Tyrosciol was a dragon and very wealthy.
Immeasurably so. At least by his account.
Gold lay in enormous uneven hills throughout the cavern. Coins from kingdoms long forgotten had mixed together over centuries until they no longer resembled currency, merely glittering terrain.
Jewels filled cracks in the stone.
Silver cups rested beside rusted helmets.
Necklaces tangled themselves around ancient swords whose owners had long since been forgotten.
Tyrosciol liked his wealth.
He lay atop his treasure with all the satisfaction of someone who owned entirely too much and saw no reason to stop collecting.
At the very highest point of the hoard rested his newest possession.
It wasn't the largest, nor was it the most valuable.
It was just a tiny shard of dark glass.
It wasn't shiny; it seemingly had no color.
Light didn't even reflect properly off of it.
But Tyrosciol liked it.
Whenever he looked at it, he felt a sense of completeness.
Not entirely complete, just closer than before.
He wasn't certain why. And he didn't know what he was missing, not at all.
Before he found it, he thought himself quite content, but not anymore.
But he didn't think about it very hard.
He was a dragon, but even though he was gifted with intelligence, compared to his hoard, it was lacking.
Dragons were supposed to have treasures. That he knew.
His hoard was simply right here, right where he was, and so the shard also belonged here.
So it stayed.
Right there, right in front of him.
He gave it an affectionate nudge with one claw.
Perfect.
Tyrosciol was not one of the great dragons.
He knew this.
It didn't matter.
He had his cave. He had his treasure.
He had a perfectly respectable amount of gold.
He wasn't one of the dragons that controlled fire, or lightning, or the storms themselves.
His domain was gas, noxious fumes. He was a gas-dragon.
That was enough.
Nobody wandered into a gas-dragon's cave by accident.
The, mostly, invisible vapors that filled the tunnels were more than sufficient to discourage thieves.
The moss covering the cave walls fed upon those vapors and, in return, produced more.
A pleasant arrangement.
Very green.
Very deadly.
Tyrosciol appreciated it. He didn't have to do a lot.
Today was particularly nice.
Warm sunlight streamed through openings in the cavern ceiling.
Tiny beams illuminated patches of treasure, making them sparkle.
The moss glowed faintly where the light touched it.
Tyrosciol sighed happily and spat out a puff of poison.
This seemed like an excellent day for a nap.
He settled lower into his hoard.
The coins shifted comfortably beneath him.
The little shard rested exactly where he could see it.
Excellent.
He closed one eye.
Then the other.
Then-
There was a human.