A Baby Bori's Treasure Hunt

     Gianduja’s hurried stroll rolled into a frantic skip as gravity and the unstable footing of shifting sands forced his feet faster down the dune slope. Maintaining both balance and speed consumed his entire focus.

     “Gian! Gian!“ Over the summit, a singular warm voice rang—more distressed than menacing. Even from a distance, the call of his name sent an irritating tickle down Gianduja’s ear. He shrugged off the temptation of going home with his friend and with it, the cosiness of his NeoHome and a refreshingly nippy slushie after this hot, dusty adventure. Had it been any other day, he would have turned tail for that familiar comfort.

     His eyes hardened like steel. He pressed onward, refusing to return empty-handed.

     For the Baby Bori to evade capture, he burst out in a full sprint. The once quiet padding of his footsteps now gouged deep grooves on the soft sand. As fortune would have it, the wind smoothed out all his footfalls as swiftly as they formed.

     As he grew farther from his friend, Gianduja carelessly let his guard down. His toes caught on the jutting bone, sending him tumbling down in a chaotic roll that made Turmacs and Xamphers gnash their teeth in jealousy.

     Gianduja hit top speed, first plunging into a dip before speeding up a sandy dune. Launched high, he eclipsed the desert sun. The peach fuzzball flew back to the Lost Desert and plummeted into a whirlpool of sand.

     He shut his eyes and braced himself for the impact.

     The glare of burning sunlight dissolved into a mellowed shadow.

     Poof.

     His vision sharpened to the soft grainy mound he plopped in. Lifting his gaze, he observed the shower of grains descending upon his head—all from the quicksand above. He sputtered out a handful of sand that snuck into his mouth.

     “Gian! Gian!“ Faint echoes of his friend’s voice funnelled from above.

     The Baby Bori ignored the calls and scampered through the corridors.

     The hidden shrine was sterile—no dust, no debris, no stench of decay—a stark contrast to Gianduja’s expectations. He bragged of his solo adventures in rather more rugged locales. His proudest story was of his deep-sea dives in the Maraquan ruins, a place ravaged by war and time, now choked with kelp and rising bubbles from unseen depths.

     Yet, the tomb had its own share of peculiarities. Not a grain of sand peppered the ruins proper. Torches burnt anew. Nary a Spyder or Scarabug scuttled in sight. In contrast to the elaborate ornamentation of the Lost Desert’s grander pyramids belonging to the late King Hephaes-Ru and King Galat-Ra, this tomb’s finery was found lacking.

     The walls bore amateur etchings. A closer look revealed painted murals with uneven and clumsy lines. The Baby Bori ran a claw across a mural of a brave Neopet fighting off a herd of rampaging Skeiths. As wet ink slicked his nail, he shook his arm to get rid of it.

     The hallway ended with an ominous door with symbols of walking sticks and the faraway sun. Its height reached the ceiling, but it did next to nothing to deter the little fellow. He threw his shoulder against the massive stone gateway. An intense, grinding scrape of stone on stone unnerved Gianduja. His ears twitched back and forth the longer it took him to open the door. Relief washed over him as he squeezed through the meagre passage.

     His eyes shone brighter than the treasure room’s jewels. In fact, even the treasures erred on the less costly side. No mountains of gold chalices and jewels. Only ticking desk clocks, miniature diagrams of Neopian worlds, mouldy books, and worn-out exploration satchels with maps rolled up in one of its pockets. Whatever trinkets glimmered off the flames of cackling torches were disappointing glass and varnished clay.

     A glint from a necklace caught his eye. Its chunky, earthly beads brooded like the swampy outskirts and menacing trees of Haunted Woods. Gianduja’s eyes sparkled at the bound cord that strung all the accoutrements. Had he been zip-lining above a chasm, the strength of the string would hold his weight in full confidence. But above all, it would be the perfect gift for Anthado.

     Her softened plushie face materialised in his mind—her freckles always bunched up in a smile followed by winged hugs that never failed to warm him up. Gianduja was between living arrangements prior to meeting her. He wandered dusty, unweathered trails, his feet heavy with the weight of his journey, searching for a place to return to after explorations, until Anthado took him in.

     On the chilliest of evenings in her modest abode, the Baby Bori watched her sew sweaters beside a flickering candlelight. On balmy evenings, she polished coins she received on her travels—of course, to her detriment, her stories that accompanied those peaceful times stoked wanderlust in the young adventurer.

     The beautiful, hand-braided string would be a thoughtful gift for her. Perhaps Anthado could stitch together patches for a nice quilt.

     As he was about to grab the necklace, another, more seasoned claw materialised out of thin air and swatted at him.

     The room echoed with a booming roar that could humble the Brain Tree. “Who dares to plunder the magnificent tomb of the Eternal Traveller?” asked a Transparent Bori with knuckles growing even more pale from clenching his Desert Fan Staff.

     The Baby Bori puffed up his chest and clenched his tiny fist. “My name is Gianduja, and I’m going to take this. Thank you.“ He reached for the necklace once more, and with immediate reaction, the ghostly guardian repelled his hand.

     This bit overstayed its welcome, punctuated by the swift slaps. Neither Bori backed down, burning eye-to-eye, with stubbornness in equal measure.

     “Stop that, young child. I, Melorheostosis, forbid you.“

     “No, I want it, Melo. Gimme,“ whined Gianduja.

     The Transparent Bori gasped that such a small brat would address him as such.

     A stare-down flourished brighter between them than the desert heat.

     Gianduja snuck a hand for the trinket once more, but Melorheostosis slapped it with more force, fueled by petty spite.

