《Ironforce》


 Ch.1 Post-war Silence

    Under a sky veiled with light rain and clouds, the sound of the Yamato''s cannons were echoing across the sea. Who knows when the anti-aircraft guns last ceased firing. The world''s largest battleship was battered from all sides, artillery shells striking its hull, massive waves crashing against its frame. The deck was littered with dozens of wounded and dead. Everyone fought desperately, struggling to survive and return to their families. Yet they all knew how impossible that seemed. They needed something to ignite a flame inside them, a reason to keep fighting.


    Through the haze of gunpowder and sea spray, Frieda spotted a silhouette on the horizon. Not so far away, an enemy battleship was heading toward them, its guns already adjusting their aim. Frieda''s jaw tightened as she assessed the situation with practiced calculation. It was clear that the enemy ship was preparing to fire its cannons, and they had precious little time to respond.


    "TURN THE SHIP PORT SIDE!" her voice rose above the chaos.


    It turned painfully slow, like a turtle trying to rotate in mud. The ship had already taken multiple direct hits to its hull, making maneuverability even more difficult. Despite this, Captain Frieda led with unwavering strength. At twenty-two, she was young for such responsibility, but her military bearing and natural command presence made her age irrelevant. Everyone on board admired her commanding presence. With her piercing black eyes, rugged uniform that had seen too many battles, and authoritative personality honed through years of harsh training, she was the undisputed master of the battlefield.


    Her voice rang out again.


    "ARE THE GUNS STILL NOT LOADED?!"


    A wounded artillery officer, leaning against the cold metal wall with blood seeping through his bandages, responded wearily. His face bore the thousand-yard stare of a man who had seen too much death.


    "How can you still believe one more cannon shot will be able to save us? Nothing will change even if we fire ten more shots or empty our entire arsenal. This place is our grave. Look at the situation we are in. They are everywhere. They are all around us and we''re under constant fire. How can you still ask us to stand up and fight? At least, let us rest in peace... Captain."


    His words hung in the air, thick with defeat. Across the bridge, Frieda saw the same resignation reflected in the faces of her officers. They were agreeing with this sad truth, their spirits broken by days of relentless combat. The knowledge that they were fighting for a lost cause had finally settled into their bones.


    But she had a mission to complete, she couldn''t just give up. Frieda stormed over to the officer, her boots leaving wet footprints on the metal floor. She lifted him by his collar, ignoring the fresh blood that soaked through his uniform, and began berating him. Her voice was controlled but intense.


    "IF YOU WANT TO REST PEACEFULLY IN YOUR GRAVE, GET UP AND FIGHT. YOU WON''T FIND PEACE AS FISH FOOD IN THE DEPTHS OF THE OCEAN. YOU CAME HERE KNOWING YOU MAY DIE, AND I CAME HERE TO LEAD YOU TO VICTORY. YOU WILL GIVE YOUR LIFE TO ME, TO YOUR HOMELAND, SO YOUR CHILDREN CAN LIVE ONE MORE DAY. GET YOUR DAMN ASS UP AND HELP LOAD THE CANNONS!"


    The officer''s face revealed he had much more to say, a wealth of objections and bitter truths. But something in Frieda''s eyes¡ªperhaps the sheer force of her conviction, or perhaps the recognition that she too understood the hopelessness of their situation but chose to fight anyway¡ªsilenced him. He chose silence, picked up his cap, and left, hobbling toward his station with renewed purpose, if not hope.


    Frieda turned to address the remaining crew on the bridge. Her uniform was spattered with blood, some her own, most belonging to others. Her black hair had come loose from its severe bun, framing her face with wild strands that made her look like an avenging Valkyrie. Despite the chaos around her, or perhaps because of it, she had never looked more in command.


    "IF YOUR CHILDREN, YOUR WIFE, YOUR MOTHER, WHATEVER THE HELL YOU VALUE MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU, YOU WILL DIE HERE FOR THEM. EVERYONE, BACK TO YOUR STATIONS!"


    Her words struck something primal in her crew. They might die today, probably would, but they would die with purpose, with meaning. Frieda witnessed the renewed determination, if not quite hope, on everyone''s faces on the bridge. The change was subtle but crucial. Their shoulders straightened, jaws set with resolve, hands steadied on controls and weapons. They moved with new purpose, their actions crisp and focused.


    "LISTEN, YOU WILL¡ª"


    Her words were cut short as the ship shuddered with a massive explosion. The force of the blast threw Frieda off her feet, sending her crashing into a bank of instruments. Pain lanced through her body as she fell to the ground, momentarily unable to comprehend what had happened. The world spun around her, sounds muffled as if she were underwater. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out the shouts and screams of her crew.


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    Despite her blurred vision, she forced herself to rise to her feet, using a nearby console for support. Blood trickled down her temple, but she ignored it, pushing through the disorientation to assess the damage. Through the cracked windows of the bridge, she saw one of the main gun turrets had been destroyed. Flames were rising wildly from the wreckage, threatening to spread to ammunition storage areas. They couldn''t risk the fire to spread. It would mean certain death for everyone aboard.


    Frieda quickly regained her composure. She rushed to a broken window, feeling the sharp sting of salt air against her face, and ordered those still standing on deck to extinguish the flames. Her voice was hoarse but still carried the weight of command.


    As she issued orders, movement above caught her attention. A shadow loomed over her, blotting out what little light filtered through the clouds. She froze momentarily, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with the rain soaking through her uniform. Looking up, she saw hundreds of aircraft flying overhead, their silhouettes unmistakable against the gray sky.


    Enemy bombers, wave after wave of them, and from their open bay doors came countless bombs falling toward them like rain.


    In that instant, time seemed to slow, and a flood of thoughts rushed through Frieda''s mind.


    Was the artillery officer right? No matter how fiercely we fight, no matter how many lives we sacrifice, will this cold, deep ocean become our grave? Is this the end for the ship''s crew before we can fire our cannons once more?


    Deeper questions surfaced in what she believed were her final moments.


    Why am I giving my life for another country thousands of kilometers from my homeland? Why am I fighting in this war in the first place? Did Wilhelm, my "father", send me here to die, or did he genuinely believe I could make a difference? Did he ever truly care for me, or was I simply a project, a prot¨¦g¨¦ to mold in his image?


    She didn''t bother finding answers to these questions. There wasn''t much time left anyway. She spent her final seconds watching the countless bombs plummeting toward her in the cold, cloudy sky.


    And then the inevitable end came.


    Everything was endless darkness and scary yet relaxing silence. Frieda wondered if death was normally this peaceful. All the thoughts in her brain were suddenly silenced. But her tranquility was disturbed by a metallic DING sound, as if something had struck hard against metal. The sound was out of place in this void, too physical, too real.


    Frieda''s eyes flew open in complete bewilderment, her heart pounding in her chest.


    "I am... alive...? But... how?"


    Countless thoughts raced through her mind, but they were nothing more than a buzzing in her brain, incoherent and fragmented. She wasn''t able to understand a single thing happening right now.


    Last thing I remember, I was watching bombs fall toward us. There should be nothing left, not of the ship, not of my crew, and certainly not of me.


    She looked around, trying to orient herself. A dimly lit gas lamp was barely illuminating the room, as if someone had been waiting for her to wake up. Looking around, she realized she was in one of the small bedrooms inside the ship, an officer''s quarters, judging by the furnishings. There was nothing but a bed, clothes neatly folded on a chair, a few cabinets, and a necklace with a smiley face on it that was hanging on the wall with a nail. For some reason it felt like the necklace was trying to send her a message. The room showed no sign of damage, no evidence of the devastating attack she had witnessed.


    I still can''t fully grasp what happened, but one thing is certain¡ªI¡¯m alive. And if I survived, then my crew might have as well. Perhaps they somehow escaped the worst of the bombing.


    With renewed hope, Frieda quickly got up, ignoring the dizziness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.


    "TAKEO! YAMAYA! ANYONE! ANSWER ME!" she called out, her voice echoing in the empty corridors.


    She grabbed the faintly glowing gas lamp and began wandering through the ship''s deserted, cold, dark corridors.


    The Yamato had always been filled with sound, the hum of engines, the footsteps of the crew, the constant communication between stations. Now there was nothing. There wasn''t a single sign of life. No bodies, no blood, no evidence of the battle that had raged just moments¡ªor was it hours? or days?¡ªago.


    Frieda struggled to make sense of it all.


