The Wistful Atlas
The sky did not break; it shattered. One moment, the ironclad vessel *The Sovereign’s Will* was cutting through the grey, churning waters of the North Sea, its brass fittings gleaming with a dull, industrial sheen under the overcast light. The next, the world turned inside out. The air itself seemed to solidify, a thick, viscous gel that pressed against the lungs of every man on deck. Then came...
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