The sweet scent of fresh bread filled Ryadni's nostrils and made her mouth water. She slid two more loaves onto the potatoes in her sack, ears perked all the while on alert for the sound of approaching feet. The storage room stretched into an endless pit of darkness, hiding bloodthirsty eyes and invisible enemies. Ryadni's fingers fell onto the coarse surface of the loaves near the back and she carefully slid them forward, hiding any obvious evidence of stolen goods.

Today was a good raid, but she couldn't steal too much. It would be at least two days before they could return or else they aroused suspicion.

Something creaked overhead. She froze. All was silent for several minutes and then she slowly eased a breath out. Securing the bag of goods and slinging it over her shoulder, she tiptoed to the escape. The night stretched before her, cloudy and reassuring. Cool night air crept through the cracked open window, caressing her dark curls. The guard would be patrolling the opposite end of the corridor one floor above. Now would give her plenty of time to disappear.

Placing one gloved hand on the stone window pillar, she leaned out and gave one smooth, crisp whistle into the night. And waited. Seconds dragged on. A lower, quieter call floated from between the leaves below. That was her cue. The bag goes into the air, its plunge to the ground slowed by the rope gliding through Ryadni's free hand. The receiver tugged at the rope and Ryadni let go. The window closed with a quiet click.

Ryadni retreated noiselessly to the other pantry window higher up on the wall, leapt, and pulled herself through the narrow opening. Soft shoes hit the stone roof. She stole beneath the flamboyant banners of the warlord, silent as the whisper of an owl's flight. Swinging over the low walls and beneath protruding stone dragon statues lining the battlements, she made her way back along the familiar passage.

Still, there was no noise from the sleeping occupants. She almost envied them, so ignorant of the dangers in the outside world they could sleep without care all night. The fancy barons and their workers were none the wiser, lost in their blissful, ignorant dreams in their over-large stone castle. None of them knew what true hardship was like.

Ryadni pulled her hood up, keeping her eyes trained for movements. She spotted three shadows moving rapidly in her direction, one of them holding the sack. They were barely visible in the moonless night. She fell into formation as the third in line and shifted like shadows through the darkness, a euphoric sense of satisfaction in her heart.

With only the occasional snap of twigs beneath their feet and rustle of leaves signalling their movement, the three flew through the woods and reached the ruins after two hours. Ryadni stood as a lookout. All around them were collapsed stone archways, the skeletons of abandoned houses, and trees. Her companion tapped on a rusted, half-collapsed metal pole. He paused and then tapped again.

An inconspicuous stone slab slid away, revealing a hole into the ground. She followed her team down the rungs and let her body drop. The usual damp scent of home greeted her. The uneven ground was familiar beneath her soft shoes. She made her way down several more metal ladders and stone stairs. The hairs on her arms stood up when the temperature dropped.

She pushed her hood back and took off her gloves, rolling them into neat balls and tucking them into her satchel. Her dark curls were plastered against her head. The chilly air gave her a sense of calm.

Her teammate disappeared with their bounty into the food hall towards the kitchen beyond. The cooks would be relieved. Food stock ran low due to the nearer warlord territories raising their securities after one raid team almost got caught a few weeks ago and they had to travel further for resources. Ryadni passed the clang of cutlery and quiet breakfast conversation and descended further. The ground dampened with condensation beneath her feet.

Torches burning low marked the path to the sleeping area, which was empty, to her relief. She peeled off her raiding gear and threw it onto her bunk to be cleaned later. Her bedsheets were still bunched up from earlier that night. Hastily scraping her hair into a ponytail, she then threw on her usual tunic and trousers, securing the ties with haphazard knots. Picking up her small satchel, Ryadni left the room and made her way down more steps.

Almost at the bottom of her journey, she made it to the armoury. Her leader, Pallas, was strict with how weapons were treated due to their scarcity. She unlocked the knife cupboard and placed hers back in with the others and locked it again. Similarly for the smoke bombs, ropes, and pins. Ryadni paused as she heard footsteps several storeys above her.

"Here, take this."

She looked up. Dancing torchlight filtered down weakly through the gaps in the stairs. A round, dark object dropped in her direction. She snatched it through the air with one hand, the other hand still turning the key in the lock.

"What's this?" Her voice echoed off the stone-walled walls. She squinted at it. It was lumpy, wrapped neatly with brown paper and tied with string. She squeezed it. It was soft and slightly warm. Three storeys up, the guy squatted on the overlooking balcony, holding an oil lamp in his left hand and an identical lumpy package in his right. The orange light illuminated amused eyes and a large grin.

