Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB4NWZVVKEYQTM1WDRAHH9

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Welcome (Red)" data-color="red"> The stables groaned under the weight of hooves and the scent of damp hay mingled with the earthy aroma of leather. Frederick dismounted, his boots crunching on the gravel path. Sir Roland stood just inside the stable doors, his broadsword resting against the wall, its polished blade catching the fading light. His dark eyes narrowed as he took in Frederick’s youthful face and the simple tunic he wore, but his expression softened when he noticed the proud bearing of the young man. "You’re the new squire?" he called, his voice rough but kind. "Thunder’s a fine mount, but I’d wager he’s more used to carrying knights than squires." Frederick bowed slightly, his heart pounding. "I’ve heard much of you, Sir Roland. I hope you’ll teach me well." </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 3: The First Lesson (Green)" data-color="green"> Sir Roland’s voice carried through the stable, sharp with the weight of experience. "You’re late," he said, his tone not unkind but heavy with the weight of duty. Frederick’s fingers tightened around the reins of Thunder, who snorted in irritation. "I was delayed by a message from the castle," Frederick admitted, his voice steady despite the unease creeping in. Roland’s gaze flicked to the scroll tucked into his belt—a familiar sight, the kind of thing that made Frederick’s stomach twist. "Ah," Roland said, nodding. "The king’s business. Well, you’ll learn more about that later. For now, you’re here to learn the basics." He gestured toward the stable’s far end, where a rusted sword lay propped against a wall. "This is your first lesson. You’ll learn to handle a weapon, not just ride a horse." </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="Chapter 4: Shadows of the Past (Blue)" data-color="blue"> The stable door creaked open, and Frederick stepped out into the golden twilight, Thunder’s hooves echoing softly. Sir Roland stood there, his cloak billowing behind him, the faint scent of old battle clinging to his armor. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable. "You’ve come a long way," he said, not a question but a statement. Frederick swallowed hard, his fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger at his belt. "I’ve heard tales of you, Sir Roland. Of the battles you fought, the dragons you slew." Roland’s jaw tightened. "And I’ve heard of you, Frederick. A boy with a dream and a sword." A long silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of history and the unspoken knowledge that this was more than just a meeting—it was the beginning of something far greater. Thunder whinnied, his ears twitching, as if sensing the tension. Roland reached into his coat and pulled out a small, ornate dagger, its blade etched with strange, glowing runes. "This," he said, holding it out, "is the last remnant of something ancient. Something that should never have been found." </nc-section>