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Robb // R.M. Sayan @rmsayan.bsky.social · 10/08/2026

cover / page one books2read.com/devourer rmsayan.itch.io/devourer quote with yours! 💙📚🩸

Cover of the novelette DEVOURER by R.M. Sayan. An ink illustration of a sailing ship in the middle of the sea, and underneath lurk the torso and tail of a serpentine dragon, framed against a weathered cerulean backdrop.

Screenshot of page one of Devourer by R.M. Sayan that reads as follows:

There was something to be said about the feeling of weightlessness when the body becomes too tired to swim, but Bo was neither lyrical nor conscious enough to put it in words. With the shoreline visible on the horizon, yet too far to possibly reach, his arms and legs moved slower with every stroke. When he gave up, his body was grateful for the respite and sank, leaving his lungs to hold the line alone against the engulfing sea.

A golden eye opened in the depths.

Then someone grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to the surface, and everything after was a blur—the coughing up of sea foam, the wood-and-metal deck, the watchful eye of a weathered man as another sailor grabbed his face and made sure he stayed awake. A set of words, then another, then another—he was barely conscious enough to understand that they were different languages, most likely trying to say the same thing. He almost understood the one in Spanish, but he was taking so long to remember what the words meant that the sailor spoke again in another language—Bo’s own Cantonese. It was a practiced, poorly-pronounced phrase that was frequently the first thing he heard foreigners say back in Macao.

“What is your name?”

Words nearly failed him; exhaustion, gratitude, and skepticism all worked against him. “Wong Bo,” he managed.

The sailor looked relieved. “Basadre,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Captain,” he said of the weathered man watching from a few paces back. The mate—Basadre—called out, and introduced the young man who heeded his call: “Chia-Hao.”

Chia-Hao was athletic, not much older than Bo himself, and though his hair was shorn, he carried himself with the lightness of a free man. “Welcome aboard,” he said in their shared tongue, and helped him up with a smile.

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