The market stank of pickled griffin eggs and desperation, but Krix—a Lizardfolk Whelp barely old enough to shed his first scale—couldn’t stop grinning. His emerald-green tail twitched as he crouched behind a stall hawking “authentic” dragon toenails, his slit-pupiled eyes locked on the grizzled gnome merchant across the alley. At four feet tall, Krix wasn’t much to look at: his horns were stubby nubs, his claws still soft at the tips, and his satchel (stitched from giant spider silk by his grandmother) bulged with “treasures” only he believed in—a compass that pointed only south, a “magic” acorn that hissed when shaken, and his pet rock, Pebble. But today, none of that mattered. Today, he’d found the map.

  “Five gold, scaled runt,” snarled the gnome, waving a parchment yellowed by time and poor hygiene. “Last map to the Sunken Crypts of Zul-Tharax! Lost city of the Lizard Kings! Full o’ traps, treasure, and—hic—probably curses!”

  Krix’s forked tongue flicked the air. The gnome reeked of swamp ale, but the map… the map glowed. Faintly, like sunlight filtering through swamp mist. His grandmother’s voice echoed in his head: “If it glows, it goes in the satchel.” (She’d also said, “Don’t lick glowing things,” but he’d ignored that part when he was six.)

  “Two gold,” Krix countered, puffing out his chest. “And I’ll take that cursed dagger too.” He jabbed a claw at a rusty blade labeled “Probably Not Poisoned (Probably).”

  The gnome spat. “Four gold, and I’ll throw in a free tombstone inscription!”

  Krix hesitated. He only had three gold, a handful of snail shells, and Pebble. But then—

  CRASH!

  A stall selling “enchanted” chamber pots collapsed nearby. In the chaos, Krix lunged, snatching the map and tossing his snail shells onto the counter. “Three shells! Final offer!” He bolted, the gnome’s curses chasing him through the crowd.

  By sunset, Krix stood at the edge of the Silverspine Dunes, the crypts’ supposed entrance buried somewhere in the scorching wasteland. Sand crunched under his clawed feet as he unfurled the map, squinting at the faded ink. Pebble, his ever-loyal rock, perched on his shoulder like a judgmental parrot.

  “Look, Pebble!” Krix jabbed a claw at the parchment. “It says here the crypts are guarded by the ‘Sands of Deception.’ That means… uh… quicksand? Or maybe magic quicksand!”

  Pebble, being a rock, did not reply.

  Krix trekked until the dunes gave way to a stone lizard’s head half-buried in the sand, its maw gaping wide enough to swallow a camel. Inside, the air smelled of stale incense and bad decisions. Fading murals of Lizard Kings riding giant beetles into battle lined the walls. Krix’s chest swelled. His ancestors. Probably. Maybe.

  He crept forward, his compass (south-pointing side up) clutched in one hand.

  Click.

  The floor tile sank under his foot.

  “Oh no,” Krix whispered.

  Whoosh!

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The corridor filled with sand. Not quicksand. Angry sand. It surged toward him like a tidal wave, hissing with the voices of a thousand dead sandworms.

  “RUN, PEBBLE!”

  Krix sprinted, the sand nipping at his tail. Ahead, the corridor split: left, a door marked with a skull; right, a door marked with a cake.

  “Cake is always a trap,” Krix wheezed, veering left.

  SLAM!

  The door shut behind him. The sand stopped. He’d survived!

  Then the walls began to close.

  “Okay, okay, think!” Krix muttered, pressing his back against the crushing stone. The room was lit by bioluminescent mushrooms that laughed in flickering blue light. Three doors stood ahead: one carved with flames and the words “Dumb Ways to Die,” another dripping water and labeled “Free Foot Soaks!,” and a third—blank save for a keyhole.

  Krix’s satchel trembled. The cursed dagger he’d “bought” glowed faintly.

  “Hmm.” He jammed the dagger into the keyhole.

  CLUNK.

  The door swung open, revealing a chasm bridged by crumbling stepping stones. Across it sat a pedestal holding a jade scarab—the First Key, according to the map.

  “Easy!” Krix grinned, stepping onto the first stone.

  It collapsed.

  So did the next three.

  By the seventh, he was dangling by his tail, Pebble clenched in his teeth.

  “Not. Easy,” he grumbled, hauling himself up.

  The scarab secured, Krix entered a vaulted chamber where the ceiling glittered with star mosaics and the floor was a chessboard of celestial tiles. At the center floated a stone tablet:

  “The serpent eats its tail, the sky eats the moon.

  Step where the eyes of heaven swoon.”

  Krix scratched his head. “Serpents… moons… ugh, riddles.”

  Pebble, ever helpful, rolled off his shoulder and onto a tile marked with a crescent moon.

  CLICK.

  A section of the floor slid open, revealing a ladder down.

  “Pebble, you genius!” Krix scooped up the rock. “I totally knew that.”

  The treasure chamber took Krix’s breath away. Piles of gold coins, gem-encrusted scepters, and a life-sized statue of a Lizard King holding a glowing emerald—the Primal Stone, source of the ancient kings’ power!

  But between Krix and the Stone stood the Guardian: a 10-foot-tall stone golem with emerald eyes and a face that screamed “I haven’t had my coffee.”

  “Uh… nice golem?” Krix edged forward.

  The golem’s eyes flared. “ONLY THE WORTHY MAY CLAIM THE STONE.”

  “I’m worthy! See?” He held up the jade scarab. “I’ve got the key and… uh… this cool rock!”

  “WORTHINESS IS TESTED BY TRIAL,” the golem boomed. “SOLVE THE PUZZLE OR BE CRUSHED.”

  The walls shifted, revealing a grid of glowing runes.

  Krix groaned. “Why is everything a puzzle?!”

  As he fumbled with the runes (matching moon phases to constellations), a voice echoed from the shadows:

  “Step aside, scale-baby.”

  A human adventurer in a leather trench coat emerged, her smirk sharper than her daggers. Vexa the Vexing, tomb raider extraordinaire.

  “You!” Krix hissed. “You stole my cheese at the Bazaar!”

  “And I’ll steal this too.” She lunged for the Primal Stone.

  The golem roared. “THIEF.”

  Vexa dodged its fist, rolling to Krix’s side. “Work together? Split the treasure?”

  “...Fine. But I get the rock!”

  “Deal.”

  They aligned the moon phases with star clusters, deactivating the golem. But as Krix reached for the Stone, Vexa kicked him into a pit.

  “Sorry, kid. Adventuring’s a dirty business.”

  SLAM! The pit sealed.

  Trapped in darkness, Krix sighed. “Well, Pebble, we’re doomed.”

  Pebble, loyal to the end, glowed faintly—a light in the dark.

  Wait. Glowed?

  Krix stared. Pebble wasn’t a rock. It was a Duskstone, a rare gem that stores sunlight! He hurled it at the ceiling.

  CRACK!

  Light flooded the pit, revealing handholds. Krix climbed, bursting into the chamber just as Vexa grabbed the Stone.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “That’s my ancestor’s… uh… thing!”

  Vexa tossed him a gold coin. “Buy a new ancestor.”

  The ground trembled. The crypt was collapsing.

  “Run!” they shouted in unison.

  Outside, Krix coughed up sand as the crypts sank forever. Vexa was gone, along with the Stone. But in his satchel, he found something she’d missed—a scroll case labeled “Map to the Frostfang Vault.”

  Pebble glowed proudly.

  “Alright, buddy,” Krix grinned. “Next adventure?”

  The rock said nothing. But it was a very supportive nothing.