The Northern market buzzed with life, stalls packed full of weapons, odd trinkets, and shouting Vikings haggling over every scrap.
At one rickety booth, a grizzled trader Viking proudly held up a brutal-looking spear for a small gathering : Fishlegs, Astrid, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut.
"This spear," the trader declared dramatically, "is barbed all the way to the top! Slides right in..." He made a stabbing motion, grinning wickedly. "But pulling it out... ohhh, that's a different story." He chuckled darkly.
Tuffnut leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with wild fascination. "And a story I, for one, would love to hear. Chapter and verse, please."
Fishlegs scratched his neck awkwardly. "Uh... how about something, you know, lighter?"
Another trader popped up behind the stall, hefting a heavy axe. "What about this? Carved from a dragon's neck bone!"
Tuffnut wrinkled his nose. "Blegh. Gross."
The first trader snapped his fingers excitedly. "No? Well, I've got this decorative dish!" He held up a cracked, seaweed-stained plate.
Snotlout leaned over to Astrid, muttering, "Why are we even here? We don't got any money."
Astrid folded her arms. "The auction's tonight. Let them tire themselves out first."
The trader, seeing them losing interest, reached into a battered crate. "Alright, alright!"
FWAP!
He unrolled a yellowed parchment. "I was savin' this for my best customer, but—"
Fishlegs leaned closer, squinting. "A map?"
The trader leaned in conspiratorially. "Not just a map. 'Tis said whoever deciphers it... will find the Treasure of Tears."
At the word tears, Tuffnut immediately broke into hysterics.
"WAAAAHHHH!!" he wailed, face scrunching up.
He stomped the ground like a tantrum-throwing toddler.
Fishlegs, unfazed, nodded like a scholar. "Treasure of Tears, Curse of Tears... Makes sense."
Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "It's that word. Ever since we were kids. He hears it and just..." she mimed a fountain with her hands, "...blub-blub-blub."
Snotlout grinned devilishly. "What word? Tears?" he said loudly.
"WAAAHHHH!" Tuffnut cried even louder, stomping his feet.
Ruffnut whirled on Snotlout. "REALLY?!"
Snotlout threw up his hands innocently. "What? Sorry! — Tears."
"BLUUUUB!" Tuffnut howled, collapsing dramatically onto a crate.
Ruffnut snapped. "FOR THE LOVE OF ODIN, HAVE YOU NO SOUL?!" She tackled Snotlout with a THUD, punching him square in the face.
"Ooff- not the face!!"
Meanwhile, Astrid kept her cool, studying the map carefully. Then, a voice with a different accent broke her focus.
"Eh, excuse me... can Ah have a wee look at that?"
Astrid turned to see a girl about her age, wild curly red hair framing a freckled face and sharp green eyes. She moved with the easy confidence of someone used to surviving rough places.
"Uh… sure." Astrid handed the map over.
The girl — Merida — scanned the parchment quickly, then shot the trader a suspicious look. "Is this treasure real, then? Or are ye blowin' smoke oot yer arse?"
"Oh, it is, it is!" The trader laughed nervously, hiding crossed fingers behind his back, not unnoticed by Ruffnut, who was still dragging Snotlout across the dirt.
Merida turned back to Astrid. "Ye plannin' on buyin' it?"
Astrid shook her head. "Nah. Just looking."
Merida gave a firm nod, then faced the trader. "How much?"
The trader, seeing her interest, flashed five fingers. "Five gold."
Merida snorted. "Five? Ah'll gie ye three."
The trader gawked. "Four!"
"Two," Merida shot back without blinking.
"Three and a half!" the trader barked.
Merida smirked coolly, arms folded.
"One."
The trader turned red, sputtering. "Two! Final offer!"
Astrid, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut who is still still blub-blubbing, and even Snotlout that is still getting noogied stopped to watch the negotiation in awe.
"One gold or I'm walking," the girl said, turning away.
Finally, the trader sagged. "Fine! One bloody gold!"
Merida pulled a coin from a tiny leather pouch and flicked it expertly into his hand.
Grinning, she turned back to Astrid and held out her hand. "Name's Merida Redwynd."
Astrid shook it, feeling the strength in her grip. "Astrid Hofferson."
Before Astrid could say more, three smaller figures burst into view, identical redheaded boys, faces full of mischief.
"MERIDA!" one of them yelped.
