The Descent of Silence
The cockpit of the Aether-Sloop was a suffocating cage of polished brass and smelling of ozone. Julian leaned back into the velvet upholstery, his fingers trembling as they brushed the ivory toggles of the altitude regulator. Outside, the Great Mist of the Victorian Firmament stretched into an infinite, pearlescent void, swallowing the jagged spires of the floating capital below. He had been...
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