Merchant Crab

A long time ago, in a small pond tucked away next to an old road leading down from a town on a hill, there was a crab. Not a big crab, at least not yet. He was small, tiny, even, compared to most things surrounding him.

To the young crab, everything seemed huge and fascinating. The waters of the pond were like a whole ocean, the sandy shores encircling it like endless beaches to explore, and the boulders standing over it all as if mountains for the small crustacean to conquer.

His pond was his whole world, as far as he understood it.

The little crab lived alone in his peaceful little domain for as long as he could remember. No family, no friends, not even any other crabs. He did not know why or how he came to be alone in that place, but he also did not know enough to care. His only company were the tiny fish swimming around in his pond, but those were more food than actual friends, and as every young crab knows, you should not play with your food.

And then there were the birds.

The bothersome, annoying birds.

Constantly chirping and singing, making a loud ruckus whenever the crab wanted to rest, always swooping down and trying to steal his food. They were a menace, and the crab hated them.

What the crab did not hate, however, was sunbathing and napping. Both at the same time, preferably.

It was during one random morning, at a time when the crab did not yet understand the concept of hours and dates, that he decided it was high time to lie down for some well-deserved sunbathing. And that meant climbing atop his favorite spot for napping under the sun’s warm light: a particularly funny shaped boulder at the edge of his pond.

The rock was large, so large it felt like a hill to a tiny crab like him, but that’s what made him want to climb it the first time he saw it. For you see, this hardy little crustacean was a determined one, even at a young age. When he’d set his mind to something, he’d stubbornly see it through, no matter what.

There were other boulders around, plenty, in fact, but none felt quite as right as that one. It was the perfect combination of height and position, with a good flat area on top for him to rest on without slipping. It was everything the crab could ask for in a sunbathing spot.

Day after day he would climb it and rejoice under the sunlight, sometimes falling asleep right away, others spending some time making bubbles and chattering to himself like crabs do.

Eventually, he found himself in the habit of directing his ramblings to the stone. The boulder wasn’t very talkative, but the little shelled guy didn’t mind, for he didn’t have much to say either. It was mostly upset noises and angry spewing of bubbles over the latest bird to have annoyed him that day.

If nothing else, the big rock was a great listener, and that was plenty for the crab, who didn’t have many other options, anyway.

On that particular day, the little crabber was feeling in a good mood. There had been no bird sightings all morning, and he had enjoyed a nice, juicy fish right before hopping on his boulder to catch his daily dose of sun. Life was good, and he was bubbling away at the rock.

After a while, maybe because of the sun, the full belly, or a mix of both, his eye stalks started feeling heavy, and a nap was imminent, but as his thoughts faded between dream and reality, he mused over how much he liked his big rock, and how it was probably his best friend in the whole wide pond (which, as far as he was concerned, was his whole world).

Not that he had much in terms of choice, of course.

As he happily made bubbles with his tiny mouth parts and his eye stalks bobbed up and down while he struggled to not fall asleep, the crab idly scratched the smooth surface of the stone with the tip of his young pincer.

It took him a while, but after he was done, the boulder had a small “X” marked on it, signing the name of the little crab who had just declared that rock his best friend forever: Balthazar.

***

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Amid the mud and debris, the giant crab clawed through the aftermath of the avalanche, digging desperately where his tent used to be, a tall pile of rocks and snow now occupying its place.

Balthazar could not even recall how he had just gotten there given his four smashed up legs. Likely by dragging himself through what remained of the footpath and the shore, judging by the looks of his shell and underside, its pristine golden finish now covered in streaks of mud.

That mattered little to the crab in that moment, however. As did everything else around him, the cacophony of sounds from before pushed away behind a high-pitched ringing in his hearing, and voices sounding like distant echoes. It did not matter that the system now only showed Druma and Blue as his party members. The system was stupid and wrong. All that mattered was finding Bouldy.

He clawed and tossed pieces of rock and wood aside, desperately searching for any familiar signs.

A rocky hand giving a thumbs up.

A giant, dumb smile.

Something he could cling to.

Anything at all.

But the more Balthazar dug, the bigger the mountain of debris felt.

