Reborn 30 Days Before The Apocalypse: The Sovereign's Claim

Gwen Calder

The sound of my own bones snapping under the heavy jaws of a pack of feral hounds is the last thing I remember.

The cold... God, the cold was unbearable. Subzero wind howling across the frozen wasteland, cutting straight into my lungs like shattered glass. And standing just twenty feet away, safe behind the reinforced glass of their armored SUV, were the two people I had spent three years protecting.

Sebastian Harrington. My fiancé.

And Khloe. My half-sister.

Sebastian’s handsome face hadn't held a flicker of remorse as he locked the vehicle doors. “Sorry, Gwen,” his voice had drifted through the external comms, detached and icy. “The pack is too fast. We need bait to reach the pass. Thanks for keeping us alive this long.”

Khloe had smiled, her tiny, delicate hand waving lazily from the passenger window while my blood sprayed across the snow.

They left me to be torn apart.

I gasp, pulling in a ragged, burning lungful of air...

And my eyes snap open.

I sit upright with a violent jerk, my chest heaving, my heart hammer-striking against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands scramble over my throat, expecting torn flesh, a shattered windpipe, slick warmth.

There is no blood... no freezing wind... no agony.

I stare down at my hands. They are smooth, soft, and unscarred. No blackened fingertips from frostbite, no jagged scars from razor wire.

A dull, thumping headache throbs right behind my temples, a tight pressure lingering deep in the back of my mind like a heavy knot.

I look around the room. Golden morning sunlight streams through sheer linen curtains, casting soft, warm patterns across a plush king-sized bed. A gentle spring breeze carries the scent of fresh rain and lavender from the open balcony door.

My penthouse bedroom. The one Sebastian convinced me to sell three weeks before the end...

I slam my gaze onto the nightstand. My smartphone rests there, the screen lighting up with a notification. I snatch it up, my fingers trembling violently as I unlock it.

Tuesday, May 12. 8:30 AM.

May 12.

The apocalypse starts on June 11. Exactly thirty days from now. The solar flare will hit, triggering the global atmospheric collapse. The temperature will plunge sixty degrees in a single afternoon. Power grids will fail. Civilization will crumble within forty-eight hours.

I died three years after the freeze. But now... I am back. Thirty days before the world turns to ice.

A sudden, sharp chime echoes through the apartment downstairs. The front door smart lock.

Footsteps echo down the marble hallway. Polished leather shoes clicking against the hardwood with lazy confidence.

“Gwen? Babe, are you still in bed?”

My stomach turns over violently at the sound of his voice. Sebastian.

I swing my legs out of bed, standing up so fast the world tilts for a second. My muscles are firm, healthy, unstarved. My mind razors into focus. I smooth down my silk pajamas, breathing through my nose until the murderous rage humming under my skin settles into cold, calcified focus.

Not yet. I cannot kill him yet. Not while the laws of the old world still exist.

I walk out into the hallway and stop at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at him.

Sebastian stands in the center of my living room, wearing a tailor-made navy suit. His dark hair is slicked back perfectly, his sharp jawline framed by a warm, practiced smile. He holds a black leather document portfolio under one arm and a paper cup of artisanal coffee in the other.

He looks like the perfect gentleman. The devoted fiancé.

A snake wrapped in cashmere.

“There you are,” Sebastian smiles, adjusting his silk tie as he walks toward the base of the stairs. “I dropped by early. The legal team finished drafting the asset consolidation paperwork for your mother’s trust estate. Fifty million dollars in liquid funds, plus the deed to the mountain property. All we need is your signature to initiate the transfer into the joint investment portfolio.”

My mother’s estate.

In my past life, I signed those papers today. I gave Sebastian complete authorization over my inheritance, thinking he was securing our future. Instead, he used my mother’s money to build a luxury bunker for himself and Khloe, while pushing me into the outer survivor camps to scrape for frozen canned goods.

“You’re bright and early, Sebastian,” I say softly, stepping down the stairs. My voice is steady, entirely stripped of the naive warmth he is used to.

He blinks, a microscopic twitch in his eyebrow, but his suave smile quickly recovers. “Of course, darling. There is a board meeting at noon and the market opens in an hour. We want to finalize the transaction before the board meeting. Here...” He opens the portfolio, pulling out a thick set of legal documents, offering me a sleek silver pen. “Just sign on page twelve and twenty-four.”

I step down onto the living room floor, taking the heavy paper stack from his hands.

Sebastian steps closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Khloe was saying last night how relieved she’ll be once this is settled. You know how much she worries about your financial security, Gwen.”

Khloe. My dear half-sister who stole my clothes, my money, and eventually my fiancé... before throwing me to the hounds.

I look down at the fifty-million-dollar authorization form.

Then, looking Sebastian dead in the eyes, I grab the stack of legal papers with both hands.

And rip it clean in half.

The sound of tearing heavy cardstock echoes sharply off the high ceilings. A sharp edge of the stiff paper slices deep across my right thumb, a bead of crimson blood welling up immediately. I don't flinch.

Sebastian’s smile freezes. “Gwen... what are you doing?”

I stack the torn halves together and tear them again. Quarters. Then eighths.

“Gwen!” He steps forward, his voice cracking, the polite composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “Are you out of your mind? That’s fifty pages of legal documentation! It took my attorneys two weeks to...”

