Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK2GT3NVGA7AHAH8WQDYSFG

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Iron Greeting" data-color="red"> I reined Thunder in before the stone archway of the stable yard, the cobblestones slick with evening dew. Before I could even swing my leg over the saddle, a shadow detached itself from the gloom of the hayloft. Sir Roland stepped into the fading light, his armor scarred from campaigns long past, his arms crossed over a broad chest. He didn't smile. His eyes, cold as winter steel, swept over me and then down to my boots. "You ride like a merchant fleeing a tax collector, boy," Roland grumbled, his voice like grinding stones. He walked around Thunder, inspecting the horse's flanks with a critical sneer. "If you treat your blade half as poorly as you treat this beast, you'll be dead before the moon rises. Dismount. We have much work to do, and I have little patience for squires who think arrival is the same as achievement." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Hay and Honor" data-color="green"> The scent of dry hay and warm horseflesh welcomed me as I guided Thunder into the stable yard. A man was already there, kneeling beside a mare, checking her hooves. He stood as I approached, wiping his hands on a ragged cloth. Sir Roland was not what I expected; lines of laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes, and his tunic was stained with the honest dirt of the stables rather than the polish of the court. "Frederick," he said, extending a calloused hand. "Welcome to the Hold. I see you've brought a fine companion in Thunder. Treat him well, and he'll carry you through fires you cannot yet imagine." He took the reins from me gently, patting the stallion's neck. "Rest yourselves tonight. The path of the dragon's chronicle begins at dawn, but tonight, you are simply a guest under our roof." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Knight's Measure" data-color="blue"> I brought Thunder to a halt before the watering trough, the sound of our arrival echoing off the high walls. Standing at attention near the stable doors was Sir Roland, clad in full plate despite the hour. The setting sun glinted off his polished pauldrons, turning him into a statue of silver and gold. He offered a sharp salute as I dismounted, the metal of his gauntlets clinking softly. "Squire Frederick," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of formal duty. "I am Sir Roland, Keeper of the Eastern Gate. Your presence here marks the beginning of your oath. Know that these walls protect the last remnants of our kind, and every soul within them carries a burden." He gestured toward the darkening keep behind him. "Stable your mount with care. In this order, even the horses are sworn to the cause. Do not forget that." </nc-section>