    Where could the entire crew have gone? Am I the only survivor? If so, why was I in one of the ship¡¯s cabins? Who put me there? And how long was I unconscious? No matter how hard I try, I can¡¯t find a logical answer to any of it.


    Ugh. My head hurts.


    She wanted to find someone. No, she had to. She traversed all the corridors, pondering the possibilities in her mind.


    Perhaps there was an evacuation? But we were in the middle of the Pacific, far from any land. And why would they leave me behind?


    At the end of these seemingly endless passages, she finally saw a light, daylight. She quickly walked toward its source, her pace increasing with each step. As soon as she stepped outside onto the deck, her hands reflexively moved to shield her eyes from the sun.


    There was sunlight... It had been so long since she had seen the blue texture of the sky or felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. The days before the final battle had been nothing but gray skies and rain, as if the heavens themselves had been mourning in anticipation of the bloodshed to come. She had even thought these were just figments of her imagination, beautiful memories from a life before war that could never be recaptured.


    Or is this the afterlife? Has the darkness been merely a transition to this place of light and silence? I''m not a particularly religious woman¡ªWilhelm emphasized pragmatism over faith¡ªbut if this is the afterlife, it''s nothing like what I was taught.


    She looked down at her uniform, noting the dried blood and tears in the fabric.


    Surely the afterlife would have provided better attire.


    Chuckling to herself with a small, confused smile, she turned her gaze to the vast forest and endless blue sky above and said:


    "Hell can''t be this beautiful."

 Ch.2 Metal Coffin

    Moving to the edge of the deck, Frieda looked out at what lay beyond, and her breath caught in her throat. The massive Yamato had run aground on some strange beach. Beyond the shore stretched an endless expanse of dense, emerald-green forest, its canopy undulating in the sea breeze.


    "What in the..."


    The stark contrast between her last memory and this peaceful scene before her was jarring, almost painful in its incongruity. The blue sky above was unmarred by aircraft or smoke, the air clean and free from the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning metal. Birds called to one another from the forest edge, their songs strange and unfamiliar to her ears.


    Tearing her gaze from the horizon, Frieda turned her attention to the ship itself. The extent of the damage was clear even from the deck. There were deep rents in the previously immaculate metal where enemy shells had hit, and twisted remains of gun emplacements hung out of their mountings like shattered teeth.


    Reconstruction would require not just an abundance of time and effort, but also resources she lacked and skilled individuals who were nowhere to be found. She had no idea where she had landed, and there was no guarantee that the ship would ever sail the seas again. The thought sent a pang through her chest.


    To see it reduced to this state felt like a personal failure, despite the impossible odds they had faced.


    Where am I? Is this some unknown island in the Pacific? Or have we washed up on neutral ground? The worst possibility is that we''ve landed on an island with an enemy base. That''s the last thing I need, to survive the impossible only to become a prisoner of war.


    Frieda pushed a hand through her knotted black hair, grown long during the months at sea, tired of these futile circular thoughts. Action alone would bring answers.


    "This metal coffin is making me feel sick to my stomach, how did everything end up like this..." she muttered, scanning the deck for a means of descent.


    The emergency equipment on the ship was in disarray, ropes that were to be wound into their stations were either cut to useless stumps or gone entirely. There were charred black marks where fires had burned out during the fight, melting equipment and rendering much of it unusable. She would need to re-enter the ship''s hull to see if she could find something that would get her down to the shore below.


    She glanced back at the dark entrance leading into the ship''s interior.


    "Damn it, going back in there gives me the creeps," she admitted to herself, the confession feeling like a weakness.


    She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Talking to herself wouldn''t change the reality of her situation. Although she was afraid of the dark, she had no choice.


    She stepped back into the ship''s shadowy passages, the small gas lamp in her hand casting eerie, dancing shadows on the bulkheads. Its feeble light barely illuminated an arm''s length around her, leaving the rest in murky darkness.


    The first room she visited was a shambles. It had been the officers'' mess, where she had shared countless meals with her fellow commanders. Now it was unrecognizable, overturned chairs, papers strewn about the floor like autumn leaves, and a shattered picture frame holding what looked like a family photo were all that she could spot in the corner. She searched the space systematically, but nothing presented itself to help her descend.


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    The second room was equally unfruitful, the medical bay, with equipment scattered around, supplies missing, but no ladders or ropes to aid her descent.


    The pattern continued through room after room, the third, fourth, fifth, each one a similar scene of abandonment and disorder. By the fourteenth room, Frieda''s patience had worn dangerously thin. The lamp oil was running low, her stomach growled with hunger, and her initial fear had been replaced by a simmering frustration. Not a single space contained anything that could help her reach the ground or address her growing list of basic needs.


    "They literally sent me to war in an empty tin can with weapons attached," she snarled, kicking a dropped helmet along the ground.


    "What kind of warship is this? All guns, no supplies? Don''t fuck with me!" Her voice rose in volume, the frustration of her situation finally boiling over.


    The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like they had been sent on a suicide mission from the beginning. The Yamato, for all its impressive firepower, had been poorly equipped for actual survival. It was as if high command had never expected them to return, only to deal as much damage as possible before being destroyed.


    Did Wilhelm know this when he assigned me to this posting? Did my mentor, the man who saved and raised me, knowingly send me to die? Or did he genuinely believe in my ability to beat the impossible odds? This uncertainty is gnawing at me...


    Her frustration grew with each empty room, but she continued her search. The ship was vast, and she had only explored a small portion of it. There had to be something useful somewhere.


    In a giant room that seemed to be a storage facility, one she hadn''t been familiar with during her time commanding the ship, her light finally came to rest on something hopeful, a line of tall, deep cabinets secured to the wall by bolts.


    It was an emergency equipment cabinet.


    Frieda rushed to the cabinets, her heart racing with hope. The first two were disappointingly empty, containing only dust and scraps of paper. As she opened the third, her hope began to falter.


    Then, finally, a stroke of luck. The fourth cabinet was filled with a number of pilot ladders, their rope sides and wooden steps rolled up neatly and ready for use. These were the standard equipment used to descend from the deck to the water in emergency situations, exactly what she needed.


    "Nice," she muttered, running her hands over the rope and wood to check for integrity. The materials were old but appeared well-preserved, protected within the cabinet from the elements and the damage that had afflicted the rest of the ship.


    She did not hesitate, grabbing two of the wooden rope ladders and pulling them taut to test they were secure. They were heavier than she had expected. They appeared sturdy enough to hold her weight, despite their age. Reasoning that she was only going to make this journey once through these ghostly corridors, she tied the ladders together with a secure sailor''s knot and started hauling them along to the deck.


    The journey back was arduous. The combined weight of the ladders was considerable, and navigating the narrow corridors while dragging such bulky equipment proved challenging. The wooden rungs clattered noisily off the metal deck, the sound was echoing through the empty ship.


    "I..." she groaned, hauling the heavy load around a corner,


    "...DIDN''T..." Her voice echoed off the metal walls,


    "...COME..." The word emerged as a grunt as she heaved the ladders over a fallen beam,


    "...ALL THIS WAY..." Her muscles tightened as she came to a steep slope,


    "...TO BE DEFEATED BY TWO FUCKING SIMPLE LADDERS." The last words emerged as a primal roar, a release of all the frustration that had been building since she first awoke in this situation.


    With a final, mighty effort, she dragged her prize up the last incline and emerged onto the deck, blinking in the sudden brightness. The sun was lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the beached battleship. She had spent more time below decks than she had realized.


    Breathless but triumphant, Frieda stood for a moment, relishing the fresh air and the sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in the face of overwhelming uncertainty, but it was hers. And now, with these ladders, she could finally leave the ship and begin to explore this strange new shore, perhaps find answers to the countless questions that swirled in her mind.

 Ch.3 Land

    She had dealt with the ladders the entire trip, dragging them to the deck. The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting golden light on the Yamato''s damaged hull. Frieda stood at the railing, ladder in hand, eyeing the beach below¡ªabout twenty meters down. Manageable.


    Now she finally had a way down. Carefully, she arranged the ladder, inspecting each rung and testing the rope¡¯s strength. She slowly lowered it until the tip touched the ground, then gave it a final tug to ensure its stability. Satisfied, she secured it tightly to a metal stanchion on the deck.


    She placed her foot on the ladder and descended slowly, gripping the ropes tightly. Her knuckles went white as the salt-covered fibers dug into her palms, but the pain barely registered. After years of training and months at sea, physical discomfort had become second nature. Her mind kept replaying fractured memories of the fight¡ªthe explosions, the screams, that moment she thought would be her last.


