At the same time,
People in Lake-town slowly came out of their homes, looking toward the Lonely Mountain. The strange light in the sky had disappeared, and the roaring had stopped. The silence that followed felt unreal, like something had ended but no one understood how.
Then, without warning, the Master's entire house vanished. There was no sound, no collapse, no trace of destruction. One moment it stood there, and the next it was simply gone, as if something had swallowed it whole and left nothing behind.
Panic didn't come immediately. What spread first was confusion—people staring at the empty space, trying to understand what they were even looking at.
Not that many truly cared about the Master's disappearance. If anything, there was a quiet sense of relief. To most of them, he had always been nothing more than a blood-sucking mosquito—so if he was gone, it wasn't exactly a loss.
Inside Bard's house—
Luke appeared.
"Smaug is dealt with," he said.
Bard and his children looked at him, but their attention didn't stay there. Their eyes shifted upward.
Above Luke's head, something small hovered in the air.
A dragon.
Tilda blinked, trying to process what she was seeing.
"Umm… what is that above your head?" she asked.
Luke glanced up casually.
"Oh, that's Smaug," he said. "I shrank him."
Smaug remained silent, hovering there, his eyes fixed forward.
The room went quiet.
Bard's reaction was immediate. He stepped forward, placing himself between Luke and his children, eyes locked on the small dragon.
"That thing…" he said, voice tight, "that is Smaug?"
Above Luke, the small form hovered, wings moving slowly. Reduced in size, but the shape, the scales, the eyes—there was no mistaking it.
Legolas had already drawn his bow.
The arrow was aimed without hesitation.
"Size does not change what it is," Legolas said, calm and firm. "A dragon remains a dragon."
Luke didn't bother arguing about that.
"No need to focus on Smaug right now," he said. "Focus on what this causes. A dragon disappearing from the Lonely Mountain? That draws attention… and not the good kind."
Bard frowned slightly, but he understood.
The dragon had been fear.
Fear kept people away.
Without it,
"Word will spread," Bard said quietly.
Luke nodded.
"And fast."
Across the north, the change was noticed before any messenger could speak.
Birds moved first.
Thrushes, ravens, and crows that once avoided the Lonely Mountain began circling it freely. Their patterns shifted, their calls carried farther, and flocks started moving outward. In Middle-earth, that alone was enough to signal that something major had changed.
In the Woodland Realm, Thranduil understood it immediately.
The birds did not gather like this without reason. The thrushes carried meaning, and the ravens remembered. When they turned toward Erebor in such numbers, there was only one conclusion.
The dragon was gone.
Thranduil gave the order without delay. The Elven host began its march toward the mountain, not rushed, but certain.
Inside Erebor, Thorin and his Company did not witness the death.
They noticed the silence.
No distant fire. No tremor of destruction.
Then the birds arrived.
A thrush returned first, followed by ravens. Soon after, Roäc came and confirmed what the signs already suggested. Smaug disappeared, and with that truth came a warning that others had already begun to move.
Thorin understood immediately what that meant.
He sent ravens to the Iron Hills.
Dáin received the message and acted without hesitation. Erebor was theirs, but it would not remain uncontested. His army began its march at once.
Elsewhere, the signs were read differently.
The Orcs did not need words. They watched the sky.
Carrion birds gathering, all moving toward one place, told them everything. Where such signs appeared, battle followed. And where there was battle, they would be there.
Across Middle-earth, the meaning spread without a single proclamation.
The dragon was gone.
And the mountains were no longer untouchable.
Inside Erebor, Thorin and the others moved through the vast treasure hall, searching among endless piles of gold for the Arkenstone. Coins shifted under their feet, jewels scattered as they dug through the hoard, but Thorin's focus never wavered.
He wasn't looking at the gold anymore.
He was looking through it.
Bilbo watched him closely.
Something had changed.
The closer they got to the heart of the treasure, the more restless Thorin became. His movements were sharper, his voice tighter, his patience thinner. It wasn't just urgency anymore—it was something else.
Obsession.
Bilbo remembered Luke's words.
Gold could change a person… enough that even those closest to them wouldn't recognize who they had become.
His hand tightened slightly around the Arkenstone hidden in his pocket.
He had already found it.
But he hadn't said anything.
Instead, he stepped closer to Balin.
"What's happening to him?" Bilbo asked quietly, glancing toward Thorin.
Balin watched Thorin for a moment before answering, his expression heavy.
"Dragon-sickness," he said. "It has taken hold of him."
Bilbo frowned.
"The gold… it's doing this?"
Balin nodded slowly.
"It clouds the mind. Fills it with greed, with possessiveness. Makes a king forget what truly matters."
Bilbo looked back at Thorin again.
The difference was clear now.
"If he finds the Arkenstone…" Bilbo began.
Balin's expression didn't ease.
"It may steady him," he said, though there was doubt in his voice. "Or it may make things worse."
He let out a quiet breath.
"For now… I almost hope he does not find it."
Bilbo stayed silent.
His hand remained in his pocket, fingers resting against the Arkenstone.
He already knew.
That stone could decide everything.
*****
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