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The stench of burning wood and gunpowder clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe. Smoke rolls across the deck of the HMS Ironwind, mixing with the salty sea spray. The ship rocks violently, and my grip tightens on the rail. I’ve trained for this moment, drilled for months under harsh officers, but nothing prepared me for the sheer terror of real war.
I am Henry March, a sailor of Britannia’s Royal Navy. Seventeen years old. Born in the port city of Eldermere. ...
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