Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8RZ96DVZDE26XE91AAXFT

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables' Gruff Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick was mid-unsaddle when a sharp clatter of a chipped steel hilt against a stable post jolted him upright. He turned to find Sir Roland—his red cloak slung haphazardly over one shoulder, a fresh, crusted scar slicing through his left eyebrow—leaning against the oak doorframe. “Squire Frederick?” the knight’s voice rumbled, sharp as a newly whetted blade. He pushed off the frame, his boots crunching on scattered straw stained with the faint rust of recent blood, and stepped close enough that Frederick could smell the acrid smoke of a goblin raid on his tunic. “Before you tend to your horse another moment, recite your squire’s oath. The kingdom doesn’t have time for fumbling lads who can’t remember their vows when raiders creep over the western hills.” Thunder nickered nervously at the knight’s bark, and Frederick’s fingers fumbled to straighten his tunic before spitting out the oath, his voice shaking but steadying at the glint of reluctant approval in Roland’s eyes. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables' Herbal Salutation" data-color="green"> The sharp tang of mint cut through the straw and horsehair stench of the stables as Frederick brushed Thunder’s mane, and he looked up to spot Sir Roland kneeling beside a tucked-away herb bed just beyond the stable’s rear wall. The knight’s tunic was stitched with ivy vines in deep green, and his calloused fingers plucked a sprig of rosemary as he rose to greet him. “Welcome, squire,” he said, his voice soft as the rustle of oak leaves. He crossed to Thunder, holding out the rosemary—“Calms skittish stallions better than any whip,” he explained—and the horse nuzzled his palm gently. “I saw you galloping across the meadow earlier; your seat is steady, but true squire’s work starts with patience—not just with swords, but with the living things that will stand beside you. Let’s tend to these mints after you finish with your horse; they’ll soothe the blisters you’ll get from your first sword drills tomorrow.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables' Twilight Whisper" data-color="blue"> Frederick leaned against Thunder’s flank, staring at the blue twilight bleeding into the sky above the castle’s stone spires, when a soft voice broke the silence. “You’re staring at the same sky my old comrade did before he left to hunt the last dragon’s trail.” He turned to find Sir Roland, his blue surcoat faded by years of sun and rain, standing beside him with a small blue locket clenched in his fist. The knight’s gaze was distant, as if he could see the dragon’s shadow in the twilight, and he nodded at Thunder before continuing. “I’m Roland. I’ll be your trainer—but first, know this: the castle’s walls hold more secrets than its scrolls. That locket?” He tapped it gently. “It’s the only thing he left behind. When you’re done tending to your horse, meet me by the bluebell patch; I’ll tell you why a squire’s oath matters more than any sword when dragons are involved.” Thunder huffed, as if in agreement, and Frederick’s chest tightened with a quiet curiosity he couldn’t name. </nc-section>