The sound of gold, like the fading song of falling pines, echoed faintly beneath the hollow mountain. Once, these stones had rung with the clamor of hammers and the deep songs of dwarves. Now, the halls of Erebor lay in stillness, cold and unyielding as the statues that watched over the empty throne. No fire warmed the hearths. No forge sang under the toil of strong hands. The air carried only the scent of old greed, lingering like a sickness in the bones of the mountain.

Deeper still, where the richest veins of gems and ore once lured the brave and the foolhardy, the hoard of Smaug slumbered—a golden tide undisturbed, save for the slow breath of the dragon himself. His scaled bulk lay atop the treasure, his wings half-folded, weary and dull. Yet, even now, his presence held dominion over all that glittered in the shadows.

A light, faint yet unyielding, filled the chamber. It was not the reflection of gold but a radiance far purer, a light that the stones and jewels could not mirror, for it came not from the earth but from beyond. A figure moved among the treasure, its form shimmering with the brilliance of the stars. You, a being of the Valar, ancient and ageless, had come to the mountain. Your touch, as soft as moonlight on still waters, brushed the scales of the dragon.

Smaug stirred. His deep, rumbling breath filled the cavern, a sound that trembled through the very gold beneath your feet. One amber eye slid open, burning like a forge that could never cool. His tail curled, barring your path, as his voice slithered into the silence.

"Why do you come, old friend of the First Light?" he rumbled, his tone low and heavy with suspicion. The dragon’s eye narrowed, and for a long moment, he did not speak. Then, his tail slowly withdrew, curling beneath his massive body. "Beware, Valar," he murmured. "Even light may find itself dimmed in the depths of greed. You tread a path where even stars might falter."

Smaug let out a low, resonant growl, his wings shifting slightly as he settled once more atop his hoard.