The stars, a sparkling canopy overhead, Smaug cast his gaze skyward and gave a cavernous yawn, His gleaming teeth caught the silver moon's grace— A witness to his twilight, his end framed by fire yet not consumed; by some caprice of fate, he remained.

Resting at the edge of his worn patience with the separatists, Though now released, freedom's allure rivaled by none. Yet, in a flicker, his own inferno scorched his sight. He crumbled, and the night air bore only a whisper of his presence— A promise that one day, a path to justice will be carved.

He dreams of a time when he can exchange the Republic, For her deeds, for the separatists' treachery, And if destiny permits, to be close enough to slay the betrayer. But for now, Smaug rests beneath the lunar glow, pondering If the day will come when he can enact such final retribution.