Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY84FE9A2F63YW1XTHRP0VB

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Welcome" data-color="red"> The stables groaned under the weight of hooves and the scent of leather and hay thickened the air. Frederick dismounted, his boots kicking up dust as he approached the sturdy oak door. Inside, the flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the clatter of harnesses and the murmur of voices filled the space. Sir Roland stood near the far stall, his broad back to Frederick as he adjusted the straps of his saddle. His voice was deep, commanding, yet warm. *"You’re late."* The words were spoken without malice, but the tone carried the weight of expectation. Frederick swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the reins. *"I—I apologize, Sir Roland. The roads were… treacherous."* He glanced at the knight’s broad shoulders, the way his armor gleamed faintly in the dim light. Roland turned slowly, his dark eyes assessing Frederick’s youthful face. *"The roads are always treacherous,"* he said, *"but you arrived. That’s more than can be said for many."* He extended a hand, and Frederick took it, shaking it firmly. *"Welcome to the castle, Frederick. You’ll be joining the training of the knights, though I suspect you’ll be more useful as a squire for now."* As Frederick stepped forward, the scent of leather and old wood mingled with the faint metallic tang of Roland’s armor. The knight’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. *"Tell me, lad—what do you think of the kingdom’s future?"* Frederick hesitated, then spoke with the confidence he’d been taught to cultivate. *"I believe in strength, Sir Roland. In the power of the kingdom to stand tall against its foes."* Roland’s smile was sharp, but there was no mockery in it. *"Good. Then you’ll be a good squire."* Outside, the golden light of the setting sun spilled through the stable’s open doors, painting the courtyard in hues of amber and gold. Frederick felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. This was his home now, and yet, the weight of the kingdom’s fate rested on his shoulders—even if he was still just a boy. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Shadow" data-color="green"> The stable door creaked open with a groan, and Frederick’s breath caught as he saw Sir Roland standing there, his cape billowing behind him like a storm gathering. The knight’s armor was polished to a mirror shine, but his eyes were cold, almost hollow, as they locked onto Frederick’s face. *"You’re late,"* Roland said without preamble, his voice like gravel shifting underfoot. Frederick’s stomach twisted. He had been warned about this knight—rumors spoke of Roland’s past, of battles lost and victories won, of a heart that had hardened like the steel of his armor. Frederick swallowed. *"I’m sorry, Sir Roland. The roads were… difficult."* He tried to keep his voice steady, but his hands trembled slightly. Roland stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. *"Difficult?"* His tone was a blade unsheathed. *"You mean *dangerous*?"* Frederick’s mind raced. He had heard the stories—how Roland had once been a hero, but now he was feared. *"I meant the weather was bad,"* Frederick lied, though the truth was far worse. He had been delayed by a bandit ambush, and Roland had been the one to rescue him. *"The bandits were… persistent."* Roland’s jaw tightened. *"You’re a brave lad."* His voice was bitter. *"But bravery isn’t everything."* He gestured toward the stables, where the flickering lanterns cast long shadows. *"You’ll learn that soon enough."* Frederick followed him inside, the scent of leather and old wood thick in the air. Roland’s gaze never left him as he led Frederick to his assigned stall, where a young squire was already unpacking his gear. As Frederick took in the familiar sights—rusted swords, worn leather, the faint scent of sweat and discipline—he felt a weight settle over him. This was his life now. And Roland’s shadow loomed over it, darker than the night. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The First Test" data-color="blue"> The stable door swung open with a thunderous *clang*, and Frederick’s heart pounded as he stepped inside. Sir Roland stood there, his broad back to him, but Frederick could feel the storm of his presence before he even turned. The knight’s voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. *"You’re late."* Frederick swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the reins of Thunder. *"I apologize, Sir Roland. The roads were… treacherous."* He tried to keep his voice steady, but the words tasted like ash in his mouth. Roland finally turned, his dark eyes sharp as flint. *"The roads are always treacherous,"* he said, *"but you arrived. That’s more than can be said for many."* There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but it was fleeting. Frederick stepped forward, his boots kicking up dust. Roland gestured toward the far corner of the stable, where a young squire was already adjusting his armor. *"You’ll be joining the training of the knights,"* Roland said, *"but for now, you’ll be my squire."* Frederick nodded, though his mind raced with questions. What did that mean? What would he be expected to do? As he followed Roland deeper into the stable, the lanterns flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to twist and move on their own. The air smelled of sweat and old leather, and the distant clatter of hooves echoed from the courtyard. Frederick felt the weight of the future pressing down on him—his own destiny, the fate of the kingdom, and the silent, unyielding gaze of a knight who had seen too much. Roland’s voice cut through the tension. *"Tell me, lad—what do you think of the last dragon?"* Frederick hesitated, then spoke with the confidence he’d been taught. *"I believe in strength, Sir Roland. In the power of the kingdom to stand against its enemies."* Roland’s smile was sharp, but there was no mockery in it. *"Good. Then you’ll be a good squire."* And with that, he turned away, leaving Frederick standing in the dim light, his future as bright—or as dark—as the dragon’s last embers. </nc-section>