Welcome to Ethelburg, the Empire's "First City of Steam." Here, under the brass sky, the cogwheel heart of the city never stops. The trajectory of the suspended parliament building is accurately calibrated by a differential engine, clockwork-driven mechanical dolls roam the streets, and the air is filled with the unique smell of coal, engine oil and a hint of aristocratic perfume. This is an eternal miracle driven by human wisdom and arrogance.
But a "whispering disease" is spreading. At first, it was just the nobles who complained about the metallic sighs they could hear at night. Soon the sigh turned into a scream, into a silent disintegration. The scarlet "rust" spreads like a plague, turning the pride of the empire into a pile of cold dust. The fleets and armies of the Empire are helpless because the enemy is not flesh and blood.
The real answer lies in the hands of an exiled craftsman, hidden in his forbidden, almost magical skills. What saves this city may not be its deafening roar of steam, but a harmonious melody about creation that has long been forgotten by the world.
