<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Gauntlet" data-color="red"> I reined Thunder to a halt just outside the stables, the smell of hay and horseflesh a welcome familiarity. As I dismounted, a figure detached himself from the deepening shadows of the stable doorway. He was a mountain of a man, his steel gorget glinting in the last light of the sun. A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, and his eyes, the color of flint, seemed to pierce right through me. "You're late," the knight rumbled, his voice a low growl that vibrated in my chest. He didn't offer a hand or a smile, only a stern appraisal. "I am Sir Roland. I will be your master." "S-sir," I stammered, bowing my head. "Frederick, my lord. I came as fast as the road allowed." Sir Roland's gaze dropped to Thunder, who was stamping impatiently. "That stallion looks poorly cared for. His coat is dull, his left shoe is loose. A knight's horse is his life. Is this the care you give it?" He stepped closer, and I felt the sheer power radiating from him. "See to your mount. Then report to the armory. Your training begins at dawn. And do not be late again." With that, he turned and vanished back into the stables, leaving me feeling very small and very foolish. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Welcome" data-color="green"> I guided Thunder into the wide courtyard before the stables, my heart thumping with a mixture of pride and nervousness. A man was already there, gently currying a magnificent dapple-grey warhorse. He looked up as I approached, and his face broke into a warm, crinkling smile. His hair was a shock of silver, but his eyes were the color of a summer forest, clear and kind. "Ah, you must be the new squire," he said, his voice smooth as polished oak. "I am Sir Roland. Welcome to Dragon's Reach." "Sir Roland," I said, executing a clumsy but respectful bow. "Frederick, at your service." Sir Roland chuckled, a soft, pleasant sound. "At ease, lad. Let's have a look at your mount." He ran a knowing hand over Thunder's flank, and the big stallion instantly calmed, nickering softly. "A fine creature. You have a good seat to have brought him this far in one piece. Come, I'll show you the best stall for him. A good horse deserves a good rest, and a good squire knows that a knight's strength begins not with his sword, but with his steed. Care for him, and he will care for you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Shadow" data-color="blue"> The last rays of the sun painted the castle walls in hues of orange and violet as I finally reached the stables. A lone figure stood leaning against the wooden frame, his posture one of profound weariness. He wasn't large like the knights I'd imagined, but there was a coiled strength about him, a stillness that spoke of danger long past. As I drew nearer, I saw his face was handsome but etched with a deep sadness, his eyes holding the deep blue of a twilight sky just before the stars appear. "So, you're the new boy," he said, his voice quiet and devoid of any emotion. It wasn't a question. "Frederick, sir," I replied, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "I am Sir Roland," he stated, his gaze drifting past me, towards the darkening mountains in the distance. He didn't offer an appraisal of my horse or my person. He simply stood there, a man lost in a memory. "The stalls are inside," he continued after a long moment, gesturing vaguely with a hand that bore a spiraling, white scar. "Find an empty one. The Master of Arms will find you on the morrow." Then he pushed himself off the post and walked away without another word, leaving me alone in the growing chill with a feeling of unease that had nothing to do with the coming night. </nc-section>