[ Drip. Drip. Drip. Something is dripping. Blood, he thinks hazily, but whose? His, maybe. The artificial liquid that runs within him, though not composed of cells and plasma, is part of what keeps him running, so it may as well be the same, for all the difference in composition. Perhaps he is paying his penance—finally, someone has decided to avenge their clan.

Then thunder cracks, and he opens his eyes to a leaky, wooden ceiling. The room is dark and humid, and everything, even his clothes, are damp. He sits up cautiously, extending his senses out as best he can to survey the area. The room sways from side to side as a storm rages somewhere above him. A ship, he eventually deduces as he stands up, and looks down as his feet brush puddles of water.

He shouldn't be here. How did he get here? It should be nigh impossible for anyone to infiltrate the Sanctuary of Surasthana and kidnap him—not to mention anyone who would have had that intention has long forgotten him. He is unknown to all but two (three, really, but he's not counting that damn fairy). But maybe that had been an opening, rather than a defense.

The scent of blood and smoke flashes by as he steps into the halls of the ship. It is dark, and so very, very lonely. He hears murmurs, and sees shadows—but no, there's no one here in this abandoned ship. The atmosphere must be getting to him. A light flickers and instantly, he turns to it. It's gone again. The storm rumbles on outside, thunder clearing the murmured voices and smoke and blood. It is supposed to be reassuring. He just finds it irritating. Thunderstorms have never signified anything good in his life, just as it is present in this situation.

He explores the ship at a pace far more leisurely than one who finds themselves alone in an abandoned, rotting ship ought to be. Leaking and dilapidated this place may be, but he is alone and that is how he prefers it. The whispers and phantom scents are just tricks of the mind, he's determined. Later on, as he realizes the ship is much bigger than he thought, he decides it'd be faster to fly around the ship and does so, jetting through the narrow halls as he looks for any hint or clue that would reveal more about his current location.

It's in this manner that he almost crashes into you, turning around a corner without a second glance at the path ahead of him. It's only by his sharp reflexes that he dodges with an airborne flip and lands roughly on the puddled floor, causing water to splash everywhere. He looks up—and it's then you notice that his eyes, along with several markings along his body, are glowing. ]

Huh. So there are people on this ship.

[ He stands up slowly, yet the way comports himself seems threatening. Perhaps it's the sharp curl of his lips, or the anger simmering in his eyes, that reveal the threat this man is. ]

Now tell me where I am and who it is I need to 'speak' with to get out of here.

[ He doesn't expect it, is the thing. To see anyone on this ship, much less someone familiar. But in the darkness, he catches a splash of gold in the corner of his eye—

The Traveler. Of course they'd be here, as an outsider who traveled the stars—but wait. Something's wrong.

They're on the floor, motionless. Dead.

This can't be.

How could they be—he isn't ready for this. It's not like he cared that much for them, but he'd expected to see them around Teyvat for a few more years yet—no, no, no, this is very wrong, the Traveler is more than powerful enough to shrug off any threat—they can't just be dead!

It is then that you happen to stumble upon him, looking shocked—anguished, even. But it's only for a second that you get to behold that expression, because the next moment, a blade of wind energy is rushing at you. Think fast! ]

[ There are worms everywhere. What fresh hell has he stepped into. And they aren't the kind one sees peeping out of the earth after a monsoon in Sumeru, followed by the fresh scent of ozone and petrichor. No, these ones are sticky, there are far too many of them to be comfortable with, and they keep trying to climb on him.

Even flying doesn't save him from the worms, as they just drop from above, and honestly, he doesn't know if that's more horrifying than the fact that the floor is wriggling. Dear Lesser Lord Kusanali, if he's dreaming right now, please wake him up. He does not want to be here.

Eventually, he figures out that water is the solution, so he searches for it—finding a path all the way to the top deck, where he is rained on, and the worms fall away. Thank the Archons. He's soaked now, but luckily, such a sensation doesn't bother him. He stands up there, eyes closed, enjoying the rocking of the ship, and the not-so-gentle pelting of the rain. Though he may still be in an enclosed area, and thus, not truly free, this is much better than the cramped, almost claustrophobic halls of the decks below.

He holds a wide-brimmed hat in his hand, which is at his side. It is perfect as protection against this kind of weather, but he doesn't seem inclined to use it at the moment. ]