Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY892DRKZQN9QF0JNRRMACE

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Welcome (Red)" data-color="red"> The stables groaned under the weight of hooves and the clatter of harnesses as Frederick dismounted, his breath misting in the cool evening air. Sir Roland stood just outside the stable doors, his armor gleaming under the fading light, his broadsword resting against his hip. His dark eyes locked onto Frederick’s, sharp with curiosity and something deeper—something that made Frederick’s pulse quicken. "You’re late," Roland said, his voice rough but kind. "The training hall is ready." Frederick swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the reins of Thunder. "I—I apologize, sir. The road was longer than I expected." Roland chuckled, a sound that carried the weight of a man who had seen too many battles to be easily fooled. "A squire’s first day isn’t about speed, boy. It’s about learning to listen." He gestured toward the stable’s entrance. "Come. Let’s get you settled before the others arrive." As they walked, Roland’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. "You’re not the only one who’s late. The king’s messenger was supposed to be here by now. If he’s not, we might have a problem." Frederick’s stomach twisted. *A problem?* What kind of trouble could befall the kingdom so soon? --- The training hall was a cavernous space, its high ceilings echoing with the distant clamor of other knights and squires. Frederick’s heart pounded as he followed Roland inside, where a group of lads—some older, some younger—gathered around a large, polished wooden table. At its center sat a map of the kingdom, its borders marked with red ink. "Sir Roland!" one of the lads called out, his voice booming. "You’re late!" Roland smirked. "And you’re early. That’s a good sign." He turned to Frederick. "This is Elias. He’s the king’s champion. And over there—" He pointed to a wiry boy with a scar running down his cheek. "That’s Jace. He’s the one who’ll teach you how to read a map like a true warrior." Frederick’s eyes flicked to the map. The red lines were thick, like veins. *This is serious.* He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I’m ready, sir." Roland’s gaze softened. "Good. Because the last dragon’s sleep is near. And we’re not ready for that." --- That night, as Frederick lay in his narrow cot, the weight of Roland’s words pressed down on him. The dragon. The last dragon. The legend whispered in the halls of the castle, a warning that had been passed down for generations. But what if it was real? What if the kingdom was about to wake up to something far worse than a simple messenger’s delay? Frederick’s mind raced. He had no idea what to do. But for the first time, he wasn’t afraid. He was *determined*. And with that thought, he closed his eyes, ready to face whatever came next. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 3: The Shadowed Warning (Green)" data-color="green"> The stable door creaked open, and the scent of leather and old wood filled the air. Frederick stepped out, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. Sir Roland stood there, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze, his expression unreadable. The lanterns hanging from the eaves cast long, shifting shadows across his face. "You’re here," Roland said, his voice low and measured. "Good." Frederick hesitated, his fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger he’d found tucked into his belt. "Sir, I—I was just checking on Thunder. He’s restless." Roland’s gaze flicked to the stallion, who snorted and tossed his head. "He’s not the only one," Roland murmured. "The king’s messenger didn’t arrive. And the guards at the northern gate reported strange noises last night—like something heavy moving through the woods." Frederick’s stomach twisted. "What do you mean, strange noises?" Roland’s jaw tightened. "Dragons don’t make noise like that. They don’t *move* like that." He stepped closer, his presence suddenly heavy. "The last dragon was supposed to be asleep. But if it’s not… if it’s waking up… then we’re in trouble." Frederick swallowed hard. "What should I do, sir?" Roland’s eyes burned into him. "You listen. You learn. And when the time comes, you’ll know what to do." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. "This is the *Chronicle of the Last Dragon*. It’s old. It’s dangerous. But it’s the only thing that might save us." Frederick’s breath caught. "You’re giving it to me?" Roland nodded. "Because I trust you, boy. And because I know you’ll need it." He pressed the book into Frederick’s hands. "Read it. Understand it. And when the time comes, you’ll know how to fight back." As Roland turned to leave, Frederick caught his arm. "Sir, what if I don’t know how to fight?" Roland’s expression darkened. "Then you’ll learn. But you won’t learn alone." He smiled faintly. "And if you fail? Well. Then we’ll see what happens next." --- Frederick hurried back to his room, the weight of the *Chronicle* pressing against his chest. The book was warm, almost as if it had been waiting for him. He flipped it open, the pages turning slowly under his fingers. The ink was faded, the text barely legible, but the words *The Last Dragon* burned into his mind like a brand. He began to read. And as the first stars appeared in the sky, Frederick realized something terrifying: he wasn’t just a squire anymore. He was the key. And the dragon was waking up. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 4: The First Clue (Blue)" data-color="blue"> The stable’s lanterns flickered as Frederick approached, his breath visible in the cold morning air. Sir Roland stood by the far wall, his back to him, his hands clasped behind his neck. The knight’s posture was relaxed, but Frederick could see the tension in his shoulders—like a man who had seen too much and was still trying to keep his composure. "You’re up early," Roland said without turning around. Frederick nodded, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I thought I’d check on the horses before the morning exercises." Roland finally turned, his gaze sharp. "And what did you find?" Frederick hesitated. "Thunder seems fine. But…" He gestured toward the stable’s far corner, where a single, half-buried hoofprint in the dirt caught his eye. "There’s something here. Something that doesn’t belong." Roland’s eyes darkened. "You’re not supposed to be looking for clues, Frederick. You’re supposed to be learning." Frederick swallowed. "I know. But the guards said something was moving in the woods last night. And if a dragon is waking up…" He trailed off, because he didn’t know what to say next. Roland exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "Fine. But if you’re going to dig, do it quietly. And don’t touch anything unless you’re sure it’s safe." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The last dragon was buried beneath the old stone circle in the northern forest. If it’s waking up, it’s because someone—or something—is stirring it." Frederick’s mind raced. *The stone circle.* The legends spoke of it—of the dragon’s final resting place, guarded by the very earth. But if it was waking up… then the kingdom was in grave danger. Roland’s gaze locked onto his. "You’re not going to follow me to the forest, are you?" Frederick shook his head. "No, sir. I—I just wanted to make sure." Roland studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Because if you do, you’ll be the first to know when the time comes." He turned back to the wall, his voice gruff. "Now. Let’s get you to the training hall. The king’s messenger is supposed to be here by now. And if he’s not…" He didn’t finish the thought. Frederick followed him, his heart pounding. The weight of what Roland had said settled over him like a storm cloud. The dragon. The stone circle. The danger. And Frederick knew, with a certainty that had nothing to do with fear, that he was about to step into something far bigger than he ever imagined. --- As they walked, Frederick glanced at Roland’s hands—the ones that had fought in battles, the ones that had held the weight of command. "Sir," he said quietly, "what do you think will happen if the dragon wakes up?" Roland’s expression darkened. "It won’t be pretty. The last dragon was a monster. It burned kingdoms to ash. And if it’s coming back…" He let the words hang in the air. Frederick swallowed. "Then we have to stop it." Roland turned to him, his eyes burning. "You think you can stop it, boy?" Frederick met his gaze. "I don’t know. But I’ll try." Roland exhaled, a rough laugh escaping him. "Then you’ll need more than just courage, Frederick. You’ll need the *Chronicle.*" He pulled a small, leather-bound book from his coat and pressed it into Frederick’s hands. "Read it. Understand it. And when the time comes, you’ll know what to do." Frederick’s hands trembled slightly as he took the book. "Sir?" Roland’s voice was firm. "You’re not just a squire anymore, Frederick. You’re the last hope." And with that, Roland turned and walked away, leaving Frederick standing in the stable, the weight of the future pressing down on him like a mountain. </nc-section>