moving the furniture into a single room on the top floor and using it to barricade the door. Careful to pick a room with two windows so she could always flee. Her pregnant belly weighed her down, making her toss and turn through the day of sleep.


    Curse your whoring self Sirin, I could’ve found a man and gotten him to protect me, but no, you had to run into the desert and die after a dark dandy knocked you up.


    One hand ran over her belly, “You are going to get me killed. Better for you to die than us both.” She said.


    Abortions don''t exist here… I guess I could give birth and dump the fetus in the desert. That’s how they did it in the bible. Thought Sarah, recalling the story from one of her father’s friends, a friendly priest who had recited it during their —private— scripture study.


    You’ve survived the priest. And dear old dad, may the worms never find his corpse. A few months Sarah, just a few months until this baby drops and you can catch yourself a man. I doubt any men know what a hymen actually is. I’ll find a merchant, no… Merchants talk to people all day long, I need someone with talent but no social skills, a mage, or doctor like Liam…