The forest is quiet, too quiet. The ferns that compose the entirety of the underbrush are still, it's like the wind has stopped to hold its breath. The towering redwoods reach into the sky, blocking the pale light of the moon and its tiny speck of a sibling. I wait there, trying to keep my breathing low and steady as one stray exhale could create a plume of steam in the moist nighttime air, giving away my position. The floor of the temperate rainforest is moist and soft, threatening to sink my feet, but unable to thanks to the thick carpet of moss and roots. In the silence the sound of something carefully moving through the ferns is deafening.

A slight "swish-swish" of the soft plant being squished down or being pushed aside. I slowly raise the rifle in my hands, setting it gently against the front bar of the treestand. I am sitting about twenty feet in the air, supported by two large screws dug into the side of a towering pillar of wood. I then feel it, I don't hear it. A low rumble that shakes my bones and soft innards. A gentle purring for what made the low-frequency rumble, a content noise after filling a belly. In front of me is a small pool of water, a depression in the ground that fills with rainwater during the more rainy months of the year. The thing moving through the forest, a king, an apex, still moves silently and carefully even when not hunting as if it too fears drawing unnecessary attention. Its feet are designed perfectly for the soft ground below, like the steps of a cat, padded and with the weight well dispersed.

It then comes around the tree I am hiding in, carefully slinking around the titan of wood checking its surroundings, careful as always. I hold my breath and don't move an inch as its eye level is just a foot shy of my stand. It stares for a moment, taking in the sights in the low light before making the same rumble that threatens to rattle my teeth. Satisfied and after having decided the strange object attached to the side of the tree isn't a threat or food it strides forward. Even this close its steps only make the sound of the ferns moving underfoot. As it moves to water I shoulder the high-caliber weapon, a traditional chemically propelled firearm, the only modern aspects being the recoil compensation system which is needed for the prey at hand. There is no scope as this level of light would not allow it, and a night vision or thermal would be considered cheating.

I aim the gun but don't prepare to shoot as the beast is facing away from me, I need to strike the vitals of this 10-ton behemoth or it won't fall easily. While there is some danger in this hunt, the bigger worry is letting this type of prize suffer before death. A swift and quick one is what the king deserves, in respect for its long and successful life as the apex of this part of the forest.

It makes it to water where it crouches down in a similar way to a bird sitting on a nest. The sound of it guzzling down water fills the forest and then suddenly, the cacophony returns as the small creatures of the woods realize the king is satisfied with only a drink at this moment. The wind even returns, this time of year it blows to the West meaning my scent is blown away from the beast. Unfortunately, even after it drinks it remains facing away from me, seemingly contemplating something as it stares into the reflective pool. I wait there for over an hour, my arms screaming from holding the large caliber weapon up for so long, but it pays off as the king stands, its regal form illuminated for a moment as the wind blows the canopy overhead just right to allow moonlight through.

The Fully grown Bull Tyrannosaurus Rex stands proud, its side now facing me as it seemingly poses for its final moments. I move my finger, only a twitch but its incredible eyesight notices it and its massive head whips over to stare at me. Two predatory eyes gaze into mine, even at this distance I can see the intelligence behind them, the calculating gaze of an experienced hunter. Its face is scarred from all the lessons it learned the hard way growing up in this hellish primal world. A world full of recreated prehistoric animals. Unfortunately for the Rex, my shot is already lined up.

With a thunderous crack the nighttime forest is illuminated in harsh orange light for a spit second. The Double-nickle, or .55 caliber bullet (13.9mm) sails through the air for a fraction of a second before it impacts the large creature, shredding bone, meat, and organs. My shot is true and the Rex makes a horrible gurgling roar as its lungs breath out the last of their air. It staggers for a second before it falls over with a final defiant groan.

I climb from the treestand, using my specialized boot spikes to get purchase on the sheer trunk. I approach the fallen preadator and run my hand across its massive frame. My fingers go through its downy plume and my chest swells with pride. I then grab the radio on my hip and call in my sucessful hunt. I sit on top of my prey admiring its brutish beauty. Then it dawns on me... this happened just shy of fifty years ago... a moment of happiness...just a day before...

The scene disappears and I find myself in a hospital room next to four beds... all of them with the same last name displayed at the foot of them. Each one in it strapped to the bed for the safety of themselves and the hospital staff. I remember how I felt in this situation, devastated... but at the same time it felt really strange... what luck that the curse affects four people all within the same month, each one at a different rate. I also find it odd how I was left alone buy the same curse running through my veins.