    How did I survive when no one else did? Did they escape without me? Or did they...? No. I refuse to believe they''d abandon their captain. My crew wouldn''t leave me behind. Something else must have happened. But what?


    And beneath these practical questions lay something more personal, more painful. She didn''t want to lose people she cared for. Again.


    When her toes reached the last rung, she released her grip and dropped the final short distance to the beach. The soft give of the sand beneath her boots felt strange after months at sea, where every surface was hard and unyielding. It was almost dizzying, like the ground itself was alive beneath her feet.


    "At last. Land!" Her voice was rough with emotion, a complex mixture of relief and triumph.


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    She looked around, taking in the beach from this new perspective. The sand was pale gold, almost white in places, stretching in a gentle curve for what looked like several kilometers in either direction. The forest line began about fifty meters back from the water''s edge, a dense wall of green that promised both resources and potential dangers.


    "Who knows how long it''s been since I''ve touched anything but a metal surface..."


    Not caring about uniform or pride for once, Frieda twirled slowly, arms outstretched, and allowed herself to fall backwards onto the warm sand. It was a childlike gesture of surrender and relief, something the disciplined Captain Flusser would never have permitted herself.


    The grains embraced her, curving to conform to her shape, warm from the day''s sun. She stretched out her arms, feeling the texture of each particle on her palms as she sank her fingers into the beach. The sensation was exquisite, so different from the cold, unyielding metal that had surrounded her for so long. The sand shifted and yielded beneath her weight, a living thing compared to the dead materials of the ship.


    She slowly opened her eyes to look up at the endless blue sky. Her pitch-black eyes, normally cutting with command and calculation, now appeared to draw in the sun''s rays like twin abysses. Her gaze softened. She felt free, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.


    Ahh, for the first time in years, no one is watching me. No crew depending on my next command, no enemy tracking our movements, no Wilhelm judging my every decision. I''m completely free. I can just be Frieda for now, not Captain Flusser.


    An unexplainable smile shaped her face, not one of relief or joy, but one of greater sophistication.


    After years of training for war, preparing for death, she found herself utterly unprepared for survival in these circumstances. Wilhelm had taught her how to kill, how to command, how to strategize, but had spent precious little time on what to do if she found herself alone, stranded, without the military might at her disposal.


    "What do you want me to do, Wilhelm?" she said quietly to the sky, half expecting the gruff voice of her "father" to respond with some tactical assessment of her situation. But there was only the soft sound of waves lapping at the shore and the distant calls of unknown birds.


    Would you be proud of me, Wilhelm? Or disappointed?

 Ch.4 Im Not... Alone?

    She took stock of her immediate resources. The pistol at her hip was still secure in its holster, a Walther P38, a gift from Wilhelm when she completed her officer training. A quick check confirmed she had six rounds left. And the knife she carried at her ankle gave her added confidence. It was a small knife, but certainly better than nothing.


    Guns and knives would not keep her alive for long, though. She needed to scavenge for supplies, food, fresh water, materials for shelter. The ship contained resources, certainly, but she would need to supplement those with what she could find in this new environment.


    Standing up, she dusted the remaining sand from her uniform and surveyed her surroundings. The edge of the forest was the logical place to start her exploration. Food, water, and shelter would likely be found there. But the dense vegetation also presented unknown risks, hostile wildlife, poisonous plants, perhaps even unfriendly local inhabitants.


    With that thought firmly in mind, Frieda squared her shoulders and began walking toward the forest''s edge, her hand resting lightly on the butt of her pistol.


    The sand gave way to firmer ground as she approached the treeline, and scattered vegetation began to appear, salt-resistant grasses and low-growing shrubs that thrived in the transitional zone between beach and forest.


    She saw immediately that several of the trees had fruit within arm''s length, bright splashes of color against the green backdrop. Some were appeared to be wild apples, small but edible-looking berries, and nuts that resembled walnuts. But others were completely foreign to her, odd, bulbous fruits with mottled skin, strange pendant-like growths that might be seed pods or might be something else entirely.


    I don''t know half of these plants. They don''t match anything I''ve studied about Pacific island flora. The familiar ones could be safe to eat, but the others... I don''t want to die from something I eat.


    Moving parallel to the shoreline, she kept the beach visible through the trees on her left, unwilling to venture too deep into the forest without a secure way back. The ground sloped gently, and after walking for a minute or two, she heard the unmistakable sound of running water.


    Following the sound, she found a small freshwater stream cutting through the forest, winding its way across the sand into the ocean. The water was clear. She was pretty lucky to find such an important resource so close to her ship.


    The spot where the stream ran out onto the beach was indeed a perfect campsite. It offered access to fresh water, visibility of the ocean and the Yamato, and the resources of the forest without being too exposed or too enclosed.


    As she collected what she needed to set up a primitive camp, Frieda''s thoughts returned to the enigma of her circumstances. Where was she, anyway? None of the terrain corresponded to any Pacific island she was familiar with from her military intelligence. The flora and fauna seemed wrong for the region where the Yamato had made its last stand. And how had she and the ship been transported here, intact but damaged, when the last thing she remembered was certain destruction?


    The possibilities ranged from the rational to the absurd. Perhaps she had been unconscious longer than she thought, and the ship had drifted thousands of kilometers off course. Maybe this was some uncharted island, missed by cartographers due to its remote location. Or perhaps... she really died and this was the afterlife.


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    Could I be dead? Is this some strange afterlife? Unlikely. The afterlife wouldn''t include hunger pangs and the need to build shelter. And if I were hallucinating, would I question my own hallucination? Or am i questioning hallucination because i know i''m in a hallucination? Ugh, nevermind, whatever this is, it''s real. Strange, inexplicable, but real.


    By the time dusk approached, Frieda had constructed a small lean-to against one of the larger rocks near the stream''s outlet, using fallen branches and broad leaves to create a simple shelter. She had collected a pile of semi-edible looking fruit, setting aside the most recognizable varieties for immediate consumption and the more exotic specimens for later testing. She had also gathered driftwood for a fire, arranging it in the efficient cross-pattern that would provide maximum heat with minimal fuel consumption.


    She used the small lighter from her breast pocket to start the fire. The lighter had never failed her, and it didn''t now, catching the dry kindling almost immediately. Soon a small fire crackled in front of her makeshift shelter, pushing back the gathering darkness.


    As night fell across the strange beach, she sat cross-legged by the fire, staring into the flames and she thought about everything that had happened so far.


    "Better than getting blown up by an artillery shell I guess," she grumbled, though she was not completely convinced.


    Nightfall ushered in different noises from the forest, chirping, rustling, and every now and then howls that made her shudder. Strange calls that resembled no animals she knew echoed from the depths of the woods. She would rather have slept on the deck or aboard the ship but it was nigh impossible to bring the planks and other materials aboard for a comfortable setup. Even if it could be done she would fear to light a fire there in case it would catch the ship on fire, and that''s the last thing she wanted. The Yamato might be beached and damaged, but it remained her most significant resource.


    Nothing seemed to approach her camp during the night, but sleep proved elusive nonetheless. Instead, she kept the fire fed and her hand near her pistol, watching shadows dance across the sand.


    Close to midnight, Frieda noticed a faint light burning deep in the woods. At first, she thought it might be a reflection of her own fire on some shiny surface, or perhaps a trick of her tired eyes. But as she focused on it, the light remained steady.


    She wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. The light, however, persisted, too steadily to be anything ordinary. It was like the light was calling her, beckoning her into the forest depths.


    "Is that a... settlement," she wondered aloud, excitement growing as she contemplated the possibility that it might be her crew. Perhaps they had survived after all, had made it to shore and established a camp of their own. The thought sent a surge of hope through her.


    "Or..." she continued.


    The alternative was too awful to consider. If this was enemy territory, that light could signal threats worse than predators or starvation. It could be a hostile military outpost, or natives unfriendly to outsiders.


    A much closer sound broke her stare from the faraway light. Every muscle in her body tensed, her combat instincts instantly overriding all other thoughts. She turned, gun drawn in one fluid motion, the barrel pointed into the darkness at the edge of the forest.


    "Who''s there?" she called out.


    "Step outside." The order was clear.


    There was only silence in response, yet Frieda''s instincts cried out that she was not alone. Something, or somebody, was out there in the darkness just beyond the dancing flames of her camp. She could feel eyes upon her, watching, assessing.


    "It''s my final warning." She stated, cocking her gun, the distinctive click carrying clearly in the night air.