"Dinner," Casten replied, tucking his away before straightening up and patting the dirt marks from the knees of his trousers. "You're on lookout, right? You need your energy."

"I don't need this."

"I don't want you fainting on us and missing an attack."

"I don't–!" She flushed. "I know how imp–" She glared, her skin heating up when he chuckled. She scowled at his salute.

"Cheer up, little piglet. It'll taste good, I promise."

"Go die in a fire, Casten. I can't be late for lookout duty."

"All right. All right. I'll see you later. Don't fall asleep at your post now, you hear?"

With that, he strode off, oblivious to her glare. His oil lamp swung with every step and threw huge shadows on the tall walls, plunging Ryadni's surroundings into semi-darkness once again. She dropped the gift into her empty satchel over one shoulder, adjusting the strap. She returned the key and made her way back up.

The dungeons were as familiar to her as each scar and callous on her hands. She could draw the entire layout in her sleep. Up and down, up and down, on a daily basis. Each step was proof of her survival and endurance. She didn't pass anyone else along the way. It was nice of Casten to bring her supplies, she supposed. Not that she would thank him for it. His ego was already so big she was surprised he managed to fit through the dungeon entrance when he left for raids.

Sleep was never an option anyway. Too many thoughts and memories threatened to invade any peace she dared to accept. She might as well make herself useful.

She made her way down a series of narrow, damp corridors until she faced a metal ladder. Cobwebs stuck to her face and she brushed them impatiently out of the way. She tucked her stray black curls behind her ears – there were always a few annoying runaways that escape her ponytail – and hissed up at the figure, almost invisible, huddled at the top.

"Rurfus! I'm taking over lookout duty now!"

The figure shifted. She could just about make out a messy mop of hair against the light peeping through the slits beside him. She heard a chuckle and rustling as the man climbed down. When he hit the bottom with a heavy thump, she pressed herself against the wall, barely able to make room for him to move past her.

"They left food for me?" He grunted.

"If you stay and ask more annoying questions, there won't be any left." Without a backward glance, she clipped it to her side and climbed.

"Charming as usual." He snorted and then ambled off.

She scaled the ladder with little effort. The air warmed when she passed ground level and continued up. The goosebumps on her arms settled. She folded into the cramped space where Rurfus sat. It was a wonder how the ex-miner could fit. Ryadni rested her chin on her knees, gazing through the slits in the old stone walls that they had converted into a lookout tower. To her left, thick grass flourished over the fallen castle ruins, hiding the dungeon entrance. No movement. To the right stretched the woods as far as the eye could see.

Beyond the woods lay a devastated village, destroyed only a month ago by a rampaging dragon. Most were slain; only a few stragglers, comprised of women and young children, managed to survive and Pallas had taken them in. A soft move, but Pallas was never one to turn people away.

Just as he had taken the broken little girl and her exhausted, injured companion all those years ago, Pallas believed in the good in people. Just like his father, the late Duke of Frone, had been a trusting man who prioritised his people. Pallas prided himself in emulating his father. Even when civilisation collapsed and when barons and counts turn into warlords and ravaged each other for land and power, Pallas took his people and retreated underground. It meant taking in extra mouths when they had little means of contribution. It meant using up medical supplies during their most desperate times.

But he persisted. And Ryadni, even though she couldn't understand this bizarre kindness, could respect that. It was his mentality that gave them all hope and kept everyone sane, from descending into savagery. It was stupid, but she benefited from it.

She couldn't help but recall the stories of how his father died. When there were the ill, the late Duke of Frone gave away his supplies. When there were the hungry, he fed from his own plate. And when he took in a good friend escaping from one of the nearby warlords and he turned and drove a dagger into his back, the late Duke of Frone died smiling.

She wondered if Pallas held any resentment for his childhood home being invaded by the neighbouring warlord because his own father invited enemies into his castle.

So far, Pallas was lucky that the situation was so desperate and he was so openly impoverished like everyone else that nobody had challenged his authority or fought for the resources. One person's greed would not survive against several tens of people's desire to live. And they all knew without Pallas's knowledge and leadership, death was an inevitable outcome. She knew they all trusted Pallas, but she wasn't so sure they all trusted each other.

Hours passed. A piercing screech sounded from high up in the sky, shattering the peace. Ryadni looked up, tensed. Dawn had already broken. The sky was a clear pale blue and stretched cloudless far in the distance beyond the outline of the treetops. Over its craggy outline, a creature with a long, elegant neck and wide wings soared towards her.

Ryadni pulled the chain bell. A dragon was coming.