     “Ow!“

     “Once more. Why must you insist on pilfering from the splendid halls of the Eternal Traveller?“

     “I want a gift for Anthado.“

     On cue, a subtle yet urgent vibration, like a muffled hum, pulsed from the surface, sending a shiver through the air. “Gian!”

     “That’s her. She’s super nice, but super annoying. She should know that I’m strong enough to go myself. I bested the Slug Monster one time. It was easy.”

     “Is it your intention to purloin my companion’s valuables on behalf of another?”“

     “This is your friend’s treasure?“

     “How much must I say it? This is the Eternal Traveller’s hall.“ With a hushed undertone, he said, “My best friend.“

     “Then let’s wake him up. I’m sure he’s willing to give me this if I ask nicely.”

     Gianduja took the ghostly guardian’s hand and tugged to the exit.

     Something was wrong. The haughty Melorheostosis was still and unresponsive. A wave of discomfort descended, suffocating with unspoken tension. A renewed grip from the Baby Bori jolted the guardian back to life.

     “He breathed his last breath aeons ago.“

     “Isn’t he undead, like you?“

     Silence.

     A bitter taste, more astringent than ash, filled Gianduja’s mouth as sadness and regret gnawed at him. As a young child, seriousness took hold of his face as he understood the situation’s complexity. Both his ears ducked down. “I’m sorry.”

     “The item in question was a gift I had given to him. It contains neither gold nor jewels as I had no money, but its worth exceeds that of neopoints. Created by hand, it served as a testament to a promised reunion after our separation.” He gulped down a cry that crawled up his throat. “By my hands.“

     “Did you explore with him once more?“

     Melorheostosis shifted his eyes away.

     “Oh.“

     “Fret not, little one. So long as these mementoes of our bond endure, our shared moments remain etched in our hearts, as vibrant as the day they occurred.”

     “Forgotten? Old people forget stuff all the time. I don’t think they mind if they lose a shiny thing or two,“ Gianduja said, eying another sparkle that caught his attention.

     “Memories provide solace for the living, not the dead.”

     “Huh?“

     “Permit me to explain. The duty of the guardian fell on me. I purify, defend, and deter bothersome Neopets like you. I strive for his memory from being lost to time. This is how I commemorate my departed friend. And perhaps sharing our recollections will usher in peace to those who seek it.“

     Gianduja feigned interest in Melorheostosis’ discussion about his friend, a common tactic to steer clear of contentious people armed with sharp objects. “You built this whole place just for him? Why go so far? It’s a lot of work.“

     Without skipping a beat, Melorheostosis spoke out. “I guarded a temple in a faraway land, beyond the reach of the sun’s rays. From since my birth, I dedicated every second to the lonely vigil, tasked with intimidating away raiders for a faceless person I neither knew nor respected. That was my lot in life.“

     The Baby Bori’s’s fingers stretched and slithered to the side. His tiny tongue stuck out of his mouth, out of concentration. “That must stink. It’s like Anthado wanting me to stay home all day instead of stowing away on ships or gliding down to Moltara.“

     Caught unawares of Gianduja’s words, the guardian’s eyebrow raised. He cleared his throat. “Ahem, yes, the very same. By then, the Eternal Traveller stumbled into the palace. Rather than absconding with trinkets, he proposed a journey of global exploration. My involvement was required of that plan. And I did. My life revolved around tomb keeping; however, exposure to the world and its inhabitants broadened my perspective.”

     “How so?“ In truth, Gianduja needed a second or two more.

     “I must prioritise my life above others—to remain authentic to my emotions and pursue a life of fulfilment.”

     Gianduja tilted his head. “You lived in a temple and now you’re stuck here in this hovel?“

     “Hovel it may be, but I am committed to undertaking this task. More importantly: of my own volition. I sought to express my gratitude and to assist those he aided in recalling his extraordinary character.

     “Neat. That is cool, mister, I learned a lot,” said Gianduja after a sigh of relief. With something cold and hard gripped in his hand, his arm relaxed behind his back. He scooted closer and closer to the exit, his heart pounding in his chest.

     “You desire not to hear of more stories of my friend?“

     “No, thank you, Melo. Okay, I go now.“ Gianduja strutted out of the tomb, excited about adding to Anthado’s collection, but he mellowed down. He inspected wistfully at the silver coin, feeling the chips in its grooves and faded rulers honoured in that land.

     He reflected on his friendships. His heart couldn’t bear the thought of his friends, and especially Anthado, being forgotten after their passing. Gianduja also wanted to be remembered.

     The ancient piece was cold to the touch, its weight heavy in his palm, a tangible link to fragile histories. Can swapping a treasured memory, still valued by someone else, be justified to form a fresh one?

     In his heart, the gifts he scoured Neopia to repay her affection—a warmth that reminded him of that frigid winter night when Anthado gave him his first hand-knitted sweater, followed by the softest hug on his skin.

     Stealing other’s mementos just didn’t feel right. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the coin spinning into the quicksand. Swirling rapidly,

     it vanished at the centre, leaving only a whoosh of air as a trace of its existence.

     A Plushie Eyrie, perched atop the dune, shaded her eyes and cried out across the desert. “Gian!“

     Hidden amongst the landscape were many ancient temples, their stone walls whispering secrets of past riches. And above the churning sands were routes to evade her sight—dunes to shelter from the sun and jutting pillars to cover his meek silhouette. He had more adventures to experience and treasures to seek. But this time, he chose a fresh adventure.

     He turned on heel and dashed toward his friend and hopped into her arms for a hug.

     The End.