The Black Smoke:—By a Young Britannian Sailor

I never thought my first battle would be like this.

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. My father was a fisherman, my mother a tavern maid. I grew up with salt on my skin and the constant roar of waves in my ears. When the navy recruiters came, promising coins, adventure, and glory, I signed up without hesitation. Foolish. I thought I would see the world and make my fortune. I never expected to be facing this.