The Aetheric Alarm

The clockwork spectrometer shrieks like a wounded gull, its brass needle slamming red for the third time this watch. Through the porthole, the sky above the HMS Aurelian burns an unnatural copper, and ribbons of aetheric fire ripple across the stratosphere far too close for comfort.

Captain Vance steadies himself against the helm, his weathered face grim beneath his goggles. Without a word, he presses a sealed envelope into your gloved hand — wax stamped with the Admiralty's silver sunburst. Eyes only, he murmurs. And quickly, Engineer. Whatever this sun is doing, it isn't doing it alone.

The crew watches. The deck trembles. The choice is yours.