Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9EW756NSGJDHPCCJPNZPR

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Squire’s First Sharp Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick was mid-unsaddle when the clank of dented steel cut through the stable’s hay-scented hum—Sir Roland, his gauntlet crusted with a dried red gash, had stormed to the stall. “Squire Frederick,” he barked, grabbing the boy’s wrist before he could fumble Thunder’s reins, “you didn’t come just to polish armor. A dragon scout was spotted raiding the western grain fields an hour past. Your first task isn’t training—it’s holding this stable’s gate if it turns for the castle. Remember this: fear’s a red flag you don’t ignore.” The squire’s throat tightened; the knight’s greeting wasn’t a welcome—it was a warning carved in urgency. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable’s Gentle Lesson" data-color="green"> As Frederick brushed Thunder’s mane, a soft whinny drew his eye: Sir Roland, leading a mare with a moss-green streak down her neck, leaned against the stable’s oak post. “You’re handling him with haste, not care,” he said, his greeting warm as the sun-dappled green ivy crawling up the stable walls. He stepped forward, demonstrating how to brush a horse’s sensitive flank without startling it, and nodded to a wicker basket of clover at his feet. “Dragons aren’t the only allies you’ll need—these beasts are your first test of knighthood. Help me feed the injured foal in the back, and I’ll teach you how to read a horse’s fear before it sparks chaos.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable’s Hidden Legacy" data-color="blue"> Frederick was staring at the castle’s blue banners fluttering beyond the stable doors when a quiet voice settled beside him: Sir Roland, a frayed blue ribbon tied to his armor’s pauldrons, was leaning against a weathered post. “You’re staring like you’re trying to unspool the kingdom’s secrets,” he said, his greeting laced with the melancholy of a man who’d seen too many unspoken truths. He tapped the ribbon—for his fallen squire, taken by the last dragon’s breath—and leaned in. “The castle didn’t summon you for your father’s old sword. You carry a thread of the last dragon’s magic, whether you know it or not. This stable’s where that thread will first fray… or weave something new.”