“Meep!”

With a final chirp of triumph, the sand squirrel dissolved into a fine puff of golden dust, its Quest fulfilled.

“Squirrel! I will not forget you,” the Spider King called after it.

No longer lost, he stepped onto the cobbled path. Now out of the storm, the jagged stones, weathered but sturdy, led onward through the scorching sun. The distant walls of WyrmCity shimmered like a mirage in the distance. He squinted up at the unrelenting sun. It glared back at him, merciless and blinding, yet strangely… he did not feel the barren desert’s hostility.

The path was flanked by rows of Sunfire Blossoms, their vibrant orange petals flaring outward as if they had stolen fragments of the sun itself. Their golden cores pulsed faintly, absorbing the heat, filling the air with otherwise gentle warmth, making the merciless heat from above so much more bearable.

“Isn’t this nice?” he muttered, his voice touched with guarded wonder. “The path feels magical.”

A sudden gust of wind brushed against his face.

“!!!”

He braced himself for the familiar sting of sand and searing dryness, but instead, a sweet, heady perfume filled his senses. It was intoxicating, almost overwhelming. He stopped in his tracks, nostrils flaring as the fragrance curled around him like a striking serpent. Oddly it reminded him of the bindings of his wife, the Lamia Queen.

“Ah,” he murmured, spying a cluster of golden blooms nestled among the dunes. “Sand Lilies… Of course.” Their delicate petals shimmered like gold. “If I remember well, the lilies are the source of that dangerous perfume…”

Shaking off the lingering haze, he continued down the path. The air grew heavier, suffused with the lilies’ presence, their aroma mingling with the faint, sun-baked scent of the cobblestones.

“What’s this sparkle ahead?” He squinted, his pace slowing. “A river in the desert?”

He narrowed his eyes. No, not a river. The mirage twisted and danced, the shimmering air playing tricks on his vision. A serpentine gleam cut through the dunes, mirroring the glint of sunlight on flowing water.

“That must be the SandScale Ferns.” He nodded, recalling the peculiar plant. Its ferns grew in snaking patterns, their glistening surfaces invoking illusions. “A deception,” he mused. “For an untrained eye, it would seem like a river, a source of life to quench one's thirst, but… but I know better.”

The pull to investigate nagged at him, an alluring whisper that promised salvation from the heat. He tightened his grip on his cloak, resisting the ferns’ illusory call. “Best not stray from the path. Or I’ll find myself lost again.”

Further ahead, the greens of a plantation came into view. Towering WaterHole Palms rose high above the sands, their lush emerald fronds swaying gently in the scorching sun. Beneath their canopy, a group of ScorpionMen worked diligently. Each carried a pot fashioned from the shells of some unknown monster, its jagged edges glinting faintly. With practised ease, they ladled thick, amber-coloured liquid from the palms into their vessels.

“Palm Juice,” the Spider King murmured. He licked his lips but refrained from approaching. He didn’t want to disturb the diligent workers during their harvest.

At last, the dazzling walls of WyrmCity loomed before him. He averted his gaze instinctively, the reflective scales embedded in the stone scattering sunlight in blinding patterns.

“A clever tactic,” he noted, shielding his eyes. “An attacker wouldn’t see the archers above… at least during the day.” His gaze drifted higher, past the walls, to a massive triangular structure rising behind them.

“Of course.” He sighed, a note of exasperation in his voice. “The self-proclaimed Pharaoh is building himself a pyramid. How predictable.”

Either way, he continues through the cobbled path.

The majesty of the gates of WyrmCity greets him—or rather, the enormous depiction of a coiling wyrm etched into the gates themselves. The wyrm’s great serpentine body twists and loops around the towering structure, its glass-jewelled eyes watching all who approach.

Before the gates lies a throng of desert folk, all trying to gain entry. Like a swarm of ants, the crowd snakes and spirals, forming a seemingly endless line that winds back toward the swirling chaos of the Endless SandStorm. From all directions, cobbled paths much like his own feed into the mass, carrying travellers from the far reaches of the Scorching Desert.

But these are no ordinary travellers. The crowd teems with ScorpionMen, Armored Beetles, AntMen, Scarabs, and an array of other insectoid beings. Their shells glisten under the sun, mandibles clicking and claws clattering as they shift impatiently.