    The rustling leaves and crackling bushes at the forest edge intensified. Frieda''s finger tensed on the trigger, ready to fire at the first sign of danger. After a moment that stretched like eternity, a figure emerged from the underbrush. Frieda stared at it in shock and confusion, her carefully cultivated combat readiness momentarily shattered by the sheer unexpectedness of what stood before her.

 Ch.5 Arsenal

    The creature that stepped out of the night was smaller than a fox, its eyes burning with an ethereal light that mirrored the flames of the fire like two small moons. Its body was long and sleek with charcoal fur and strange silver stripes running down its flanks. The creature stepped closer with deliberate caution, nose twitching, as it tested the unfamiliar smells of Frieda and her camp.


    She held her pistol on the creature, finger resting over the trigger, her instincts were screaming at her to eliminate any potential threat. She thought of shooting, but something in its manner held her back. This beast was curious rather than threatening, not like the predators she had faced before.


    "What the hell are you?" Frieda whispered, slowly lowering her weapon but not holstering it.


    The creature froze at the sound of her voice, ears pricking forward. For a moment of taut silence, they locked eyes across the fire, and then, with a high-pitched chirping sound she had never heard the like of, it was gone, disappeared into the bushes with only the faintest rustle of leaves to mark its departure.


    "What-..." she gasped, finally returning the pistol to its holster. "What kind of animal is that...?"


    It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on a peculiar looking creature like this. The encounter only deepened the mystery of her situation, this was clearly no ordinary Pacific island, if it was an island at all.


    Sleep did not come after the encounter.


    When dawn colored the sky with pale pinks and golds, Frieda''s eyes were dry with fatigue, her body aching from vigilance throughout the night.


    After a short sleep, she woke fully with the sunrise, stretching sore muscles and ticking off in her mind the day''s priorities. The ship held possible resources she hadn''t claimed yet, medical supplies, tools, maybe even communications equipment if any had survived the attack. But the woods called with just as much insistency, that strange light she''d seen most of all.


    After a moment of deliberation, pragmatism prevailed over curiosity.


    "Ugh, here we go again, I hope those dark and cold corridors missed me," she muttered, her voice tinged with sardonic humor.


    "I cannot say I missed them much," she added, brushing sand from her uniform.


    Following a swift breakfast of the fruit she had picked the day before, Frieda headed back to the Yamato. The pilot ladder was still draped over the deck, swaying lightly in the ocean wind.


    The second time, the climbing was less difficult. On the boat, she strode purposefully through the empty corridors, no longer unsettled by their vacancy. She had a clear task now, salvage anything of value and return to land before nightfall.


    Room by room, Frieda systematically gathered supplies. Part of the medical kit from the infirmary. A compass and some detailed naval charts from the navigation room. Stored rations from the galley stores. Every item of equipment found its way into a canvas sack she had fashioned from a spare bedsheet, which grew increasingly heavy with each addition.


    In the officers'' quarters, she found clothing that they used to wear. What truly caught her attention, however, was her personal weapons locker, still intact and secured with a lock only she had the key to. She smiled faintly as she withdrew the small key from inside her uniform jacket. Unlike the standard-issue weapons aboard, these were hers, collected and carefully transported from her homeland.


    The weighty lock disengaged, swinging open to reveal her own personal arsenal. A sniper Kar98k rifle with scope covered in protective cloth, Luger pistol, StG rifle and an EMP submachine gun. Next to it, the Mauser C96 pistol, her favorite, a gift from her "father" when she departed from her homeland. Ammunition crates were neatly stacked but she knew there was only a limited amount.


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    Two combat knives with worn leather grips completed the collection, along with a "potato masher" grenade that her troops had been so fond of. The serious look on her face immediately changed to an indescribable smile. It was hard to tell if it was because she was happy or if it was because of something else entirely.


    "I had almost forgotten these existed, I missed you guys so much!" she exclaimed, running her fingers along the barrel of the Kar98k.


    "I hope you guys haven''t forgotten me. You guys will be pretty useful for me."


    She carefully placed the Kar98 into her makeshift bag and switched the Walther for the Mauser, leaving the other guns for later.


    The ship''s main armory yielded more spoils, some cases of ammunition for her own weapons, clearly boarded at her own request when she took command. She also discovered a pair of binoculars that would be handy for reconnaissance, and a small hand-crank radio in the communications room. There was no way to tell if it would function but its existence provided the first spark of hope of contact with the outside world.


    By midafternoon, her improvised bag loaded with supplies and arms, Frieda finished a final sweep of the ship''s primary deck. There was something about this place that was growing more and more wrong. Not just the absence of bodies, which made no sense at all, but something more fundamental. As if the Yamato itself had been displaced, torn from its own time and abandoned here like a broken toy by a child.


    "I''m tired of this nonsense. The more I think about it, the more unanswered questions pop up instead of answers. Where the hell is my damn crew? Damn it."


    She spoke the words out loud, which were blown away by the wind.


    The descent to the beach was tricky under her loaded weight, but Frieda managed it without accident. She stashed her gear at the camp and arranged her weapons with military precision. The Mauser in its holster at her side, the rifle propped against a nearby rock within easy reach, and the knives in their sheaths at belt and ankle. She counted her ammo carefully. Forty-seven rounds for the Mauser, thirty-two for the rifle. Not an unlimited supply, but enough if used carefully.


    She noted the sun''s position. There were a good few hours of daylight remaining, enough time to check out the forest glow she had seen the night before.


    Sliding the rifle onto her shoulder and ensuring the Mauser was secure in its holster, Frieda marked her path with snapped twigs as she walked into the dense forest. The beach surrendered to the interior of the forest with abrupt suddenness, sunlight giving way as overhead cover became thick. Unfamiliar birds shrilled from unseen roosts, and insects hummed in the undergrowth.


    She walked in the general direction she had seen the light, pausing now and again to get her bearings. The forest grew wilder the deeper she walked, ancient trees with massive trunks, strange flowering vines that emitted faint phosphorescence even during the day, fungi in shapes and colors she had never encountered.


    "There is no chance that such an island is not known to the world. This isn''t any Pacific Island I know. Can I... really be in the afterlife...?"


    While thinking, she brushed aside a veil of moss and uncovered a tiny clearing.


    The clearing was exactly round, as if cut deliberately from the forest. In its center was what appeared to be a stone altar, weathered by age but still unmistakably worked. Symbols were etched into its surface, patterns that flirted with the edge of recognition without falling into anything identifiable.


    As Frieda approached the altar, the air around her noticeably cooled. Her breath fogged in the suddenly chilled air, and goosebumps rose on her arms. The stone gave off cold like a block of ice but otherwise appeared normal.


    "What the¡ª"


    Her fingers had hardly touched the rock when there was a loud crack. Frieda stepped back, rifle at the ready. The clearing was still empty, but the whole forest grew quiet. No birds, no insects, as if every living thing was holding its breath.


    Suddenly she started to hear whispers that appeared to come from everywhere and nowhere, several voices chattering in a language she couldn''t understand. Was she finally starting to go crazy? The noise tickled the fine hairs at the back of her neck, primordial fear racing through her bloodstream in spite of years of military academy.


    Step by step, Frieda stepped back from the altar, but she felt like the altar was calling for her to come closer, still clutching her rifle at an upward angle as she scanned the edge of the clearing. The whispers lingered behind, increasing in volume and urgency. And then she saw motion, a flash of white against the green and brown of the woods.


    A small form flashed between two great trees, too fast for Frieda to get a clear sight. But the glimpse she did catch was unmistakably human. Or at least, humanoid.

 Ch.6 White-Haired Child

    "Hey!"


    She called out, instinctively lowering her weapon.


    "Come back here!"


    The whispers ceased abruptly. The woods stood in this uncanny silence as Frieda warily made her way to where she had last seen the figure. Brushing aside a low-hanging branch, she found a narrow path leading further into the forest, half-hidden amidst the undergrowth.


    There were fresh tracks in the soft ground, tiny, barefoot tracks leading away from the clearing. Frieda didn''t hesitate long to follow, compelled by the desire for answers and the first hint that she was not by herself on this peculiar beach.


    The path curled through increasingly denser vegetation, the light dimming as the forest appeared to wrap itself around her. It was only her combat training that prevented her from becoming totally disoriented as the trail twisted and backtracked repeatedly.


    Finally, the path opened into a second clearing, smaller than the first but no less distinct. Where the first had the stone altar, this one featured a small crude hut constructed of branches and leaves.


