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A letter from Kent Brighton to the Lineage’s Matriarch, the Lady Lyme.
Dearest Aunt,
I hope this message finds you well. Our vessel has just now entered textual communication range, and though I could wait to see your face in just a few days, speed is of the essence.
As you know, my ship, the Wakerobin, left New Independence a month ago to secure diplomatic relations with each of the new governments throughout Quire.
The crew and I felt at home with the crooning of our ship’s hull as it settled. Though we moved through suntouched sky, it was familiar as the surging sea. But unlike Old Quire’s ocean, the aether offered us an opportunity unknown to the Lineage in generations: The chance to explore the uncharted!
Each new port brought new discoveries: technologies yet unseen, delicacies fresh to my palate, songs, and theater, and friendship! Every diplomat, every merchant, every cleric, they were all charmed by our charisma and, of course, taken with the affability of our great ally, Gig Kephart. (And yes, our allegiance with the Crown was secured by bringing them the boy, worry not).
But there is more too. Our foes in the Rogue Wave can be beaten.
They launched an attack as we passed through a craggy shoal, the vessel twisting between blasts from their fleet. I could sense their hunger for victory in their aggressive formation, and so too I sensed their surprise when, with each volley, it was their fleet which was wounded in the waking dream.
From the prow I watched their cannons blossom into rose and rouge and coral. And Aunt, you know I have no tongue for poetry. I mean what I say: Their cannons blossomed into rose and rouge and coral.
Gig captured the entire exchange and has already begun broadcasting it out. The whole system knows the truth: All their strength is for naught in this new world.
Brigands be gone: Brighton rules the Wave.
This week on Twilight Mirage: This Year of Ours: The Mechanic
But there's no erasing and the best advice I got
Was keep writing, and keep living, and keep loving