“So many…” The Spider King tilts his head, taking in the bustling scene. “They must all be here for the wedding.”

He moves closer, scanning for the end of the line so he can join in, though it stretches far beyond his sight.

“I can’t see it…” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “But I am a King, so…”

His eyes flick upward, past the sea of insectile forms clogging the gates. His gaze locks onto the massive wyrmling statue that frames the entryway once more. Atop its crown perches a familiar figure—a spider sentry, crouched with precision on the wyrmling’s head.

“Hey!” The Spider King waves energetically, hoping to catch their attention.

One of the spider legs shoots upward in alarm. “Spider King?!” they exclaim, their chirp ringing clear over the chittering crowd below. “What gives?”

“I’m here for the wedding, but…” He gestures vaguely at the clogged gates.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“No entourage? Alone?” The spider’s legs shuffle, clearly unsettled by the idea.

“This seemed like an emergency, so…”

“No need to explain! Come! Come!” The sentry thumps their legs on the statue’s head, their movements sharp. “Let the Spider King through!”

The command catches the attention of the crowd below. A ripple of curiosity sweeps through the denizens as they pause to examine the one figure who doesn’t quite belong. Their chatter rises in a wave of doubt and suspicion.

“Is this really a… Spider King?” A ScorpionMan’s claws click skeptically.

“No chitin? No claws? Not even mandibles or pincers?” An AntMan tilts their head, antennae twitching.

“A King perhaps… But how is he a spider?” a Scarab clatters, the words buzzing with incredulity.

The Spider King stands taller, sweeping over the crowd. With a regal air, he flourishes his cloak, its silky folds catching the light. “Be not confused, denizens of the desert,” he proclaims, his voice ringing with authority. “I am the Spider King. Observe!” With a dramatic proclamation, he chants, “[Transform]!”

In an instant, his form shifts. Obsidian chitin ripples across his body, gleaming black as volcanic glass beneath the desert sun. His legs elongate and multiply, ending in spindly, razor-sharp points. From his head sprout magnificent horns, curling like the crown of a spidery monarch. His now four eyes gleam like molten gold, their brilliance radiating an aura of mystery and power.

“Behold my true form!” he announces, puffing out his armoured chest and striking a pose worthy of his title.

Gasps ripple through the crowd.

“Oh!”, “Ah!”, “I see!”, The insectoids clatter and chitter in amazement.

But the Spider King is not done. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he unleashes his Aura of Authority—a tangible wave of grandeur that sweeps through the onlookers, leaving them awestruck and reverent.

“Ohhh!!!”, “Ahhh!!!”, “UWU!!!”, The crowd’s disbelief melts into adoration and even occasional uwu’s.

Their chittering rises into a vigorous chant, led by the overly enthusiastic sentry atop the wyrmling statue.

“Spider King! Spider King!”

The chant grows louder, spreading like wildfire through the gathering.

“Spider King! Spider King! Spider King!”

With a gracious wave of his many legs, the Spider King strides forward. The crowd parts for him now, their admiration carving a clear path to the gates.

“Thank you! Thank you, denizens of the desert!” he calls, his voice filled with regal charm. He offers them his best spider-wave before passing through the gates of WyrmCity.

…

He cleared the gate. But…

Another challenge awaited him.

“Oh my…” His hands trembled as he struggled to resist the urge to pet the oversized, overly fluffy ears that twitched enticingly at arm’s reach.

“Spider King! Look at my wares! My baubles and my doodads!”

“I must resist!” he muttered, clenching his hands into fists to still the shaking.

“No! Spider King! Look at my wares! My gems and my jewels!”

“No-no! My wares! My rings and my necklaces!”

The calls came from all sides. Surrounding him were Fennec Merchants, their diminutive forms darting like sand-coloured shadows, their ears bobbing with their movements. Each held out trays and satchels brimming with glittering trinkets.

“No… I must… resist…” He grabbed one hand with the other, wrestling against his instincts.

But it was too late. The fluff was overwhelming.

“King? Why are you ruffling my ears? They’re not for sale!” one merchant complained, shielding the prized bundles of cuteness with both hands.

“I-I’ve failed,” the Spider King sighed. “I’ll buy something as an apology.”

“Yes-yes!”