"Did ye steal somethin' again?" another cackled.
"Or did ye buy somethin' fer once?!" the third teased, laughing.
Merida rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, ya wee eejits!"
The three boys Hamish, Hubert, and Harris danced around her, poking and teasing until Merida cuffed one of them lightly on the head.
"Mind yer manners," she grumbled.
They only laughed harder, one of them hanging upside down from a market post while the other two tried to climb her like a ladder.
Astrid raised an eyebrow. "Family?"
Merida sighed. "Unfortunately."
_______
Far from the laughter and bustle of the marketplace, the world grew quieter, the distant rush of waves against the shore is the only sound.
A lonely stretch of beach sprawled before them, pale and empty under the dull gray sky where three figures stood at the edge of the sand: Flynn Rider and the Stabbington brothers.
Flynn swept a hand dramatically toward the endless, featureless beach.
"This is it, boys!" he announced, flashing his most charming grin.
The Stabbington brothers, one hulking and scarred, the other sporting a ragged eyepatch stared at him like he had sprouted a second head.
There was nothing here. No ships. No ruins. No treasure. Just sand, rocks, and a few half-buried crab shells.
"Are you... foolin' us?" the one-eyed brother growled, a glint of dangerous suspicion lighting his good eye.
The taller brother cracked his knuckles ominously.
Flynn took an instinctive half-step back, laughing awkwardly. "Whoa, whoa, hey! Let's talk about this, huh? No need for violence — violence is so overrated—"
The brothers began to close in, their heavy boots crunching over the sand.
Flynn raised his hands in a placating gesture, walking backward. "Listen, maybe I got the coordinates a little off! Beaches all look the same after a while, right? Heh."
The brothers didn't slow down.
But suddenly, the sand beneath them shifted.
CRUNCH.
The brother with the eyepatch jolted as something, no, someone grabbed his ankle with terrifying force.
"What the—?!"
With a yelp, he was yanked downward. His body disappeared into the sand like a stone dropped into water, leaving only a cloud of dust and a muffled gurgle.
Flynn and the remaining brother froze, eyes wide.
For a split second, there was only the whisper of the ocean breeze... and the panicked thumping of Flynn's heart.
They locked eyes.
"...Did you see—" Flynn started.
Before he could finish, the taller brother gave a strangled shout as claws snatched at his legs, dragging him down into the earth with brutal strength.
THWUMP.
FWSHHH.
Gone.
Flynn was alone.
The beach was silent again, the disturbed sand already settling back into place as if nothing had ever happened.
Flynn's mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words which is a rare occurrence.
He took a cautious step.
Then another.
Then—
Flynn sprinted across the sand, boots slipping and sliding wildly with every frantic step.
"Nope! Not today! Not happening!" he muttered under his breath, arms flailing for balance. "Flynn Rider does not get swallowed by evil beaches—"
FWUMP.
He stumbled, the ground beneath him giving way.
Flynn gasped, looking down just in time to see his foot sinking into the sand like it had turned to quickmud.
"What the—NO, NO, NO—"
Scaly hand of claws cold, powerful, and unrelenting latched onto his ankles, yanking him downward.
"AAAAH! I'M TOO HANDSOME TO DIE THIS WAY!!"
He thrashed and flailed, sand flying everywhere as he tried to crawl free, boots kicking up pathetic little sprays of dust. His fingers scrabbled desperately at the shifting ground, but it was no use.
"Nononono—HEEELP—HELP ME ANYONE?!" Flynn howled, eyes wide.
First his legs.
Then his hips.
Then his chest.
The sand slurped and hissed around him, hungrily pulling him under.
Flynn threw up one last heroic fist toward the open sky and bellowed:
"SOMEBODY BETTER WRITE A GOOD BALLAD ABOUT ME!!"
And with a final wet SCHLOOP, he vanished beneath the sand.
The beach went eerily still.
Only one soul remained.
Perched a few feet away, standing atop a sun-bleached piece of driftwood, was Scuttle.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Fluffed his feathers.
Then he tilted his head thoughtfully, scratching under his wing.
"...Huh," he said aloud to nobody in particular. "Would ya look at that. The ground's eatin' people now."
He gave a casual shrug, like he'd seen weirder, and started pecking curiously at Flynn's abandoned satchel.
"Bet it's just migratory behavior," Scuttle mused sagely, before losing interest and flying off down the beach, humming tunelessly to himself.