I look into the eyes of the closest one, and they don't know me. Fear, rage, and nothing, all at once. They can't remember me, in less than a week they forgot their own brother. I stand up and walk over to the bed with the last one, the only one still functioning and alive. I don't remember if there were doctors here at this time. I know they left the syringes in the room with me. I approach the IV tube and stick the syringe into the attachment port and slowly inject the clear fluid. I don't remember looking as the vitals slowed before stopping...

I sit up in my bunk with a groan. I hate having that memory show up. For some reason, my brain remembers something good right before reminding me of that final scene. I slid out of bed and begin dressing before going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth and hair. I don't meet my own gaze as it would only serve to judge and scorn me. When finished I button the last few clasps on my uniform, slap my face, and put a confident smile on my face before stepping out of my stateroom and straight into Phillia who has seemingly been waiting at my door. The weight difference between us causes her to go sprawling to the ground. With a swear I help her back to her feet and with my free hand I dust off her new Navy uniform. To be honest I'm glad her biology is similar to ours so we were able to find a fitting uniform in storage. She looks good in it, her striped face really matching the dark blue of the uniform.

I laugh lightly but then breathe through my nose and I immediately ask,

"Private Phillia... have you been regularly bathing?"

Her stripes darken and she asks innocently,

"Are baths and other routine cleanings a daily occurrence for your kind?"

I nod and respond,

"Yes, you've been here for three days, have you bathed?"

She responds flatly, avoiding eye contact,

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"No sir... I do not know how to use the facilities here."

I facepalm and immediately go through the current shifts looking for a female sailor or marine who is soon going off shift. I find a marine, unfortunately for Phillia. I tell her,

"It is considered baseline cleanliness for humans. Our standards are we have no natural smell if possible, especially when on a navy vessel. "

She nods as the marine, still in armor glides into the hallway. Despite the heavy armor, she makes almost no sound while walking. She grabs the poor stripey woman by her shoulders and through the heavy distortion of the helmet speakers she says in a deep and booming voice,

"Looks like the little tiger woman needs to get herself clean..."

I try not to shudder and I tell the marine,

"Yes, please help her understand how to use the showers and then send her my way before you go off shift. I expect no tomfoolery."

Phillia looks at us in confusion as we hadn't used our implants to translate our speech. I make a mental note to have the scientists look into her biology to see if an implant is possible for her, if not then get some sort of headset that fits her long ears. As the marine drags the wimpering elf-creature away I head to the bridge to get my daily tasks done.

I walk around the windowless room and make sure all my officers are doing well. Everything seems in order and after checking with the captains of other ships I find everything is in a nominal state. I mentally enter the systems of the ship and converse with the AI who had been in contact with the other ships too, they report similarly to the COs of the other vessels. I sit down in my command chair and relax for a bit as I start going through individual sections of the ship to make sure those in certain roles are doing okay.

After an hour Phillia shows up, washed alongside her clothing. I comment offhandedly,

"Glad you could get cleaned up."

She doesn't respond, she just stares at me and after a moment she states,

"It is strange... Your showers, while the Kingdom does have heated water fixtures in vessels for bathing, they are exclusive to the nobility and officers corps. That... Muh-Reen as she called herself was a private first class, which she explained meant she was the second lowest rank possible... it is odd how your kind considers hot water a basic thing for even the lowest on board."

I nod and reply,

"Yes. While there is differences in military rank, there is no real difference in the amenities on board between even me and the lowest private. The only difference is that me and the heads of specific operations, ship systems, or general highest rank of a station, have individual rooms. This is because of the paperwork that comes along with the rank meaning there needs to be a place where they can do it in quiet."

She furrows her brow for a second before smiling and asking,

"So rank directly corresponds to responsibility with your kind?"

I nod and answer,

"Yes, in theory, the higher rank you are, the more things you have to do, this usually means the higher ranked individuals are of higher capability. I think the old saying was Leadership through service. Basically, it means leadership means you are working for those underneath you."

I watch as her eyes go wide and she astonished says,

"Your American system must be the greatest governing system to ever exist."

I sigh and shake my head and answer flatly,

"There is no such thing as best ever. There is only the best option for a certain situation. To think a single system, a single way lasts forever is not the smartest way to think. Things must change and be amended constantly just as the people do within the system. Doesn't matter how, or why, it just must."