I toss the cloud of paper confetti right into his face.

White scraps rain down over his neat dark hair, his pristine lapels, his polished shoes.

“Get out of my house, Sebastian,” I say, my voice dropped into a terrifyingly quiet register.

He stands frozen, shocked, his face flushing a deep, angry crimson. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you take something? We discussed this! Khloe and I have spent months organizing this deal to protect your mother’s legacy...”

“My mother’s legacy belongs to me,” I cut him off smoothly, taking a step toward him. He recoils at the sheer lethal stillness in my eyes. “Not you. Not Khloe. And if you don’t remove yourself from my penthouse in five seconds, I’m pulling the emergency security cord and having the building guards throw you into the street.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow into cold, dark slits. The gentleman mask drops completely, revealing the greedy, calculating predator underneath.

“You’re making a massive mistake, Gwen,” he growls, brushing paper scraps off his suit coat. “Without my firm managing your portfolio, you’ll lose everything within six months. You don’t have the stomach for real business.”

“Five,” I count calmly.

“Don’t come crawling back to me when you realize how stupid you’re being,” he snaps, stepping back toward the foyer. “And Khloe will be heartbroken by how you’re treating us!”

“Four,” I continue.

He glares at me one last time, turns on his heel, and slams the heavy oak door behind him.

The apartment falls silent.

I take a deep breath, letting the adrenaline clear out of my bloodstream.

One snake down... hundreds more to deal with before the world burns.

Then the surge of adrenaline slowly recedes, but as it does, the intense pressure behind my eyes suddenly gives a violent, sharp pop... like a dam breaking inside my skull.

I gasp, stumbling backward until my thighs hit the edge of the glass coffee table.

The headache vanishes instantly. In its place, my mind expands outward with dizzying speed.

My vision remains clear, but inside my consciousness, an immense, silent void opens up.

A pitch-black, weightless dimensional space, stretching into total silence.

No air currents. No temperature. No gravity. No time.

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles pale, breathing heavily as I stare into the dark void inside my own brain.

It isn't a headache. The shock of dying and being dragged back thirty days into the past unlocked something in my mind... a dormant spatial pocket, born from the trauma of rebirth.

My heart hammers against my ribs. Is this real? Or am I hallucinating from shock?

I look down at the glass coffee table. Sebastian left his half-empty paper cup of artisanal coffee sitting near the edge, a faint wisp of steam rising from the lid.

I reach out, my hand shaking slightly, and place my palm flat against the warm paper cup.

I focus on that pitch-black void in my mind. I picture the cup resting inside it.

Store.

A subtle tug pulls at the back of my neck.

My palm drops to the glass table. The coffee cup is gone.

I close my eyes, looking inward. There, floating motionless in the center of the dark, silent space in my mind, is the paper cup.

“God,” I whisper, a breathless shudder running down my spine.

I open my eyes, holding out my hand. I picture the cup returning, forcing my mind to reverse the connection.

Thump.

The weight of the paper cup drops back into my hand.

I pull off the plastic lid. Hot steam curls into the air. I dip the tip of my finger into the dark liquid.

It is scalding hot. Exactly the same temperature it was thirty seconds ago.

Wide spacial capacity. Absolute preservation. Time stands still in there. Food and water will remain the same temperature and will neither rot nor freeze. 

A quiet, victorious laugh escapes my throat.

Rebirth didn't just give me my life back... it gave me an unbreachable vault inside my own consciousness.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates on the glass table. The screen lights up with a photo of a beautiful blonde girl with a bright, innocent smile.

Khloe.

My chest tightens violently. A phantom pain rips through my collarbone, right where the hounds had torn into my flesh while Khloe waved from the safety of the SUV. My breathing hitches, my hands shaking as the raw, visceral trauma of my death threatens to pull me under.

I grip the edge of the table, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out.

I am alive. I am in my penthouse. It is May 12th.

I let the phone ring until it goes to voicemail.

Sebastian thinks he has thirty days to pressure me into signing over my money. Khloe thinks she can play the sweet, innocent sister until she takes what’s mine.

If I act erratic now, if I just disappear and start buying warehouses full of supplies, Sebastian will use his lawyers to declare me mentally unstable and freeze my mother's trust. The old world hasn't ended yet. The laws of society are still in place for thirty more days.

Which means I have to play their game.

I have to destroy them legally, in broad daylight, before I prepare for the dark.

I look at the clock. 9:15 AM.

Sebastian said the board meeting at my mother's firm was at noon. He and Khloe will be there, expecting me to show up, apologize for my outburst, and sign my fifty million dollars over to his portfolio.

I turn on my heel and walk into my massive walk-in closet. I bypass the casual clothes. Instead, I pull out a razor-sharp, tailored crimson blazer and a matching pencil skirt.

My mother’s armor.

I dress meticulously. I apply my makeup, hiding the pale shock in my face, painting my lips a deep, unforgiving red. I slip into a pair of black stiletto heels and look in the full-length mirror.

I don't look like a survivor of the wasteland. I look like the wealthy, untouchable heiress of the Davis estate.

Perfect.

I grab my designer handbag, slip the keys to my Range Rover into my pocket, and walk out the door.

It is time to go to war in the boardroom.