    And standing in front of the shelter, holding what looked like a crude spear and staring up at Frieda with wide, terrified eyes, was a child.


    A child? Alone in this wilderness?


    A girl, not more than twelve years old at Frieda''s guess, with startling white hair that hung in matted tangles around a grimy face. She wore clothing made from good quality fabric, now worn nearly to nothing. Hanging around her neck was a strange well-made pendant.


    The girl held her spear in trembling hands, a defensive stance on display. Fearful as she obviously was, she stood her ground, eyes never leaving Frieda''s face. Her chin and hands were streaked with blood, a sign of a recent meal, likely consisting of raw meat.


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    Frieda carefully lowered her rifle and shifted the strap to hold it across her back, and held up empty hands in a gesture of peace that was universally understood by anyone. The girl eased a little, although suspicion was etched in every line of her body.


    "Hello,"


    Frieda spoke softly, believing her words would not be comprehended but hoping her tone of voice would be interpreted.


    "I''m not an enemy, I''m not going to hurt you, look."


    The girl tilted her head, white hair shifting to reveal a nasty scar running from temple to jaw on the right side of her face. She replied in a language unlike any Frieda had encountered, it sound harsh but beautiful... Similiar and reminding her native language.


    Speech would naturally be difficult, but the fact that there was another human being present gave her hope. Frieda slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out some of the dried ration she had been able to salvage from the ship. The kid tracked her motion with wide-eyed interest.


    Frieda held out the offering and took a step forward. The girl checked it immediately, spear point rising. Frieda stopped, then placed the food on the ground and stepped back. For several tense moments, neither of them moved. Then, with the wariness of a wild animal, the girl sprang forward, snatched up the food, and returned to her former position. She sniffed uncertainly at the unfamiliar material, then took a tentative bite. Her eyes opened wide with wonder, and she wolfed down the remainder eagerly.


    There was a partial relaxing across her face, not trust, maybe, but the beginnings of curiosity to complement Frieda''s own.


    "Well," she said quietly, "looks like we have one or two things to learn from each other."


    The far-off noise of rustling in the bushes made them both look up. The girl''s head jerked up, face changing in an instant from cautious curiosity to terror.


    Before Frieda could reply, the bushes at the edge of the clearing started to shake furiously. Whatever was coming was big, bigger than the fox-like animal she had seen last night. The little girl was already moving back behind Frieda.


    Frieda unslinged her rifle with a ease born of much practice, thumbing off the safety as she drew a bead on the trembling leaves. The bushes parted and Frieda''s finger grew tight on the trigger as something enormous was about to burst into the clearing.

 Ch.7 Communication

    The foliage parted with a sharp rustle as the great beast emerged. Its magnificent black fur gleamed in the dappled light, a striking metallic white stripe running from its neck down to its torso. The creature towered over Frieda, standing nearly twice her height, its massive muscular frame radiating power and wild majesty. Its head alone was almost the size of Frieda''s torso, and its powerful limbs looked capable of crushing trees with minimal effort.


    For several heartbeats, nobody moved. The beast stared at them with intelligent amber eyes while Frieda kept her finger poised over the trigger, her body tense but controlled. Behind her, the small white-haired girl clutched at Frieda''s uniform, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric as she pressed herself against Frieda''s back.


    Those eyes... they''re evaluating us, calculating.


    The wolf-like creature began to circle them slowly, sniffing the air. Every step he took was harsh and threatening. It bared its teeth and emitted a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the clearing. Yet strangely, it made no move to attack. Instead, it seemed to be herding them, urging them away from its territory.


    Keeping her eyes locked on the beast, she slowly backed away, guiding the girl with a gentle but firm touch. Once they had gained enough distance, Frieda turned ¡ª and they sprinted. The creature made no move to follow.


    They didn''t stop until they reached the beach, their breathing heavy from exertion. Frieda felt lucky to be able to escape from that creature, it could have ended much worse.


    When they came out of the forest the massive hull of the Yamato loomed above them, its shadow stretching across the sand in the late afternoon sun. Frieda glanced down at the child, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the battleship.


    The girl''s fear had transformed into wonder. She stared at the vessel, her mouth slightly open, curiosity replacing terror in her expression. Despite the language barrier, Frieda could read the questions in those large eyes.


    "Come on," Frieda said, gently leading her toward the campfire she had built. "Let''s take a look at those wounds."


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    Once they were seated by the fire, Frieda reached toward the girl''s torn clothes to examine her injuries better. Immediately, the child recoiled, shouting words Frieda couldn''t understand, her small hands clutching protectively at her garments.


    "I need to treat your wounds," Frieda explained, mimicking cleaning and bandaging actions. "I''m trying to help you!"


    The girl continued to protest in her strange language, her voice rising in pitch until Frieda raised both hands in a placating gesture.


    "Alright, alright," she said soothingly. "Calm down. I won''t force you."


    They sat in awkward silence for several minutes before the girl''s posture gradually relaxed. Cautiously, she extended her arm, revealing a nasty cut running from her elbow to her wrist, and another from her temple to her jaw. Her eyes met Frieda''s, a reluctant trust beginning to form.


    With gentle, practiced movements, Frieda cleaned her wounds with water from her canteen and wrapped it with a bandage that she had salvaged from the ship. As she worked, she realized she didn''t even know what to call this strange child.


    "I''m Frieda," she said, touching her chest. Then she pointed at the girl. "And you are...?"


    The child tilted her head, confusion evident in her expression.


    Frieda tried again, tapping herself. "Frieda." Then pointing at the girl with a questioning look.


    Understanding dawned in the child''s eyes. She touched her own chest. "Layla," she said, the word falling soft and musical from her lips.


    "Layla," Frieda repeated, nodding. "Good. Now we''re getting somewhere."


    As darkness fell, Frieda shared the rations she had collected from the ship. They ate in silence, occasionally casting glances at each other. Frieda attempted basic communication several times, but the language barrier proved too formidable.


    At one point, Layla said something in her tongue, her tone mischievous. She gave Frieda a sideways glance and giggled before quickly looking away. Frieda couldn''t help but smile, even though she hadn''t understood a word.


    That night, as they prepared to sleep, Frieda found herself staring into the flames, her mind racing. The wolf-like creature they had encountered... It wasn''t like any animal she had ever seen in her world. Its eyes held too much awareness, its movements too deliberate.


    As she pondered this, she noticed Layla gazing at the massive silhouette of the Yamato, her small face filled with awe.


    "It''s magnificent, isn''t it?" Frieda found herself saying, though she knew the girl couldn''t understand. She stared at her beloved ship.


    "The greatest battleship ever built... and now it''s just a metal scrap."


    Her voice trailed off as emotion threatened to overcome her. That ship had been her command, her home, her responsibility. Even beached and abandoned, it stirred something deep within her, a mixture of pride, grief, and reverence that she knew she would never be able to fully explain to anyone.

 Ch.8 New Friend

    Weeks passed, and a tentative rhythm developed between them. Each day, they exchanged more words, building a simple shared vocabulary that allowed for basic communication. To Frieda''s surprise, Layla possessed an extraordinary aptitude for language, perhaps a natural gift, or maybe a skill honed by necessity during her weeks of solitary survival.


    "You''re picking up the language pretty quickly, girl," Frieda remarked one evening as they sat by the fire, the girl having just correctly formed her first complete sentence in German.


    Layla smiled, a flash of pride crossing her face. "Mother say... said... I am talented."


    "Well, she was right. I wish I had been as talented as you at your age. I wasn''t that lucky when I was a kid."


    These moments of connection were becoming more frequent, though not without challenges. Frieda''s severe military demeanor sometimes created tension, but Layla''s innate cheerfulness usually prevailed, gradually softening the hardened captain''s exterior. Despite their different backgrounds, they were learning to coexist, each adapting to the other''s ways.


    During this time, Frieda had managed to salvage a radio from the ship and spent many hours trying to establish contact with the outside world. One afternoon, as she carefully adjusted the dials, the device suddenly emitted a piercing squeal of feedback, followed by a cacophony of static. Frieda clapped her hands over her ears, wincing at the sharp pain.


    When the noise subsided, she discovered the radio had shorted out completely. "Great..." she muttered, setting the useless equipment aside.


    Their beachside dwelling had evolved considerably. Frieda had engineered a simple pulley system to transport supplies from the ship more efficiently. She could now hoist items up from the beach or lower them down without making the treacherous climb each time. She had also diverted a small stream to run closer to their shelter, providing convenient access to fresh water.


