Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA690HDGXMM5MRZDAE3XV3

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stern Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely finished unbuckling Thunder’s saddle girth when a sharp clap of a torn leather strap cut through the stable’s hum. He spun to find Sir Roland—broad-shouldered, his steel-gray cloak dusted with border mud—leaning against a splintered stall post, a lacerated knight’s saddle crumpled at his boots. “Squire Frederick,” the knight’s growl rumbled, his eyes flickering to the stable hands who scurried to avoid his gaze. “You arrive on the heels of a raider skirmish that left three of my men wounded. I don’t tolerate inattention in those who tend to war horses—or to their oaths. Tell me: do you see what’s wrong with this saddle?” He kicked the tattered leather forward, his jaw tight with unspoken fury at the stable’s careless mending. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Foal's Guardian" data-color="green"> As Frederick brushed Thunder’s sun-warmed coat, a soft, quivering whinny drew his gaze to the stables’ back corner. There, kneeling beside a wicker pen, was Sir Roland—his armor unbuckled, a sprig of clover tucked behind his ear—as he dabbed a healing salve on a foal’s twisted forehoof. “You must be Frederick,” he said, looking up with a smile that softened the lines of his weathered face. The foal nuzzled his hand, and the knight explained it had been caught in the bramble thicket bordering the castle’s west grove that morning. “Training isn’t just about swords and shields,” he said, patting the pen’s edge. “It’s about tending to the vulnerable—even the four-legged ones who can’t raise a blade. Care to lend a hand with its bandage?” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Map's Secret" data-color="blue"> Frederick was securing Thunder’s stall gate when he spotted Sir Roland leaning against a weathered oak post just outside the stables, his fingers tracing a faded ink mark on a tattered parchment map. The knight’s gaze lifted at the creak of the gate, and his voice was a low, rumbling murmur—like the distant roll of thunder over the dragon’s old valley. “Squire Frederick,” he said, folding the map to reveal a crudely drawn dragon’s claw etched into its margin. “You came seeking knightly training, but there’s more to your arrival than your father’s letter let on.” He tapped the claw mark, his eyes clouded with a memory he didn’t name. “This valley is where the last dragon was seen before it vanished. Keep your wits about you—this castle’s stables hold more secrets than its stone walls.” </nc-section>