“Well, shit,” I said sighing as the stone door of the dungeon slid shut. At least my mother had made sure I had some supplies before letting me be sacrificed to the dungeon. Not that she had much say in the matter. She had tried to stop it, but her anger had been no match for a village full of fearful elves and their haughty elders.

The village should have sacrificed them instead. Continuing to curse them under my breath, I knelt slinging my bag onto the stone floor. A thud sailed through the room. The echo trailed deep into the dungeon. My breath hitched as I listened for any kind of movement. I didn’t dare move. All of my muscles tightened as I waited. Then, nothing, not a single noise came from the dark. A deep sense of loneliness began welling up inside of me. There was no response waiting for me. I should be thankful for that. The dungeon wasn’t immediately going to grow teeth and swallow me whole. There wasn’t a monster with hungry eyes waiting to leap out at me from the void. But still, part of me was hoping for something to chase away the fear that I was completely alone trapped inside empty ruins. I shook my head trying to throw the thought out into the darkness surrounding me. I should just be glad.

Rummaging through my bag I felt around for a torch. Mother had managed to fit a surprising amount in my bag. It was one way to cope with the situation I guess.

Oh no, what is that?

There was something sticky and soft coating my fingers. What if the elders had hidden something awful in here? I wouldn’t put it past the bastards. They had thrown me in here after all. A shudder of disgust made its way through my body. Then the gentle scent of honey caught on the stale air of the dungeon. Oh, Honey cakes! I licked some of it off my hand before wiping the rest on my tunic. Hints of spice warmed my tongue as my nerves unwound a little and relief came over me. At the very least I could look forward to those before I died. Reaching back into my bag I finally felt a torch and lit it.

What a stupid tradition. Thinking back to the harvest festival I looked out into what was to be my tomb. At least, unless I was able to find a way out. I would have to stubbornly cling to that hope if I was going to make it out of the dungeon. Surely, there couldn’t be only one way in and out of this god’s forsaken place. There had been stories of monsters escaping the dungeon from time to time. It was another reason the whole Ten Year celebration was frustrating and irrelevant in my opinion. Of course, when I brought that up I was always reprimanded by the older villagers. Our village had been spared countless horrors because of Ten Year according to them. Lifting my torch to the darkness, it illuminated massive carved pillars that rocketed to some unknown height. I was caught in awe. The largest building I had seen before this was the distant outline of a watchtower in a neighboring town when my mother let me go with her to collect a special herb from outside the village once. There was no way that someone who made all of this wouldn’t have made another door. There had to be a way.

I took a deep breath stepping forward into the dungeon. I wasn’t going to find my way out by standing there gawking at architecture. I had to be brave. I would have to go boldly into danger if I wanted to rub it in the faces of the elders that I made it out of here and see my mother again. No hero was coming to rescue me. This wasn’t a story in one of my mother’s books. Though a tankard full of dwarven liquid courage would be great right about now. Gods, I miss it already.

I put one foot forward.

“Oh, no.”

It slipped from underneath me and I came crashing down face-first. The rattling of my pack hitting the floor with me and some of its contents falling out echoed loudly through the chamber. Groaning, I pulled my chin up feeling around for my torch. A scream ripped from my lips as I opened my eyes.