Delay

possible rename- Chrysus? (Greek god of Gold)
Accent: Peacock Nouveau or Accent: Work It

The dragon yawned. He was exhausted; he always was, after a long day of work. He sighed and stretched his wings, disrupting the molten magma he had been laying in and causing it to bubble and pop. The dragon turned, trying to get into a more comfortable position. He had been quite stressed recently, more so than usual. Normally, a lava bath helped him relax, but it didn’t seem to be working this time. He stood up, shivering as a rush of cold air hit him, and stepped out of the lava and on to the warm stony structure of his cavern home.

The dragon lived on a small volcano cave secluded somewhere on the edge of the Viridian Labyrinth. The cavern was nearly impossible to find; It was on no map, and was guarded by harsh, wind whipped planes, cliff faces, and a maze of woodland so dense that, without a guide, one could easily lose themselves forever in it. The dragon of course had no idea of any of this; His cave was his whole world. For all he knew, the world outside could be a blank void, devoid of life. He had never left his home; he had never needed to. He'd lived there all his life. He had food and shelter, and most importantly, his work. The churning and molding of the ore, the golden fluid that clung to his claws, sunk into his flesh, and ingrained itself in his very heart. He loved his work, and took great pride and satisfaction in it.

He should be happy. He had everything he needed.

And yet. The dragon had recently been bothered by something. Something he could not describe, something twisting and turning and sitting inside his gut, weighing him down. He hadn’t felt it in so long, he almost didn't recognize it.

Loneliness.

The dragon was lonely.

He had tried to deny it. Tried to shut it out, or distract himself with something else, but it never worked. He couldn’t get away from it. And now, walking through his cave, staring at the same walls he always stared at, standing in the places he always stood, something snapped in him. He wouldn't, nay, couldn’t stay here. He had to leave.

The dragon trotted briskly through the dimly lit corridors towards the boulder that blocked the opening to the outside. The tunnel he followed was difficult. It twisted and turned, split and doubled back on itself, dropped sharply and rose swiftly, but the dragon followed it surely and confidently, as though he had followed this path many times before. He arrived at the great bolder. Looking at it now, the dragon remembered all the times he had come here as a hatchling, all the secret moments when his caretakers were gone or distracted, when he had sat and wished so hard he could have push that boulder aside and gone and seen the outside. All the wonders that had could be out there, that his caretakes insisted didn't exist. The dragon had forgotten about those memories long ago, but they resurfaced as he faced the bolder one last time.

With a breath of courage, the dragon reached out his front talons and grabbed ahold of the rock. Giving one last, long look into his cave, the only home he had ever known, he pushed the boulder aside, and stepped out, out, and into the light.