The figure in the mirror was still a stranger to Keir. Despite having spent weeks in the body, he had not gotten used to it, or let himself study it beyond the basic plumbing problems. It was a perfectly useful body, at least when it wasn't recovering from getting shot and nearly killed. Many people had similar bodies. Still, it wasn't his. Like ill-fitting armour it chafed and pulled in odd and uncomfortable ways.

This wasn't at all what he'd expected when he'd created the Heart. He'd assumed his people would resurrect him. They would have provided him with a body similar to his old one. One fit for an Emperor.

Sitting in his chair he could couldn't see his entire body. His hips and waist were blocked from view by the arms of the wheelchair. He could still see enough of himself to scowl. After gaining some weight thanks to getting enough supplies to eat three meals a day, he once again looked sickly. Laying in his sickbed had left his cheeks gaunt and his eyes hollow. His hands were practically skeletal, and he could fit a finger between his ribs.

The only part of him that looked healthy was his hair. The tattoo on his head was mostly covered by short, thick blonde hair. It was so short he didn't have to worry about combing it yet, but it would be problem before too long. Rubbing a hand over his bare chin, he wished he could grow a beard.

Forcing himself to his feet, he leaned heavily on the dressing table. His legs shook, but they'd hold him up for a short time.

“I'm not the Emperor anymore, dread or otherwise,” he told the woman in the mirror.

Listening to his voice, it sounded more natural. He hadn't taken the time to notice before, but when he'd first come back his voice had been deeper. He'd unintentionally tried to sound like he had in his old body. The fake deep voice had to have sounded comical. Now, he was speaking naturally, going with what felt comfortable. It was lighter, almost airy, unless he concentrated on making it a little lower and firmer.

“So, who am I?”

His back began to ache around the half healed wound. Gripping the arms of the chair, he eased himself back into it. Wiping sweat from his face, he wondered when he'd be healed enough to actually do something.

Floria came back into the room, holding a bowl of steaming water and a cloth. His bodyguard and, for the time being his maid, placed the bowl on table. “Can you stand, Regua?” she asked, holding her hand out.

“Yes,” he replied. Taking her offered hand, he once more stood up. Forcing his knees to stay firm, he did what he could to help her get the nightgown off.

The reflection in the mirror caught his eye. The small breasts, the painfully thin waist, the hips and butt, they were as far from manly as it was possible to be. He didn't have long to look at himself, before Floria helped ease him onto a stool.

Sitting there, using most of his strength just to sit up straight, his bodyguard dipped the cloth into the water and began gently scrubbing his face. The steaming, rose scented water felt good on his cool skin. Like several other things that had happened recently, Keir finally had the time, and more importantly the motivation, to think as he was washed.

His skin was more sensitive. The rough cloth made him want to shiver with every stroke. As she carefully washed his chest, trying not to pull on the wound too much, he felt his nipples harden. A pleasant jolt ran through his body.

“How do you see me?” he asked, almost without thinking.

“Pardon, Regua?” Floria asked.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

She didn't answer for a few moments, biting her lip with a faraway look in her eyes. She kept washing him, as she thought, but it wasn't quite as gentle as before.

Finally she answered. “You are the Regua. You've come back from the beyond the gates of death, making you unique and the strongest out of everyone in the world. Yet you're still human, despite your miracles. You can die. You can be injured. You care for those around you. And you have the spirit of a warrior.”

Was that all he was now? A weapon and a figurehead? To his people he'd always been a figurehead, but those close to him saw him as a person. Now... It seemed the only people who thought of him as a person were Von and Sister Kaja.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“You want to know if I see you as a man or a woman?”

He jerked in surprise.

She smiled. “I've heard Mage Von call you Keir. Yet to others you're Keira. And I've watched you closely since coming to your side.”

Snorting, he shook his head. He should have realized, servants and bodyguards usually knew more than they let on, it was stupid of him to think she hadn't noticed his concerns.

“Yes. I finally have time to think about it, and I'm not sure how to think of the issue.”

“I've thought about your situation,” she admitted. “You're the first person in history to go from male to female, not just in thoughts or clothes, but body. I don't know why you were chosen to experience both sides of the coin, but it is one more way that you are special.”

“I could do without that particular honour.”

“Some of my fellow sisters would like to be like you. To go from being women to men.”

He hadn't thought of that. He'd known of a few people who had enjoyed dressing up as the opposite sex in the privacy of their homes. As long as they did their job and kept their activities quiet, he hadn't cared. “And you?”

“I like being a woman in all ways. I don't even lay with my sisters unless it's for a special occasion. There is a power in being able to control men with a glance and a smile. And one day, when we defeat the demons, it will be the task of women to bring life to the next generation of warriors and mothers. It's an honour and task I'll gladly accept.”

“I wish it was that easy for me,” Keir said. “I liked being a man.”

“Respectfully Regua, the gods and death care little for what we like.”

He had to smile at that. Whoever was watching over him certainly didn't care about his opinion or desires. “How do your sisters that want to be men act?”

“They live as best they can, accepting the reality of their sex. Yet they also push the limits between men and women in how they dress, behave and doing what is expected of them.” She dropped the cloth into the bowl. “All done.”

Raising his arms, he let her put a clean nightgown on him. It had been hung near the radiator and was almost too hot. But on his cool, air dried skin, it felt wonderful. Getting to his feet, he shuffled to the bed and sat down. Floria had to help him lift his legs up, and eased him back onto the pillows so he didn't pull on his wound. He felt his breasts shift as he laid down.

Closing his eyes, he listened to her pour the water down the sink in the bathroom, and clean up the room. He should make a ghost to act as a maid, but he needed all his energy to heal faster. He hadn't been able to leave the room yet, and there were so many things to prepare before spring.

Pushing those thoughts away, he thought about what Floria had said. He wasn't a man anymore. He didn't want to be a woman, but he was. Could he accept that?

He didn't disrespect women. Some of his wives had been his best advisors, and a female mage could be just as powerful as a male when it came to magic. So why was he finding it so hard to just admit the obvious?

He realized it was time to make a decision. Wasting more time on his feelings wouldn't help anyone.

“I'm Mage Keira, it's as simple as that,” she told herself.

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Necromancer Unmanned will be updated every Tuesday. My other story Doom Valley Prep School will be updated every Monday.

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