    One morning, Layla ventured into the forest as she occasionally did, but this time, she announced in her improving German that she intended to explore deeper than before. Frieda, busy constructing a water channel, merely nodded, overly focused on her task.


    Nearly an hour later, a piercing scream cut through the air. Frieda dropped her tools instantly, looked around and couldn''t see Layla anywhere, she instantly grabbed her pistol and sprinted toward the sound. Her heart hammered in her chest as she raced through the undergrowth, branches whipping against her face.


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    "Layla!" she called out as she entered a small clearing.


    The white-haired girl stood frozen, staring at something ahead of her. Following her gaze, Frieda saw the same magnificent wolf-like creature they had encountered weeks ago. Now, however, it lay on its side, breathing laboriously, dark blood matting its lustrous fur. Beside there were two smaller forms, one motionless, clearly dead, and the other weakly moving, a tiny replica of its parent.


    Frieda approached cautiously. The adult creature growled halfheartedly as she drew near, attempting to rise but failing. Its eyes, though clouded with pain, still held that same intelligent awareness Frieda had noticed during their first meeting.


    Kneeling beside the injured animal, Frieda carefully examined its wounds. Multiple deep gashes crossed its flank, and its breathing came in shallow, rapid pants. It had lost too much blood; there was nothing she could do to save it.


    The creature seemed to understand its fate. With a low whine, it nudged the surviving pup toward Frieda with its muzzle, its intent unmistakable even across species barriers.


    Frieda hesitated. Taking care of a wild animal was the last thing she needed right now. But Layla was already at her side, her eyes pleading as she reached toward the trembling pup.


    "Pleaseee..." Layla said in German, one of the few words she had mastered. "Please."


    With a sigh, Frieda gently lifted the small creature. Its fur was soft, its body warm and surprisingly light. The mother watched, something like relief in its gaze.


    And she knew what had to be done, Frieda drew her pistol with her free hand. Frieda didn''t want her to see this horrific scene. "Wait by the edge of the clearing," she told Layla, who understood enough to comply, turning away with the pup cradled against her chest.


    Frieda placed her hand gently on the creature''s head, a gesture of respect between warriors. Then, with a swift, merciful motion, she ended its suffering.


    As they walked back to their camp, the pup whimpering softly in Layla''s arms, Frieda reflected on their first encounter with the adult creature. She realized now that it had been protecting its territory, or more likely, its den and young ones, when they first met. It hadn''t attacked because it wasn''t hunting, it was defending.


    Looking more closely at the pup, Frieda noticed something that made her heart skip a beat. The small creature bore a striking resemblance to the fox-like animal she had seen emerging from the forest on her first night on the island, only this was a younger version. Same distinctive markings, same unusual features that defied categorization in any zoology she knew.


    Fate had somehow connected her to these strange beasts twice now. If she fired her weapon at that first creature on that fearful night, who knows how different might things have turned out.


    One thing was becoming increasingly clear to Frieda, wherever she was, this was not the world she knew. Not a remote Pacific island, not any place that existed in the maps and charts she had studied throughout her military career. This realization should have terrified her, but instead, she felt a strange calm settling over her.


    "New world," she murmured, glancing down at Layla and their newest companion, "My rules,"


    And with a wide, unsettling smile on her face, she murmured, "And now every part of it is under my control..." while gazing at the Yamato.

 Ch.9 Nact

    In the morning, seeing Layla and the pup romping on the beach together, Frieda''s anxieties disappeared. The girl called the animal "Nact" in her language, a term Frieda later discovered was the word for "night" or "shadow", appropriate for its black coat.


    Nact adapted to its foster family with unexpected ease. It learned simple commands in a matter of days, and within weeks, it started patrolling the edge of their camp every evening, warning them of any nearby animals with a low, rumbling growl.


    As the weeks went by, Nact developed at a rate that astonished Frieda. The awkward little cub was rapidly yielding to a sleek, muscular young animal with a glossy black coat and bright, intelligent eyes. His silver-white stripe was more defined now, extending from the back of his neck down his spine to his tail.


    "He grows so fast. Is that normal?" Frieda commented one day as they watched Nact successfully chase down a rabbit, a hunting skill he certainly hadn''t possessed two weeks prior.


    Layla nodded, unsurprised. "Forest creatures here... different. Not like normal animals. Mother say they connect to world''s energy, grow different."


    Frieda studied the wolf-creature thoughtfully. This explained much about the beast they had encountered in the forest that first day¡ªNact''s mother, presumably¡ªand its unusual size and intelligence. These weren''t ordinary wolves, but something unique to this world.


    The initial month proved to be difficult. Nact, as a puppy, destroyed a pair of Frieda''s boots and shredded one of the pilot ladders they boarded the ship with. Frieda''s patience was strained through all this, but the unrelenting loyalty of Layla to Nact was catchy. The girl trained Nact for hours, making it fetch items, come on command, and above all, to be quiet in case danger was present.


    "He learns fast," Layla said proudly one night as they sat by the fire. Nact was stretched out at her feet, his amber eyes catching the flickering light. "Smart like mother."


    Frieda nodded, taking a sip of the herbal tea they''d made from flora along the edge of the forest. "Most animals are. They don''t have any choice, the ignorant cannot live in nature. That''s how you''ve lived for so long in the wild."


    "So... you like him now?" Layla asked, a hopeful smile on her face.


    Frieda thought about the question, observing the steady rise and fall of the pup''s chest. There was something reassuring about having another sentinel in their little camp, another set of eyes and ears to be on the lookout for threats.


    "He''s... useful," she admitted, which earned her a bright laugh from Layla.


    "You like!" the girl declared triumphantly.


    Wilhelm would say I''m growing soft. Perhaps I am.


    Frieda started bringing Nact on hunts, and that was where she found him to be of real use. The animal could stalk game with unerring accuracy, padding through the underbrush to drive rabbits and small deer into the open. His senses were much keener than their own, and he appeared to instinctively understand what they required.


    On one such expedition, Frieda watched in amazement as Nact suddenly froze, his body rigid with attention. He turned to look at her, then back toward a dense thicket some twenty meters ahead.


    "What is it?" Frieda whispered, raising her rifle.


    Nact gave a soft chuff, a sound they''d discovered signified caution, as opposed to immediate danger. Frieda crept forward carefully until she could see what he was looking at. A big stag with a full set of antlers, bending down to drink from a small stream.


    One clean shot later, they had weeks'' worth of meat. As Frieda field-dressed the animal, Nact sat and watched, his head cocked to one side in seeming fascination at her steady work.


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    Back at camp, Layla squealed with delight at their successful hunt. "See?" she said, scratching behind Nact''s ears. "You used to always come camp empty-handed. You work good together, like family."


    "I can''t tell if you''re praising or cursing Layla..."


    That word¡ª*family*¡ªstayed with Frieda that evening as she gazed at Layla and Nact sleeping peacefully. It was something that had never been high on her list for most of her life. Duty, honor, and service had been her motto. And yet here, in this weird world, with this weird child and this weird creature, a sort of family had constructed itself around her.


    A few days later, they were struck by a fierce storm. Wind shrieked around the Yamato, rain pounding against the metal hull in sheets, thunder roaring overhead. They bunched together in the officers'' quarters Frieda had turned into living accommodations.


    "I afraid," Layla admitted, her little body shaking slightly as another thunderclap rocked the ship.


    Frieda, unsure how to comfort her, awkwardly patted the girl''s shoulder. "It''s just a storm. It can''t hurt us inside the ship."


    To her surprise, Nact became aware of Layla''s fear and moved closer, nuzzling the child''s side with his warm body. He made a low rumble, a growl, but deeper and softer, something they had never heard him use before. The vibration appeared to resonate through Layla, and slowly, her shaking ceased.


    "He singing," she whispered, wonder replacing fear in her voice. "Like my father when storms came. He said storms just sky dancing."


    Frieda watched as Nact continued his strange rumbling song, his amber eyes fixed on Layla with what could only be described as devotion. It was in that moment that Frieda understood: Nact was not merely an animal they had rescued. He was capable of understanding emotions, of offering comfort, of forming bonds deeper than mere companionship.


    The storm raged on through the night and into the following day. They were kept entertained well enough within the confines of the boat. Layla was practicing her German, which Frieda corrected and added new words to. Nact sat watching them closely, his head cocked to one side as though he were attempting to learn the lesson.


    "I think he tries to understand," Layla laughed as Nact''s ears picked up at the sound of his name.