She frowns and asks,

"The Eternal Kingdom has had the same government for thousands of years, and only now it has a rebel group. Why can't your... Deem-Oh-Cratic Ree-Poob-lick style work for just as long?"

I simply shrug answering,

"Humans don't like doing the same thing for very long. I don't know enough about the Eternal Kingdom to truly answer you."

She silently nods and watches my command console, not understanding anything displayed on it. I then ask her,

"Phillia, I want you to help me with target priority. I want you to tell me what to look for in the event of possible future military engagements. I am only knowledgeable about human targets. Tell me how to tell something is dangerous before they attack...also I can't detect magic...or whatever."

She nods and thinks for a moment before saying without a hint of sarcasm,

"Whoever has the fanciest armor."

I frown and reply,

"Explain."

She thinks for a moment, seemingly confused by my question and she says slowly,

"Well... the most powerful mage or ship generally has the most money meaning that they usually make sure to flaunt their family wealth..."

I nod understanding there may have been a minor cultural misunderstanding. I sigh and say,

"Alright. I understand. So I need to look for gilding, bright colors, and anything over the top?"

She thinks for a second and then nods. I slump deeper into my command seat and rub the bridge of my nose. I then go to my console and pull up the Shipmasters vessel onto the screen and ask her,

"What priority is this ship?"

She tilts her head side-to-side for a second before answering,

"Pretty important. That's definitely a heavy hitter."

I nod as the onboard AI logs it into targeting data. The AI already puts it down as a fairly decent threat due to the beam weapons that were shown to us. While nothing compared to a nuclear-propelled tungsten rod at point blank, those beams are most likely able to be held for a prolonged period of time since the big ship didn't heat up much at all. Because they are beam weapons which humanity hasn't really faced in any major form they scare me a little. While the math checks out that most American ships can survive a fairly prolonged blast, eventually they will bore through the many layers of armor regardless of heat resistance and angling. I rub my chin and ask for clarification,

"How long can those big broadside guns fire for before they need to recharge...or reload."

Phillia thinks for a moment and responds,

"I'm not really a navy girl, but if I remember correctly each one can hold a beam for minutes at a time before they need to cool down."

I quietly nod. The AI might know how damaging those beams are and I could ask for damage projections, but I decide to go with the philosophy of don't get hit. I nod and ask her,

"Okay, do you know what the ships are made out of? The outer armor?"

She looks at me confused for a moment before looking around as an expression of realization crosses her face. She explains,

"They are made of the finest mana-reinforced stone, which can be produced with specialized metal reinforcements inside to protect important parts. Since they are as defensive as castles after all... As far as I understood before meeting your kind, metal ships like the one we are on are nearly impossible to produce in a reasonable time for reasonable prices. Only a few of the Royal Capital defensive fleet are of metal construction."

I feel something inside me snap and I stare at the screen blankly. I don't think, because that revelation hurt me. I understood from scans some of their ship's exterior has masonry on it, I had assumed that was simply a decorative choice...not a defensive choice. Phillia seems to notice my state of stupor and asks,

"Is stone in your part of space not very strong?"

I say flatly,

"It is... against small arms and some smaller caliber defensive weapons on ships. The weakest of our main ship weapons can easily penetrate a solid meter of very sturdy stone if using the correct ammunition."

She frowns and asks,

"How would the Catfish stack up?"

I reply,

"When comparing main weapons with the Shipmaster a weak shell designed largely for moving space debris out of orbital lanes shattered a nickel-iron asteroid just like those main beams. We then proceeded to atomize a similar-sized and dense asteroid... this ship as I stated is not meant to do heavy-hitting slugging matches. "

She doesn't say anything and seems lost in thought as I rationalize the situation. Yes, stone is fairly tough and I assume this mana stone is tougher than regular stuff Im familiar with. The problem is, stone shatters and cracks, and when it does it's a complete failure of integrity. I shake my head and to save myself from spiraling down this path of thinking I'll just assume its really good and tough thanks to their mana or whatever.

I sigh and then say to Phillia,

"Alright, I understand you aren't a navy person but please enlighten me on all royal navy doctrine..."

A few hours later I am sitting in the mess eating meatloaf with a thousand-yard stare. Phillia explained that their navy fights at visual ranges, and in line formations like old sailing ships. They also rely on exterior defensive positions similar to castle walls where mages stand in fucking space with a shield holding atmosphere in while they cast magic at the enemy.... what the hell is going on?