Ray is low on time, luck, and hope; his only chance is an artifact that may not even exist. But upon meeting Landon, Ray is beginning to believe he might find all four.
*****
Cambion...
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Despite the evidence to the contrary, Ray had never much enjoyed solitude.
That did not mean he did not understand the merits of solitude nor that he did not appreciate being left alone for extended periods of time. Ray very much did. He simply did not enjoy being left with nothing but his thoughts echoing through his skull.
So, after three days of locking himself in his cabin - attempting to decipher, to little success, whether the dagger truly was the Crimson Sheath or a cunning forgery - he was beginning to feel the wearying effects of prolonged isolation. His progress had never been quick but it had slowed to a frustrating halt.
Therefore, Ray was forced to seek out others, both to keep his sanity and in an attempt to revitalize his work.
After three days of not seeing another living soul - his meals being left at his door and often ignored regardless - it was a bit jarring to step out into the noise and chaos of the rest of the ship. Ray thinned his lips as he waded through it before he eventually found a place on the deck that allowed him to be around other people without actually having to interact with them.
For as much as Ray disliked solitude, he equally disliked speaking to other people. This was less of a personal preference and more something he did out of consideration for those would-be victims of his attempts at conversation. His tongue was infamously barbed, insults and minor cruelties spilling from it without Ray making any active attempt to offend the person he was speaking with.
This was likely, or so he assumed, the result of his blood. Demons were not known for being nice. Perhaps they were simply incapable of it.
Ray turned his gaze from the humans on the ship to the waves that existed beyond it. The spot that Ray had selected was out of the way and against the railing, giving him an excellent view of the ocean. It wasn't exactly a novel sight. Ray never cared for the sea one way or the other, and after so many years where his primary view was one basically identical to this one, the large swaths of curling waves left very little impression on him.
At one point, Ray thought he might've been afraid of the ocean. Or, perhaps not afraid, but unnerved by it. Sometimes, when he first stepped onto a ship, he swore he still felt a whisp of that old unease.
There was a powerlessness that came with being at sea. A feeling that Ray was in enemy territory and there was very little that he could do if the ruler of that territory - the god or demon or emperor of the sea - decided it wanted him dead. But, ever since Ray began visiting hostile nations, that fear had been mostly conquered.
Ray was decidedly very difficult to kill.
"You shouldn't do that," a voice said.
Ray had heard the footsteps in their approach, of course, but he had not realized that he had been their target. That, in itself, was enough to startle him and he lurched around with perhaps more violence than the owner of the voice deserved.
by dextyradams