    "That''s absurd," Frieda answered. "He''s reacting to familiar sounds, that''s all."


    Yet even as she spoke, she wasn''t quite certain. Something in those amber eyes indicated more than animal reflex, a glimmer of understanding, of intelligence beyond reason.


    When the storm finally passed, they ventured outside to assess any damage. The beach was littered with debris, driftwood, seaweed, and strange objects carried in by the high tide. Nact bounded ahead, investigating everything with his nose and paws.


    Over the next few days, Nact''s behavior became more complicated. He started to bring Frieda and Layla things, strange rocks, odd shells, driftwood with interesting shapes. He''d set these offerings in front of them with clear pride, expecting a response.


    "Gifts," Layla explained. "He bring us gifts."


    This behavior didn''t align with anything Frieda understood about wild animals. Domestic dogs might bring items to their masters, but Nact was no dog, he was something else entirely, a creature with capabilities and awareness that defied categorization.


    During the still moments when night began to fall, Nact would sit at attention, watching over their environs with a vigilance that made Frieda feel safe.


    In the days that followed, Nact''s behavior grew increasingly complex. He seemed to anticipate their needs, bringing specific tools when Frieda was working on a project or fetching Layla''s favorite cup when she was thirsty. He developed distinct vocalizations for different situations, one for potential danger, another for successful hunts, yet another that seemed purely conversational.


    "He talks to us," Layla insisted. "In his way."


    Frieda couldn''t deny it. Whatever Nact was, he was far more than a simple animal. His intelligence, his empathy, his apparent desire to communicate, all suggested a being with awareness and complexity she had never encountered before.


    One night, as they sat on the deck of the Yamato and watched the sun set, Nact lay stretched out between them, his warm body a reassuring presence as the night closed in around them. Layla leaned against Frieda''s side, idly stroking the wolf-creature''s fur as the final light left the sky.


    "He protects us," Layla said quietly, her voice filled with certainty. "Always will."


    Frieda smiled, seeing Nact''s ears twitching at the calls of night birds in the distance. Only a few short weeks since discovering him, and already the creature had worked his way into the middle of their existence, not just as pet or companion, but as something greater. A guardian. A friend.


    "We safe with Nact," Layla continued, her eyelids growing heavy with sleep. "We family now."


    Family. There''s that word again. Perhaps that''s what family means.


    Frieda didn''t debate her. She bent down to pet Nact''s coat, sensing the powerful muscles and steady heartbeat under her hand. The creature gazed up at her, the knowing amber eyes mirroring the first stars appearing in the evening sky.


    "Yes," Frieda whispered. "This night too, we''re safe. That''s enough."

 Ch.10 Past

    One afternoon, Frieda had been examining some of the fine fabrics she''d discovered in an officer''s trunk aboard the ship. Among them was a piece of dark blue silk with silver threading that caught the light beautifully.


    "This would make a nice accessory for Nact," she mused aloud. She had noticed how the pup would sometimes get tangled in undergrowth during their excursions, and something around its neck to protect it seemed practical.


    Huh, when did I start caring about his comfort? Wilhelm would laugh at me sewing a collar for a wild animal.


    She spent that evening carefully cutting and sewing the fabric into a small collar. Layla joined her, quietly observing at first. But when she finally took the needle herself, her hands moved with surprising skill, stitching faster and more precisely than Frieda had expected.


    "I didn''t know you had such a talent..."


    Together, they embroidered a simple smiling face onto the collar, Layla giggling as she helped guide the needle. The next morning, they presented it to Nact, who allowed them to slip it around his neck with surprising compliance.


    "Looks handsome," Frieda said, patting the pup''s head.


    Layla clapped her hands in delight, and even Nact seemed pleased, prancing around their camp with what Frieda could swear was pride.


    As the days stretched into months, Frieda''s communication with Layla improved steadily. What had begun as simple nouns evolved into rudimentary sentences and concepts. The girl was a quick study, absorbing German words with impressive speed, while Frieda struggled more with Layla''s complex native language, which she learned was called "Aurelian."


    One morning, as they shared breakfast by the fire, Frieda decided it was time to ask some of the questions that had been plaguing her.


    "Layla," she began, choosing her words carefully, "why were you alone in the forest? Where is your family?"


    The girl''s expression clouded, her small fingers instinctively reaching for the well-crafted pendant that hung around her neck. "Gone," she said in German, her voice barely above a whisper.


    In a mixture of broken German, gestures, and Aurelian, Layla began to tell her story. Frieda pieced together the fragments: Layla had lived in a grand house with her family. Important people, nobles, Frieda gathered from the girl''s gestures mimicking fine clothes and a formal bearing.


    Then came soldiers with swords and fire. Screaming. Her mother grabbing her hand, running through corridors, then into the forest. Pursuers close behind. Her mother pushing her into a hidden hollow of a great tree, telling her to stay silent, to run deeper into the forest if she didn''t return.


    She never did.


    Layla''s small hands trembled as she touched her pendant again. Through their limited shared vocabulary, Frieda understood this was a family heirloom, something precious her mother had placed around her neck before sending her away.


    "How long?" Frieda asked, making a sweeping motion with her arm to indicate the passage of time.


    Layla held up both hands, fingers spread. "Many moons," then pointed at the sky and traced the shape of a crescent with her finger, repeating the motion several times.


    Weeks, then. Perhaps even months. Frieda felt a tightness in her chest. This child¡ªborn to nobility, by all appearances¡ªhad survived alone in this wilderness for so long after witnessing horrors no child should endure.


    "How did you survive alone in the forest for so long? You''re just... a child," Frieda asked, unable to contain her curiosity.


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    Layla''s fingers instinctively went to the pendant around her neck. "Mother teach me. Before..." she swallowed hard. "Before soldiers came. She show me which plants safe to eat, how to find water." The girl''s small hands mimicked digging. "How to hide, make shelter. She say, ''Noble children must know how to survive if... if bad times come.''"


    Frieda nodded slowly, beginning to understand. "Your mother was preparing you."


    "Yes," Layla said softly. "She know... danger coming. Lord Hans take other noble families already. She teach me secret places in forest, old hideaways with supplies." She gestured toward the trees. "Many small caves, hollow trees with dried food, tools." A tear slid down her cheek. "She know we might need run one day."


    "And where are we now? What is this place called?" Frieda gestured broadly to the land around them.


    Layla''s answer was a single melodic word that Frieda practiced several times until she could pronounce it reasonably well: "Aria."


    "Aria," Frieda repeated. A name for this strange new world, continent, or kingdom. It was something, at least a beginning.


    After a moment of silence, Frieda remembered something that had been lingering in her mind since their early explorations.


    "Layla," she said carefully, "that strange stone I found deep in the forest when we first met, the one that felt cold to touch with those odd markings. Do you know what it is?"


    Layla''s eyes widened slightly, and she nodded with a mix of reverence and unease. "Mother tell stories. Ancient place. Where emotion god once stood."


    "Emotion god?" Frieda leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"


    Layla fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her brow furrowed as she tried to recall distant stories. "Old gods... from before. Each one for different feeling. Mother say they watch over world, but... not like normal gods." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "I not know much. Just stories for children."


    Emotion gods? Those whispers, that unnatural cold... Could there be something to these stories? If these "gods" are real entities, they might explain how I came to be here.


    "But these gods were real to your people?"


    Layla shrugged. "Some believe. Others not. Mother say stones are... doorways? Places where gods touch our world." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She say never stay long near stones. Not safe."


    Frieda nodded slowly, filing this information away. Another mystery of this strange world, one she might need to revisit someday. Frieda had acquired a new purpose for herself. She wanted to uncover the forgotten story of these gods. Perhaps it was these ancient gods who had brought her to this world.


    Time passed, in the afternoons, when the day''s tasks were complete, they continued their language lessons. Frieda taught Layla to read simple German words, using charcoal to write on flat pieces of driftwood. In return, Layla began teaching Frieda the written form of Aurelian, an elegant script with flowing characters that seemed to blend into one another.


    Nact would often lie between them during these sessions, head resting on paws, eyes alert and seemingly interested in the exchange of knowledge. The pup had grown considerably over the months, its lanky frame filling out into the powerful build of its parent. It moved with a grace that belied its size, silent on its paws even when playing.


    Frieda had noticed that Nact seemed especially attached to Layla, sleeping curled against her at night and following her like a shadow during the day. The pup had clearly appointed itself as the girl''s protector, a role Frieda found herself grateful for given the uncertain dangers of this new world.


