Dragon Guarding His Hoard

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The forest had forgotten the sun long ago.

Twisted branches clawed at the gray sky, and the ground breathed heat where no fire burned—only embers drifting like dying stars. At the heart of it all, upon a mound of molten gold, the dragon stirred.

Its chest rose… slow… heavy… ancient.

A glow pulsed beneath crimson scales, as if something deep within it refused to die. With each breath, the treasure beneath its claws softened and gleamed, reshaping itself under the creature’s weight. Its tail curled tighter, then loosened, a warning written in motion.

Across the clearing, she stood.

Small. Still. Unafraid.

The sorceress let the wind tug at her cloak as blue light gathered in her palms, whispering like distant bells. She had come for the dragon—not to slay it, but to wake it.

Another breath. Deeper this time.

The dragon’s eye flickered open—golden, burning, aware.

The trees shuddered.

Magic answered.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then the embers rose.

And the dragon awakened.