It had been long since he had seen the daylight, too long now to recognize it had he seen it.
There was nothing here but cold and eternal darkness and, sometimes, the clanking of the cruel little flightless creatures, hurting his ears and bringing back to mind even worse pain.
He guarded the treasure. That was the last thing he had left to do, unable to free himself, unable to fly, less and less clearly remembering the dream of the open sky and fresh air and the wild winds under his wings. The chains held him back, and he had long since given up trying to break away.
But when the iron broke, amongst all the confusion and noise and his fighting against the intruders, whoever they were and what their business was – he realized it was no business of his. The little concerns of his little keepers were no concerns of his. There was one thought on his mind, one that had so long been a distant memory and now broke through the surface of his spirit that had so long been numbed by habit: Freedom.
He roared, and heard the echo call back to him, telling him where to go, he reared and breathed fire, driving the little intruders away, and leapt into the air and spread it wings again. He pushed against the cold stone, and heated it up – this was what dragons did – until it crumbled to bits and let him through, and roared to let the world now: no one would hold him back.
He could smell fresher air now, something he hadn't smelled in decades, in more than a lifetime of the little insignificant creatures now behind him, and pushed further upward.
Finally, he reached the upworld. Finally, he stretched his wings, and crashed the ridiculous little doors of the little monsters, and with one flap of his great wings, he claimed back the sky.