Reaching out blindly, he grabbed a bauble—a polished marble—before noticing the peculiar craftsmanship of the surrounding goods. The baubles and doodahs, the gems and jewels, rings and necklaces, all have glass in them or are made of glass entirely. And not any glass, a special enchanted glass.

“So, they can make more than just bottles…” he mused, nodding in approval at the artistry.

As he admired the wares, a tiny hand tugged at his royal cloak. He turned to see a sly young fennec, her large ears twitching.

“King? Wanna pet my ears?” she offered, her wide eyes glinting with calculation.

“Ah… but then I’ll have to buy something,” he said weakly, already feeling the battle lost.

“Yes-yes!”

Moments later, he held a small glass figurine of the wyrmling statue. Its intricate details sparkled in the sunlight, and he admired the artistry.

“It looks better when it's not made out entirely of solid gold,” he muttered absently.

At this, the merchants collectively gulped, their wide eyes darting nervously.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No-no! Not at all! Now look at my wares—my chains and my spangles!”

Now, a chain fashioned entirely out of glass was something to behold… He ended up buying it too.

“Hey, how about me? Look-look!”

One by one, the merchants drew his attention, and he found himself enchanted by their goods—and their ears. Each purchase added to the growing collection in his Inventory, and each ruffle left him further distracted.

But something felt… off.

Each time he tried to leave, the merchants called him back with dazzling wares and enticing offers. It was almost as if they were stalling him, their actions deliberate.

“I’m sorry, but…” He forced himself to stop mid-ruffle, withdrawing his hands from a particularly fluffy pair of ears. “I must go and see this… Pharaoh.”

The fennec merchants froze. Then, in unison, they gulped.

Something was fishy.

Ignoring the small hands tugging at his cloak, the Spider King pushed past the encirclement of cute-eared merchants, his gaze fixed ahead. He strode purposefully toward the city’s centre, where the grandiose construction of a pyramid took place.

If this Pharaoh of a desert noodle was anywhere, he would be there.

The streets were a patchwork of meticulously laid cobblestones, each brick no doubt laid by the resident kobolds. On both sides of the street, and all around, there were rectangular buildings, their walls forged from magically compacted sand—stronger than stone and stacked in precarious, almost whimsical tiers that called to mind an otherworldly game of jenga. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, depicting lilies, ferns, and palms.

It seems the residents loved their magical plants quite a bit. There were such carvings everywhere. A wave of pride washed over the Spider King as he gazed upon them. Those plants—their beauty, their magic—they were his creation.

As he admired the artistry, a shadow caught his eye. On the cobblestones before him was an empty space, its outline suggesting something grand had once stood there.

“???” He tilted his head, puzzled.

Turning to the Fennec Merchants trailing behind him, he asked, “A perfect spot for a statue. No?”

They gulped, their silence betraying them.

“A solid gold statue. No?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

The merchants avoided his gaze, their ears flattening against their heads.

“Hmm… I seem to recall forbidding my familiar from building grandiose statues of himself and bullying the residents into submission. But he is a Pharaoh now, isn’t he? How can I, a mere King, command a Great Pharaoh of the Desert?” he projected with sarcasm.

One brave fennec stepped forward. “He doesn’t bully us!”

Another chimed in. “No-no! He’s a good ruler!”

“Yes-yes,” a third agreed quickly.

“But…” A fourth hesitated, glancing nervously at the others. “The golden statues might be… too much. I admit!”

The merchants nodded along in agreement.

“Aha! So there was a golden statue here after all! I knew it!”

They gulped again, their ears twitching.

“And that massive pyramid,” he continued, gesturing toward the construction. “I bet he’s forcing the kobolds to build it. That bully!”

A brave fennec stepped forward, his voice trembling but determined. “The Spider King shouldn’t be hasty to judge our Great Pharaoh. Perhaps… see the rest of the city first?”

“Oh? So he’s not forcing people to do things for him?”

The merchants exchanged uneasy glances before one spoke. “Well… But! But we prosper under his rule!”

“Yes-yes!” the others echoed.

“Hmm… You may have a point,” the Spider King conceded, stroking his chin. “He might be a tyrant, but if the city prospers and everyone lives in peace…”

“It is very peaceful!”

“Yes-yes!”

“Much prosperity!”

“Come-come! See our Great Bazaar!”

The tugging at his royal cloak resumed.

“Hmm…”