Two hands, small and warm, landed softly on the side of his shell, startling him.

“Balthazar,” the baker said in a quiet voice. “You need to stop. You’re hurt.”

The crab felt his arms slow down, but not stop completely. His body was exhausted and hurting all over, but his mind raced and did not want to stop, even for just a second. To stop would mean having time to think. He did not want to think, not about that. He wanted to act.

He wanted to find his friend before he could have a chance to think things through.

To think that he was gone.

“Balthazar, please.” Madeleine insisted, gently tugging at his shoulders.

“I know it’s hard to accept,” Rye’s voice said from behind the girl, “but we all saw it. He wasn’t just buried, Balthazar. Bouldy—”

“Shut up and help me dig, damn it!” the crab yelled, the words finally breaking out of him like water from a broken dam.

He did not care that he was bawling or that someone was seeing him like that. He just wanted Bouldy back.

Suddenly, his eyes widened as he shoveled a mound of dirt and roots aside and saw a familiar marking etched on a piece of rock.

As carefully as his large pincers and urgency allowed him, Balthazar opened a clearing around the surface he had just uncovered.

His heart slowly sunk as he first found the area where the fissure in the golem’s chest was, and then discovered that there was nothing else attached to it.

It was just a large piece of broken boulder, with an old “X” carved on it.

Balthazar let out a quiet whimper as he lifted the broken stone from the debris.

If any hope yet remained in him, it was all extinguished when he saw what was underneath.

A round orb of a muted red rested in a cradle of pulverized rock.

It was the golem core, lifeless and broken in two halves.

He felt the girl’s grip tighten slightly on his shell, accompanied by a quiet sob. “I’m so sorry, Balthazar.”

Rye got down on one knee by the other side and placed a hesitant hand on his shell, too. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to not find the right words, choosing to give him some comforting pats on the back instead.

“It… it was all my fault,” said the distraught crab.

The crab slumped down and let his body slide off the side of the avalanche mound. Madeleine and Rye joined him quietly, both unsure of what to say to console their friend.

Balthazar felt empty, devoid of any will to even move or do anything with himself.

From the other shore came a loud sound, but the crab barely registered it, let alone bother to look for what caused it.

“Oh, no, no, no,” the baker muttered in a panic.

“Not again,” said the archer.

Across the water, a slow, lumbering giant of a creature raised itself from the ground. The red dragon had woken up.

Slowly refocusing its eyes on its surroundings, the monster stretched its jaw, no doubt still sore from the golem’s massive punch that had knocked it out.

As its gaze found the crab, the dragon bared its fangs and snarled. It started slowly stepping through the water towards them.

“Madeleine, get yourself and Balthazar out of here!” Rye shouted, pulling an arrow out of his quiver and nocking it as he took aim at the dragon’s eye.

Without so much as diverting its gaze from the crab, the dragon took a swipe with its wing and swatted the adventurer away like a bug.

The archer flew several paces and crashed through some broken tree branches before landing on a pile of dirty snow, his bow snapping in two under the weight of his body.

“Rye!” Madeleine yelled, running towards him.

The young man was hurt, but still moving, straining to get back up. As the baker tended to him, they both realized his arm was wounded, his sleeve torn with bleeding cuts underneath from the branches he crashed through. He winced as he tried to turn, and Madeleine tried to make him not move too much.

“You have given me much trouble, crab,” the dragon said, taking Balthazar’s attention back from the two humans. “I shall add your empty shell to my hoard after I eat you.”

They were a mere few steps away from each other, and the crab realized how much bigger the dragon seemed up close. Yet, he felt hardly anything within—no fear, no panic, no nothing. Just apathy.

He knew the situation he was in was bad, he just did not find the power to care anymore.

He knew the statuette was not far, but there was no point, it was buried under tons of dirt, snow, and rocks. It would take hours to find it, if it even mattered at that point.

And it did not matter, because Balthazar did not care. For once, he was ready to accept defeat and just give up.

Fortunately for the crab, there was someone unwilling to give up on him.

Wind rustled on an apron as the baker ran between the dragon and the crab, standing in front of the beast with arms open.

“Stop!” she shouted. “I can’t let you do this.”

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