    One evening, as they finished their lessons, Layla asked a question that caught Frieda off guard.


    "Why your eyes so sad?" she asked in broken German, her small face solemn as she studied Frieda''s features.


    Frieda stiffened. "What do you mean?"


    Layla touched the corner of her own eye, then gestured to her heart. "Here happy," she said, then pointed to Frieda''s eyes. "But here, always sad."


    The perception staggered Frieda. How could this child see so clearly what Frieda herself tried so hard to bury? The memories of combat, the faces of her crew, the thunder of bombs falling toward the Yamato, her surrogate father Oberst Wilhelm Flusser, all of it lurked just beneath the surface of her carefully maintained composure.


    "I''ve seen many battles," Frieda said simply, unsure how much the girl would understand.


    Layla nodded as if this confirmed a suspicion. She reached out and took Frieda''s hand, her small fingers wrapping around the callused palm of the naval captain.


    "Battles over now," she said firmly. "New home. New start. New family."


    The simplicity of the statement left Frieda momentarily speechless. Was that what they had become? A family of sorts? A battle-weary naval captain, an orphaned noble child, and a wolf-creature that shouldn''t exist in any world Frieda knew?


    Before she could formulate a response, Nact suddenly raised his head, ears pricked forward. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he stood, facing the edge of the forest. Frieda tensed, reaching for her pistol.


    "What is it, boy?" she murmured, scanning the treeline.


    For several tense moments, nothing happened. Then, just as Frieda began to relax, thinking it might have been a false alarm, she saw it: a flicker of movement among the trees, too controlled to be an animal. The unmistakable outline of a human figure, watching them.

 Ch.11 The Stalker

    Frieda''s hand closed around the grip of her Mauser. "Layla," she said quietly, "go to the ship. Now. Do not question."


    Without waiting to see if the girl complied, Frieda stood, drawing her weapon in one smooth motion. "Whoever you are," she called out, her voice steady and commanding, "step into the light. Slowly."


    Tension hung in the air as Frieda steadied her aim toward the treeline. Nact''s growl deepened, his body lowering into a defensive stance beside her, the blue silk collar with its embroidered smile contrasting sharply with his aggressive posture.


    "I won''t ask again," Frieda called out, her voice carrying the unmistakable authority of someone accustomed to command. "Show yourself."


    For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a figure emerged from between the trees. A man, tall and lean, with sun-darkened skin and shoulder-length hair tied back with a leather cord. He wore simple clothes of muted browns and greens, the kind that would blend into forest surroundings. A bow was slung across his back, and a short sword hung at his hip.


    He raised his hands slightly, showing they were empty. His face remained impassive as he assessed Frieda and her weapon, though his eyes widened briefly at the sight of Nact standing protectively at her side.


    "I mean no harm," he said in Aurelian.


    Frieda realized that Layla hadn''t obeyed her order to retreat to the ship. Instead, the girl stood just behind her, watching the newcomer with wary eyes.


    Frieda''s grip on her pistol remained firm. "Layla," she called without taking her eyes off the stranger, "tell him I don''t understand."


    She started speaking to him rapidly, gesturing toward Frieda and then to the massive warship beached behind them.


    The man''s expression shifted from neutrality to surprise. He replied to Layla, his tone questioning.


    "What''s he saying?" Frieda demanded.


    "He scout," Layla explained in broken German. "From city. Aurel Kingdom. He see strange... ship. Come look."


    The man took a cautious step forward, then froze when Nact''s growl intensified. He spoke again, and Layla translated as best she could.


    "He ask if you... from beyond seas. New land."


    Frieda considered her response carefully. She had no idea what political situation existed in this world, or whether revealing her origins would help or harm her position.


    "Tell him I''m a traveler," she said finally. "My ship was damaged in a storm. We''ve been stranded here."


    Layla relayed this information, adding details of her own that Frieda couldn''t follow. The exchange continued for several minutes, with Layla translating the crucial points for Frieda.


    The man was indeed a scout from a coastal city within the Aurel Kingdom, sent by the local lord to investigate reports of a massive metal structure that had appeared on the coast. He had been observing them for 10 days, trying to determine if they posed a threat.


    "Ten days?" Frieda muttered, disturbed that someone had been watching them without her knowledge. Her military instincts had grown duller than she''d realized.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The scout explained through Layla that they were currently within Aurel territory, along its coastal regions. He seemed particularly interested in Frieda''s weapon and in the great metal ship.


    "Iron vessel," he kept saying, pointing at the Yamato with clear astonishment. "How float?"


    Throughout their conversation, Frieda noticed that Kalen''s eyes kept darting to Layla, though he tried to be subtle about it. His questions, ostensibly about Frieda and her ship, often seemed designed to elicit information about the girl as well. When Layla moved toward the ship to retrieve something, Kalen''s gaze followed her with an intensity that made Frieda uneasy.


    Her suspicions grew as the evening progressed. Though Kalen spoke of his interest in the "iron vessel," something in his manner suggested he might have another agenda altogether. Was he truly sent just to investigate the ship, or was there something else he was looking for?


    Nact had positioned himself between Layla and the stranger, never relaxing his vigilant stance. The wolf-creature''s instincts aligned with Frieda''s growing unease.


    Frieda decided to allow Kalen into their camp, she wanted to learn more about this world, though she kept her pistol within easy reach. As they sat around the fire, sharing some of the fish Frieda had caught that morning, Kalen provided information that began to fill in Frieda''s understanding of this world.


    They were on the continent of Aria, a land divided into many kingdoms and empires. Aurel Kingdom, where they now sat, was predominantly surrounded by water on its eastern and western borders. To the north lay the Falhjeim Empire and the Golden Council Oligarchy, and the Freecity Republic lay to the north-east, while its southern borders touched the Aether Kingdom and Aaron Kingdom.


    As Kalen continued to speak of Aurel and his city Loche, Frieda noticed Layla growing increasingly tense. The girl''s eyes had widened at the mention of the city''s name, and she tugged urgently at Frieda''s sleeve, speaking quietly in a way only Frieda could hear.


    "What is it?" Frieda whispered, maintaining a neutral expression toward Kalen.


    Layla whispered back in broken German, "Loche. Bad place."


    So we''re in the territory of the lord who slaughtered Layla''s family. And this man works for him.


    Frieda understood immediately. This was connected to the city where Layla had lost her family. They were sitting in potentially hostile territory. She reassessed their situation, casually shifting her position to keep her hand closer to her weapon while maintaining an appearance of calm.


    Kalen noticed the change in atmosphere but seemed to attribute it to general wariness. He continued to explain the political structure of Aurel.


    "So this is how Aurel functions?" Frieda asked as Kalen explained the kingdom''s structure over the campfire.


    Kalen nodded, his face illuminated by the dancing flames. "King rule all land. Very powerful."


    "But he doesn''t manage everything himself," Frieda concluded.


    "No, no! Too big." Kalen gestured widely with his hands. "Lords control cities, regions. Lord Hans control Loche, my lovely city."


    Layla shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Hans, but remained silent.


    "And beneath the lords?" Frieda pressed, noting Layla''s reaction.


    "Noble families," Kalen explained, drawing hierarchical lines in the sand with a stick. "They have own lands, own houses. Follow lords, lords follow king." He looked up at Frieda. "System complex. Many layers."


    "I see," Frieda said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Not too different from where I come from. I''m used to it."


    Nact growled softly from his position beside Layla, his amber eyes never leaving Kalen as the scout continued his explanation of Aurel''s political landscape.


    As the evening progressed, Frieda carefully extracted more information about the political landscape, the geography of Aria, and the various kingdoms'' military capabilities. She revealed little about herself or Layla, deflecting personal questions with vague answers.


    What she learned both intrigued and concerned her. This world seemed to exist at a pre-industrial technological level, with swords and bows as the primary weapons of war. Yet there were strange elements that didn''t fit this pattern, mentions of crystals with unusual properties, people with innate abilities that sounded suspiciously like magic, and beasts that defied any zoological classification Frieda knew.


    Nact remained vigilant throughout the conversation, his amber eyes never leaving Kalen. Several times, when Kalen shifted too suddenly or leaned toward Layla, Nact''s lips would curl back slightly to reveal gleaming teeth, a silent warning that did not go unnoticed by the scout.


    As the night grew deeper, Frieda observed how Layla unconsciously leaned against Nact, drawing comfort from his solid presence. The bond between them had grown powerful in their months together. Whatever threat this stranger might pose, the wolf-creature had already made his protective stance clear.